Chapter Text
paul knew he shouldn’t have come up.
the stairwell stank of piss and old beer, the air close and hot even with the window open, but john had called him—just paul, not george or ringo—and that meant something. at least, it used to.
he stepped into the room without knocking. john was lying across the bed, shirt open, boots still on, one hand behind his head like he hadn’t been waiting at all.
“shut the door, macca.”
paul obeyed before he could think too much about why. the click of the latch felt louder than it should have. his heart thudded in his chest like it was trying to break loose.
“you alright?” paul asked, forcing his voice level.
“peachy.” john sat up, licking his lower lip, eyes dark and heavy. “you gonna keep standing there like a schoolgirl or come over here?”
“thought you wanted to talk.”
“i never said that.”
john didn’t move at first—just watched him. but it was that look, that fucking look, the one paul had learned to read somewhere between gigs and getting half-hard pressed against each other on stage, sweat and music thick in the air. that look that said i’m not asking. i’m telling you.
paul swallowed.
and then he crossed the room.
john grabbed him by the collar as soon as he was close enough, yanking him down into a kiss that was all teeth and heat and spit. paul kissed back hard, stumbling into john’s lap, knocking his bloody glasses off in the process, not caring. his hands went to john’s chest, the bare skin warm under his palms, and john made a sound that was more growl than moan.
“you’ve been thinking about this,” john muttered against his mouth, “don’t lie.”
paul didn’t answer. he didn’t need to.
john’s fingers curled in paul’s hair, tugging just hard enough to make him gasp. “you always come when i call.”
paul’s breath hitched. “you never ask for anyone else.”
“’cause no one else gets me like you do.”
paul almost said something sentimental—then why don’t you act like it?—but john was already pushing him back, already undoing the buttons on his jeans with that impatient, practiced ease. paul’s head dropped, jaw tight, eyes fluttering shut.
“fuck, lennon—”
john grinned, wicked and familiar. “that’s the plan, sweetheart.”
john pushed paul back onto the mattress, the springs whining underneath them. the room smelled like smoke, sweat, and sex already, like it was soaked into the walls. he straddled paul’s hips, leaned down, and caught his mouth again—harder this time. no hesitation now. their teeth clicked. paul made a needy sound deep in his throat, the kind he never made on stage.
john’s fingers slid down his chest, toying briefly with the waistband of his jeans. “you’re already hard,” he murmured, half a laugh, half a dare.
paul didn’t deny it.
he just bit his lip and arched into the touch.
john made quick work of the denim, tugging them down with a roughness that was almost careless—except it wasn’t. he knew exactly what he was doing. his palm pressed flat against paul’s cock through his briefs, and paul cursed under his breath, jerking into it.
“you’re such a mess for me,” john said, and there was heat in his voice, but also something quieter underneath. possession. pride.
paul reached up, grabbing at john’s hips, nails biting into the sharp line of bone just above his trousers. “then do something about it.”
that got him a slap—light, but firm—right across the thigh.
“bossy little shit,” john muttered, but he was already pulling down paul’s underwear, already getting him out and into the cool air. paul hissed. then john wrapped a hand around him, slow, and paul’s head fell back with a low groan.
“jesus, lennon…”
“that’s not my name.”
paul opened his eyes. “then say yours.”
john grinned. “tell me what you want first.”
paul’s breath was shallow now, his hips twitching upward into john’s fist. “i want you.”
“where?”
“you fucking know where.”
john leaned down, brushing his lips along paul’s jaw. “say it.”
paul’s voice was almost a whisper. “i-inside…”
john’s hand tightened. “good boy.”
he let go then—just long enough to fumble through the drawer by the bed, pulling out a half-used tube of lube and a condom he probably meant to replace weeks ago. paul watched him, breathless, mouth parted, hair clinging to his forehead.
“you sure?” john asked, eyes locking with his. just once, just soft enough to mean it.
paul nodded. “been sure since hamburg started.”
that was all john needed.
he slicked his fingers, eased one inside, then two. paul gritted his teeth, eyes squeezing shut, but he didn’t tell him to stop. didn’t even flinch. by the time john was rolling the condom on, paul was half-gone, fists twisting the sheets.
john lined up, pressed in slow.
paul choked on a gasp, legs spreading wider without thinking. “fuck—”
john leaned over him, panting into his mouth. “you take me so good, baby.”
the rhythm started slow but built fast, like a song they couldn’t stop playing. paul met every thrust, every filthy word. their bodies slapped together, breath tangled, the headboard knocking against the wall. somewhere downstairs, someone was yelling about a pint. neither of them heard it.
john bent to kiss him again, rough and sweet at once. “look at you,” he groaned. “all mine.”
paul’s hands cupped john’s face, eyes wide and glassy. “then take it.”
john did.
paul’s chest was still rising and falling too fast, skin flushed, hair a sweaty halo against the pillow. john had collapsed beside him, one arm thrown across paul’s stomach, fingers splayed like he didn’t want to let go even now.
the room had gone quiet except for their breathing and the distant hum of the street outside.
john shifted first. carefully. he reached over to the nightstand, grabbed a crumpled old t-shirt, and cleaned them both up with a tenderness that surprised even him. he didn’t speak, didn’t joke. just did it, slow and quiet, like something sacred.
paul turned his head, watching him through heavy lashes. “you always this gentle after you ruin someone?”
john snorted. “only the ones who deserve it.”
paul smirked, but it didn’t last. he looked away, jaw twitching like he wanted to say something and didn’t know how.
john noticed.
he always noticed, even if he pretended he didn’t.
“oi,” he said softly, brushing paul’s curls back from his forehead. “you alright?”
paul hesitated. then: “yeah. just… dunno what this is, sometimes.”
john laid back down, pulling the blanket over both of them, his body warm and solid against paul’s side.
“it’s us,” he said finally. “that’s all it’s ever been.”
paul swallowed hard, eyes still on the ceiling. “you’ll still talk to me in the morning?”
“christ, mccartney.” john leaned over, kissed the corner of his mouth. “i’ll probably write a song about you.”
paul chuckled, and it was hoarse but real. “better not be a soppy one.”
“no promises.”
they laid like that for a while. john’s fingers idly traced lines across paul’s stomach, and paul’s hand eventually found his. their fingers laced together like it was nothing, like they’d done it a thousand times.
like they’d do it again.
“you wanna stay the night?” john asked, voice low.
paul didn’t answer. he just tucked his head under john’s chin and pulled the blanket up higher.
john smiled to himself in the dark.
that’s a yes.