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Paul sat at the piano, bottom lip stuck out in concentration as he plodded away. Around him the others were arguing about some show that was coming up. Couldn’t they just listen to Brian’s advice?
Paul wasn’t one to talk concerning those matters, although. He always wanted part of the action. He was just more… secretive about it. He’d get his way. He always did. He had his way with persuasion. It seems anyone would fold for his soulful eyes. Even Brian.
He was caught in the middle of this thought, not noticing John come from the corner of his vision, tugging his arm away from the piano to plop down on his lap.
Paul sat up straight, almost affronted, and didn’t have time to speak as John shifted, wrapping his arms around Paul’s shoulders. “We could play old lovers!”
One of John’s legs was trapped tightly under the piano, his thighs pressing tightly to Paul’s. John’s chin was in his eyes, an arm around his neck, his hands conjoining warmly around his shoulder. Paul could dimly understand the room was laughing at them, but he could only sit and experience the feeling of his weight on him, and how his hand playfully raised to fluff the hair at the back of Paul’s head, carding his fingers though it.
One of Paul’s hands found John’s back before he could stop himself, attracted to the feeling of John on his lap the same as he would any attractive bird, except, this was John.
John flinched at Paul’s touch, glancing down questioningly. His hair looked so soft like this. Paul wondered if John could really see him now, this close, if he was finding anything new in Paul’s face. He’d never been nearly so close, even when they shared a mic. Maybe he was finding the blush on Paul’s cheeks. Was he blushing?
“John! What the hell are you doing, I’m writing here!” Paul exclaimed, trying his best to be annoyed.
John grinned, swooning playfully, leaning his weight further into Paul. “You’re not. We all know you’re just trying to keep out of the conversation; sulking by the piano.”
Paul huffed, a hand bypassing John to meet the keys again. He played a tinkling little melody. “I thought I had something.” The notes faltered and Paul shrugged, pouting as he retracted the hand. “It’s too bad.”
“Cheer up,” John tilted Paul’s head up with a finger and thumb. He smiled softly, looking straight down into Paul’s eyes. “You know you’ll find it again.”
Paul’s eyes widened, darting across the room before he let himself get pulled into John’s. The boys in the room had stopped laughing at whatever joke this had started as, and were now whispering to each other. Ringo was ducked in by George, whispering in his ear in a way that had Paul shivering on behalf of George, and Brian was keeping himself from looking at the pair, wandering away towards a corner. George Martin’s arms were crossed, eyebrows raised in exasperation. The roadies smiling secretively to each other.
“John!” Paul grinned so tightly it almost hurt. He wanted to let John continue to warm him, mess with his hair and let Paul return the favor, but he had to stop this. “You know what the others are thinking, don’t you?” he said almost seductively, tilting his head to the side.
John chuckled. “They’d have to be daft to believe it.”
So this really was some big joke, huh?
Paul’s face burned with the effort to keep up his grin. “You’re going to play this off, now.”
John leaned his weight onto Paul’s shoulders. “Oh, am I?”
“Oh, you are, love.” The tight muscles in Paul’s face loosed as John continued to joke with him, somehow forgetting his reputation for a moment as John grinned down at him. He didn’t want to move, not when John was so happy to sit on him.
John’s fingers tugged through Paul’s hair, sweeping it up from the back and into his eyes, rustling it into his face. Paul laughed beside himself, acting not at all cool like he would with a bird.
“Boys!” Brian called, drawing Paul’s attention. Brian was standing beside the piano now, a fist raised to his chin. “If you’ll remember, we were trying to decide what to do for our next Christmas show.” He put the hand behind his back.
“Oh, right,” Paul drawled, hands moving to the keys again, John perking up as Paul blindly placed Good King Wensley.
“Right, right, we have time for that later. I’m saying, you better stop messing around and start thinking about your act!” He said it in his soft, ever-polite voice.
John scoffed and Paul bounced one of his legs.
“Now, if you don’t get off, I’ll be pushing you off.”
John, ever stubborn, “Like you would, you haven’t got it in you-”
“Boys!”
-
John always had it in him to flirt with Paul. He often did, actually. He loved pushing Paul forward in line, “the cute Beatle must go first!” and teasing him for his soft, feminine face and features, “all the girls must want to dress you up like a doll, love,” and assuming correctly what Paul used his eyes for: “those eyes of yers must get Brian to sign anything.”
Paul didn’t exactly appreciate being called cute all the time, even if it did give him some power.
And even with all the flirting and teasing, John still hadn’t gotten as close as he did that night with the piano!
The memory reminded Paul of exactly why it couldn’t happen again. Their friends were already suspicious enough with how often they wandered off alone while they were working (and Paul only realized this was a common occurrence after he heard a reporter whispering about it) and how much they flirted. God, Paul was shocked he hadn’t realized it sooner.
Brian, Neil, Mal, Ringo, both Georges, endless photographers, press, studio assistants, higherups and fans surrounded them all the time, and they must all believe something is going on between Paul and John.
Well, it wasn’t. It really wasn’t. It couldn’t be. It was illegal, if anything. They weren’t allowed. They couldn’t. They couldn’t be together. Even if they wanted to. And Paul wanted to. But John didn’t know that, did he? And he kept pretending like they were. Like they were a couple. Like it was allowed. And it was messing with Paul’s head.
Paul sighed. They were at a party at George’s house, and he’d had a considerable amount to drink. Pattie and Mo were having a good time, laughing with each other, patting each other’s hair like it was so natural for girls to do. They were allowed.
Flirting with his mates' wives had gotten boring a while ago and Paul was questioning why he didn’t have a girl with him tonight. It was a shame, really. George and Ringo were sitting somewhat quietly, exchanging stories too mumbled for Paul to grasp onto. John had wandered off a while back, claiming the loo needed him.
If Pattie and Mo could paw each other, why couldn’t…
Paul wanted to stop himself from getting up, and almost did. “I’m going to look for John.”
“Oh, of course you are,” George drawled, eyes nearly shut.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Paul affronted, but left the room quickly, not wanting to hear the answer.
It only took a few laps around George’s house to find the door to the garden, and Paul found John sitting outside in an adirondack chair, wrapped in a blanket. He was staring off into the yard: an expanse of grass, lined with flowers and trees.
Paul shuffled up to him, wrapping his arms around himself. “Mind if I share?” Paul hadn’t even bothered to grab his coat, baring himself to the night chill and John. Paul softened his jaw, dropping his lips innocently. He worried his brow slightly, accentuating his eyes, trying his best to be a convincing lost puppy.
John raised a skeptic eyebrow as Paul got closer. Paul peeled the ends of the blanket off John, and stumbled onto his lap, sitting sideways across his thighs and reclining against his chest. Paul tried to wrap the blanket back around the pair of them but he struggled.
John helped him out, even if his eyes were wide in shock. “What are ye doin’, Paul?”
Paul smiled. “That’s what I said last time! ‘I’m playin’ here!’” He poked John in the chest. He was firm; real. Paul was doing this, and could barely comprehend it.
Paul had replayed John sitting in his lap so many times since it happened, as if it was a perfect dream. He wanted to do it again. He’d done it now, and John was just as surprised as Paul was that day.
One of John’s hands came to Paul’s hip, resting on the bone there. Paul sighed, a hand trailing along John’s chest sleepily. John was responding like he’d hoped. He wasn’t pushing him away.
“Thought I’d join you. You looked cold.” His hand on John's chest picked up his rapid heartbeat under his thin shirt.
Paul tried to dip his head down to rest it on John’s head, but he leaned away, searching Paul’s eyes instead. “I don’-”
“Don’ what?” Paul hummed, shivering as the chilled night air tickled the back of his neck. Paul reacted, curling into himself so he could duck deeper into the blanket, pulling it tighter around himself as he rested his head against John’s neck.
Paul loved sitting on John’s lap, their legs brushing together, their heat transferring, the man he’d spent so much time idolizing under him, his hair brushing his face so softly.
“What if someone sees?” John whispered.
“That’s a risk, isn’t it?” Paul brushed his head against John’s jaw. His normal action had been happily, and drunkenly, thrown to the wind.
John’s grip tightened on Paul’s hip, his eyes flickering around the grounds, sighing. “Well, they all think we’re lovers anyway,” John admitted, resting his head tiredly against Paul’s, his face dipping to lay in Paul’s soft hair.
Paul nodded. “Not so weird then. What were you doing out here, anyway?”
“Trying to clear my head. I was…” John’s other arm came up to wrap around Paul. “I was starting to feel like… Not enough. Not allowed. Not really there.”
Paul nodded again. “Were you getting angry about it?”
John stiffened, swaying Paul in his arms just slightly. “I said I needed to clear my head.”
Paul brushed his hand against John’s soft side. He recalled all those times John had gotten so angry, so out of touch, so out of his head, his violent lashing out, his fighting, which, depending on the day, was diminished greatly by Paul’s presence there, talking him down from his flighty height. Other times, Paul had just made it worse.
“Am I helping?” Paul hummed, trailing his finger up to John’s chest.
John shivered, swallowing. “Yeah, yeah.” He trailed a hand across Paul’s thighs and up his torso.
Paul had no objections to the touch. He leaned into them, into the warm palm that cupped his cheek and tilted his tired eyes up.
“Paul, you know, you know how I… how I played it up last time?”
Paul nodded heavily, head still held up by John’s hand. John’s voice was soft now, so dissimilar to how he was with others. With Paul, he often lowered his voice, and was kind. Paul felt incredibly privileged.
Paul cleared his throat. “You said the others would have to be stupid to think we were together.” He’d thought that over a lot.
“Yeah, well,” John cleared his throat nervously, and dipped down, catching Paul’s lips.
Paul’s hands squeezed John tighter, shifting to sit up fully, grabbing John by his soft, broad face, humming sweetly into his mouth as John did what Paul had been hoping he’d do since they were boys. Paul’s eyes squeezed shut tight, pressing his mouth tightly to John’s, parting his lips, pressing firm, wet kisses against his lips, and John followed, his tongue peeking up as Paul left impassioned kisses against his lips. John gripped Paul tightly by the back, indulging, his hand trailing up Paul’s back, dusting his neck and carding through Paul’s dark, adorable hair.
Paul pulled back sharply, licking his lips and catching his breath. He shifted his hands up into John’s auburn hair, caressing an eyebrow with a thumb. John’s eyes told a million stories, of his childhood, being deprived of such pure love, of years of pining, and hiding it from Paul. But most prevalently, his current mystification. He had stars in his eyes.
Paul dove down, suctioning their lips together like it would kill him if he didn’t. His legs were now on either side of John’s, straddling him. John pushed his face up to Paul’s eagerly, as though he was about to float up out of the chair clutching Paul, legs tangling together as they drifted away by the gentle wind, caught up into the clouds.
It was ecstasy. Paul had never had anything as good as this. John’s sweet face under his hands. They joy of kissing the man he’d always dreamed of.
John pulled away gently, finally able to meet Paul’s eyes honestly. “I’ve been wanting to do that for… a while now.”
Paul took a careful breath. “I’m glad I’m not just a joke to you.” What… John really liked him too! It wasn’t entirely surprising, Paul supposed, grinning wide.
One of John’s hands slipped up Paul’s shoulder, tracing his neck softly with his fingertips. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, hand pushing Paul to his chest, Paul’s head tucking against John’s, his eyes hidden. “I’m not good at expressing my feelings without hurting somebody.”
Paul nudged his nose against John’s ear, ruffling his hair against John’s. “I’ve noticed.”
“I don’ want to hurt you more, Paulie. More than I already have.”
Paul dragged his hand against John’s cheek, turning his face into his own. “I think you telling me is a good start. I love you. So it doesn’t matter. Tell me how much you love me?” Paul’s mind was hazy. He’d imagined this more times than he’d admit.
John swallowed. “You do? Even after…”
All the jealous, mean things John had done? The times he had kissed Paul’s friends in front of him, not understanding what it did to Paul? The teasing; all the flirty comments he intimated must come to nothing?
“I’ve always wanted you, John.” Paul’s head dipped, arms coming to hug John around his shoulders. “Tell me how much you love me.”
“I love you like… chocolate olivers. No, that’s… That’s not enough. That’s stupid.”
Paul’s ears perked up, squeezing him tighter. “Well, you do love chocolate olivers.”
“I’ve liked you since I saw you that day. You were brilliant. You…” John inhaled deeply. “I knew I had gotten it; I’d struck gold.”
Paul blinked away tears, leaning into John. John’s arms felt so warm and safe.
“You helped me though a lot, but more than that you drove me crazy. Jesus, even your mousy features were adorable. You were handsome Elvis. Classy, even from that little home of yours. I wanted to break you and make you mine. I never thought I’d have you. I’m still scared. I think I’m more scared now than I was then.”
“Let’s not think about it, John.” Paul hugged him closer, his throat tight with tears.
John shook his head. “I love you enough, I-” John cut off, gulping.
“What, Johnny?” Paul pulled back.
John’s face had fallen, reality seeming to have hit him suddenly. “I want everyone to know.”
Paul nodded hesitantly. “But they can’t, can they?”
“Maybe one day,” John gulped again, his face red and blushed.
Paul sniffled. “Maybe one day.”
John leaned up, kissing him on the cheek. “I love you. I don’t know how this happened, but- I’m glad it did.”
“I wanted to sit on you…” Paul murmured, eyes drooping tiredly.
John’s eyes widened. “You didn’t even work up the nerve, did you? You’re just exhausted.” John reached up with a finger, nudging Paul’s fringe away from his eyes.
Paul pouted slightly, considering John’s question. “It seems like it,” he concluded, nodding.
Tomorrow morning, Paul would remember what he’d done.
Quite vividly too, after he pushed his brows together tightly, confused by John rattling around in his dreams, and the blue, starchy pillow case he was awaking to. The light pricking his eyes from a window facing a green yard. The furniture was unusual, or not his own at least. There was a cup of water on the night stand, and as Paul sat up to reach for it, he remembered where he was.
He was still at George’s. He must have been too pissed to go home. What a boring dinner party they’d had…
Paul grabbed the water, taking a sip, turning to glance around the room, flinching lightly at the sight of another person… John, in bed with him!
Paul rolled his eyes, falling back against the headboard. John, too? He settled the water in his lap, sighing. He didn’t feel perfect. He had quite a bit to drink last night. He shut his eyes, his dreams of John coming back to him. How relaxing they had been. Just the two of them spending time together.
John’s body rumbled with a groan. He was face down, arms spread above his head, body taking up the majority of the bed. He sat up partially, blinking an eye open at Paul tiredly. His hair was a mess, rumpled from sleep, and stuck up stiffly in places.
One of his hands trailed over the bed, slipping onto Paul’s thigh over the duvet.
Paul cocked his head to the side, confused. Was he still dreaming?
No, this John was definitely real, and was definitely crawling to lay his upper body across Paul’s lap, pushing his head into Paul’s soft stomach.
Paul set down the water glass quickly, his hands up in the air, perturbed by John’s cat-like way of acting.
Last night… it came back to Paul in flashes. Bangs. Blinding light. His dreams had been beautiful, idyllic continuations of the night before. God dammit.
Paul pressed his hands to his face and groaned, shaking his head in dismay.
They couldn’t be together. They just couldn’t. They wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret. Not from the press. If they did, well it would only be a miracle. Brian could only do so much to cover up their mistakes.
“What’s wrong, Paul?” John raised his head, eyes soft with sleep. “Too much?” He rubbed his hand across Paul’s thigh.
“Too bloody fast,” Paul gulped, his throat pinched in pain. “This isn’t going to work.” He wanted to cry. “Tomorrow the world could know… what would happen to us?”
“Don’ think about it.” John pulled one of Paul’s hands away from his face, putting it back in John’s hair. Paul had been so fixated on his hair. It was so fluffy, so…
Paul groaned again, holding John. Why did he have to be so whipped for him?
“I’ve spent so long being told what I’m not allowed in this stupid society that I’ve been holding meself back,” John murmured, scooting up to sit fully on Paul’s lap, slumping into him. “Being scared is so limiting. I couldn’t even seriously call you pretty before. You know you’re drop dead gorgeous?”
John dipped forward, kissing Paul gently, wrapping his arms around Paul’s shoulders. Paul shut his eyes, the morning light dusting his lids with hope.
Paul nodded his head into John’s shoulder. “Oh, you always have crazy ideas.”
“They got us here, didn’t they?” John rustled Paul in his arms, shaking him up.
Paul smiled involuntarily, wiping a hand across his face, smearing it. “Yeah, you’re right.” Paul sighed, eyes flicking down to John’s lap. “Do you think George and Ringo know? How did we get into this bed, anyway?”
John scoffed, retracting a hand to poke Paul in the nose playfully. “Ringo found us outside. We’d fallen asleep. Surprised you don’t remember. You were furious that he’d interrupted your sleep.”
Paul thumped his forehead into John’s. “Sounds like me,” he admitted and sighed, half in despair, and half relief. “So he knows?” Paul blinked open his wide eyes.
“He’s our mate. He doesn’t care,” John said softly. “He was a lot kinder than I would have been.”
Paul nodded. That was good at least. Ringo was kind, quiet, supportive… and he knew how to keep a secret. He continued to nod. “I can’t believe we said all that yesterday.” Not to mention snog…
John squeezed him, bringing Paul’s attention back to the fact that John, John of all people, was on his lap, holding him, pressing Paul into the bed, snuggled up against him like he’d been there all along.
Paul’s lips dropped, pressing his face against John’s chest, turning his head into him, sighing, holding John by the back, relieved.
“We finally did it,” Paul sighed.
John rubbed Paul’s back as Paul pressed kisses into his chest, and smiled softly as Paul started unbuttoning his shirt to get a more intimate connection.
“Fuck, Paris was only, what, three years ago? It feels like an eternity.”
That was the closest they’d ever gotten until now, enraptured by the city of love, wandering around together like any other couple, sleeping in a single bed together; what they could afford, pretending like the consistent touch of skin over that week and a half wasn’t driving them mad with desire.
John continued as Paul kissed up his chest, “I couldn’t contain myself.”
“I remember all those comments you made about those damn banana milkshakes,” Paul muttered.
John grinned. “I’m glad you remember! I guess my subliminal messaging worked.”
“God, you kept buying me them.”
John rubbed Paul’s head gingerly, laughing. “And you kept goin’ all red!”
“Uughh,” Paul groaned into his neck, flushing at the memory, “and you’ve never stopped teasing me.”
“Well, I like seeing you get all red and embarrassed. Made me feel like I had a chance.”
Paul bounced in place, as much as he could, turning his face away from John. “Jesus,” Paul whispered. “You really have meant it.”
John dipped down, kissing Paul’s exposed neck. Paul squirmed, John’s arm’s tightening around him as he left frantic kisses up to his ear and into his wild hair. John rocked in Paul’s lap, Paul moving with him.
There was a knock at the door, Paul and John jumping, their muscles contracting in fear, telling them to move! Get apart!
“Who is it?” John called, Paul pausing in his move to push John off his lap.
“It’s me,” called the squeaky monotone voice of their infant lead guitarist.
Paul sighed. “What is it?”
“Can I… can I come in?”
John and Paul glanced at each other, Paul shaking his head, eyes wide, trying to push John off him.
John refused to move. “Hey! If we’ve told Rings, it would be unfair for Georgie not to know!”
Paul leaned back, sighing. “Alright, if you want to be loud about it.”
John frowned, pushing off Paul to sit beside him, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, hand to hand. Had they seriously never held hands before?
“Come in!” Paul urged.
The door creaked open slowly, George’s thin frame slipping in and freezing. His eyes widened slightly as they darted between the two of them, landing at their entwined hands.
“I came in here to ask, actually, if,” George’s head tilted slightly down in apprehension. He gulped, and took another step into the room, shutting the door, standing awkwardly at the end of their bed. “Well, I saw Ringo bring you in last night, and it felt like you three were hiding something.”
John glanced over to Paul and back to George. “We’re a couple of queers, you got us,” he looked straight into George’s eyes, deadpan. But George knew he wasn’t kidding. Not with how they were sitting.
Paul blushed furiously, pulling John’s hand to his knees as he pulled them to his chest, hiding his red face in them.
“I know- I know you wouldn’t feel like you had to hide it from me- but I wanted to know because, well if you are together, everything would make a lot more sense, and I just- don’t like being left out. Lied to.”
Paul scoffed. George was worried about their relationship.
John beckoned George closer and onto the foot of the bed.
George sat, hand clinging to the bed post. His eyebrows were ever inquisitive.
It was like the pair of writers were his parents at times; older, secretive. They already went off alone more than what was usual for friends. They had to lock themselves away from everyone to write. They could only do it alone, like sex, as they’d described it, keeping George out.
“I know I never say this shit, but I seem to have gone a little soft, so I’ll say it,” John grabbed George’s wrist, turning George to face him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry we pushed you around so much. For so long.”
“And never let me write?”
John sighed, biting his lip. Paul’s eyes popped up from being hidden in his knees, glancing at John. George really was their kid brother, even with his giant house, his own beautiful partner and musical acclaim, he still wanted to be fully heard. They made fun of him for being labeled the ‘quiet Beatle’ as away from cameras, he hardly ever stopped talking. He always had something to say.
Paul shrugged tightly. “I suppose I could be… more open to your ideas. Maybe.”
George smiled lightly. He shrugged as well, “Sounds good to me.”
“Just got to make sure he keeps to that,” John murmured, tapping Paul’s shoulder with his own.
They took little calming breaths, staring at each other in wonder before Paul grabbed George’s other wrist, pulling him up, and he collapsed over their legs. George squinted as they made room for him between them and let George snuggle into that empty space, shoulders pinned between theirs before John raised an arm, sleepily tucking George into his chest.
George sighed contentedly. There was something infinitely calming about John when he was being gentle like this. George shut his eyes, relaxing into him.
Paul crawled over George, sitting in John’s lap, his legs laying over the pair as he shifted down, sinking his head into John’s chest. His head was right beside George’s. He raised a hand to George’s head, brushing his hair against his forehead soothingly. George opened half an eye to watch Paul doing it, his face softened in a way George had never seen so close, his cheek smushed to John’s chest, allowing himself to be cute for once.
It was magical what they were doing. John and Paul were finally able to be completely calm around each other, and George in turn. Nothing to hide anymore, no pretenses to uphold.
John relaxed into the headboard, sighing as he ruffled George’s hair. “You’re a good kid brother, you know that?”
George smiled softly. “I’m a lot better at my role than you two, anyway.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Paul groaned. “Sorry for being so mean to you.” He set a hand on George’s shoulder. “I love you too, you know. Sorry for never saying it.”
“Hey, where’s mine?” John put a hand in Paul’s hair.
Paul raised his head easily, John’s hand following, and quickly kissed his lips. “I love you. Even in the day and not pissed, off my head.”
John’s smile wavered. “I love you, too.” It took so much out of him to say it.
George, squirming as they had kissed, reached up to hug them close, grateful they had finally worked it out.