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Joe could never decide which was the better warming-up agent, beer or tea. Tonight, he was trying both, but in Paul's little flat - more a cave, really - neither seemed to be keeping the damp London winter at bay. The Clash were in a rare lull between recording and touring, and there was little to do and no money to do it with anyway, so Joe found himself at Paul's, shivering his arse off and listening to the reggae on his ghetto blaster. Paul was standing at the sink, making soft chk-a-chk noises along with U-Roy and cleaning out the saucepans he had used to make their dinner earlier: beans and rice, a bit of Tabasco for flavor, five star all the way.
Food hadn't helped much with the cold either, but it had at least quieted Joe's stomach; a bit of rumbling was good for dub reggae, bad for a bloke who was trying to focus on one discomfort at a time. The chill was all-consuming, even when he retreated to Paul's mattress on the floor and wrapped himself up in what felt like an old U.S. Army-issue blanket, olive drab and scratchy.
"This is no way to live, mate," he mumbled into the coarse material, drawing it around himself until he felt like just a sprout of black hair and tired eyes coming out of a dry, woolen husk.
Paul scoffed. "'Specially for big stars like us," he agreed wryly. He turned off the taps and dried his hands on his shirt front. He covered the short distance to the bog in two long strides and Joe watched his back as he pissed with the door open. Joe was glad he himself had gone earlier, now that he would be unwilling to get out of the blankets even if the building caught on fire.
Paul zipped up and shivered, going to the door to kick at the rug that was jammed against the bottom of the frame to keep out the draft. Joe felt a chill as Paul turned to him, and snuggled deeper into the blanket.
“Room for me under there?”
Joe shook his head and pulled it up to his nose. “Get’cher own.”
Paul narrowed his eyes but sat down on the bed next to him. “Why are you so fucking cold all the time, anyway?” he asked, before sliding a freezing hand under the blanket to cup the back of Joe’s neck.
Joe squirmed away with a yelp. “Fuck off. Why doesn’t your fucking flat have proper heating?”
Paul smirked. “I usually have someone to keep me warm in here.”
Joe blushed as he rolled his eyes. “Pig.” He pulled the blanket in tighter around himself. He didn’t want to let Paul in, he wasn't sure why, but he had a suspicion that that way could lead to danger.
Paul tugged desperately at the blanket. “Please, Joe, I'm fucking dying here.”
“Dramatic,” he huffed, but his resolve was faded. Paul was very close indeed now, both hands clutching at the blanket.
“Why don't you have another one?” Joe grumbled as he finally let Paul in, cringing at the blast of cold air that hit him.
Paul curled up next to him so that Joe could soak up his warmth, but he still shivered when he felt his breath on his shoulder. “I do, actually.”
Joe fought to contain an unmanly squeak. “Bastard,” he muttered, shying away as much as he could, though it left the space between them freezing.
“Joe,” Paul wheedled, apologetic. “Didn't mean nothing.” He paused, drawing the blanket up around his shoulders. “You shoulda seen your face, though.”
Joe relaxed despite himself and settled back against Paul's side. “It was all a con,” he groused. “To get me under here with you.”
Paul didn't say anything, and that worried Joe more than another harmless joke would have. He felt Paul's arm snake around his back to hold him close and his heart hammered alarmingly. They sat there, warming each other up, and Joe was given time to wonder to himself how much Paul knew.
“Why?” he whispered finally, so weak he wasn't sure if Paul could even hear.
“Why what?” Paul whispered back.
Joe wasn't sure why they were being so quiet. After a few moments of gravelike silence, he found that he couldn't answer him. Why do you keep me around? Why do you hold me like this? Why don’t you kiss me?
Paul sighed like he was letting out a puff of smoke. “Fine. I like… us,” he said, tired. “I like what we’ve got. The others… they can't say that. You and Mick can't say that. Me and Mick can't say that.”
“We used to,” interjected Joe, his voice rasping. “We still might. I know you and him still do. We're just… not all getting on so hot at the moment.”
“He's a bastard,” Paul added, but there was no true vitriol behind it, and he seemed to deflate as he settled in against the cool wall and shivered slightly. Joe remembered that he wasn't wearing socks, and reached an arm out to tuck the blanket in closer around his feet. Paul gave an appreciative sigh and let his head rest on Joe’s shoulder, his breath ghosting warm through Joe’s t-shirt.
Joe tucked his arm back into the safety of their little cocoon, and Paul found his hand to twine their fingers together. Joe tried not to let his breath hitch as he whispered, “I don’t want to ruin it.”
“You couldn't,” Paul responded, sleepy but sure. He brought their joined hands up to press his lips against Joe’s knuckles. “G’wan. Try.”
Joe saw the opportunity he was being given to be brave, and he took it, turning his body towards Paul's so that he could kiss him, light and brief and a little breathless. He pulled back just far enough to meet his eyes, saw surprise but also amused approval, and so he surged forward again, kissing him with more confidence and more fear than before. This is real now.
They kissed again and again, careful and slow, Paul reaching up to cup his cheek but otherwise remaining perfectly still, allowing Joe to direct their movements. Lips brushing, breath mingling, hearts pounding, but he kept it light, pulling away so often Paul was beginning to chase his mouth with his own, groaning in frustration when he couldn't deepen their kiss. Joe pressed forward shyly, feeling Paul grin against his lips when he finally opened his mouth a fraction, just enough to let Paul slip inside. Paul's low moan was rewarding, but Joe bristled, unsure, and drew back again with a quiet whimper.
“Whassamatter?” Paul slurred, kiss-drunk.
Joe swallowed and shook his head. He was overwarm now, and Paul was almost too hot to be close to, intoxicating with it. “Can we lie down?” he breathed.
Paul nodded and let Joe go first, following him to the mattress so that he was lying slightly on top, one leg between Joe's knees. He got back into his space, close enough to touch noses. Joe could count his eyelashes and he found it hard to breathe.
“Kiss me?” His throat was dry and Paul's lips looked like a cool drink, and when he dipped down to press them against his, Joe thought nothing could ever be sweeter. Each kiss did little to help though, only made him want more and more until he felt like he was burning a hole through to the floor. Finally he had to tilt his head back and breathe, groaning as Paul attached to his throat instead, tongue pressing against his pulse hotly.
It was very nearly too much, and Joe felt a flush of embarrassment as he realized he was turned on, from just this kissing, and that his body was looking for friction. He tilted his hips toward Paul and his breath stuttered, even worse when Paul pressed his thigh up for him to grind against and he took advantage, arching up to him shamelessly. Paul was moving too, rolling his hips insistently but in no real hurry as Joe writhed beneath him, completely gone.
Desperate to get out of the heat, Joe pushed at Paul's side and got him to lie on his back so that he could be on top, reveling in the way he arched and groaned. Again, Paul gave Joe a thigh to straddle and gripped his hips, guiding him to grind down on him, so good that Joe fell forward, suddenly weak. Paul's hands were molten at his lower back, pushing him along to grind deeper, slowing him down so that his hips shuddered with every roll, wringing sobs out of him as the deep pulses of heat grew closer and closer together, and stronger until it was overwhelming. Paul soothed him with kisses and whispers, but he still cried out when it happened, violent and bucking and burning hot.
He whimpered because he couldn't control it, couldn't stop the shocks and didn't want to. Paul held him throughout, hands tight on his waist, easing him down with deep, slow kisses, returning him to his body. Joe stretched out against him, mewling contentedly into Paul’s mouth, rolling over to pull Paul on top of him. Paul settled between his legs and stroked his sides from armpits to hips, up and down, as he kissed him thoroughly until they both were gasping for air.
Paul pushing him into the mattress with his hips while he moaned underneath, pliant and warm, was like drowning in fire, and all Joe wanted was for Paul to use him, use his body; just the thought made him shiver. He hitched his legs up around Paul's hips and encouraged him with teasing kisses, hoping to spur him on to grind into him properly. Paul seemed to be amenable, pushing into his mouth roughly and growling in frustration as he couldn't get closer than they already were.
Suddenly Joe let his legs fall open and broke their kiss with a ragged breath. Paul slowed in turn, looking up at him quizzically even as he dipped to lap at his jaw, the slide of his tongue making Joe sigh and tip his head back.
“Turn me over,” he breathed, pushing at Paul’s chest to put a fraction of space between them. He felt Paul pause, and he grabbed at his shoulders. “Please.”
Paul complied with a bit of hesitation, and Joe wriggled impatiently, rocking back against him and burying his face in the pillow to muffle a moan. He was fully charged again, still reeling from last time, and now Paul was sitting on the backs of his thighs, grinding idly and smoothing his hands over his back, before running them down to grip his hips snugly. Joe arched for him, and whimpered when he could feel his lips at the back of his neck, followed by a graze of teeth as he pushed against him with a forceful thrust.
Joe nearly sobbed at the feeling of Paul's weight on him as he moved, sending Joe further up the bed with every hard roll of his hips. His hands came up to Joe's shoulders to hold him still, and it was almost too much, the need for Paul’s pleasure greater than even his own. Joe was louder than Paul was when he went still against him, before giving a few final thrusts, all rhythm lost. Joe could feel his shaking breaths, warm on his neck, and arched into him as he pressed his hips down against the backs of his legs.
Heat rippled through Joe's body as he squirmed desperately for Paul, and he whined when he felt him lift off of him, putting entirely too much space between them. He rocked into the mattress, moaning at the loss, but soon Paul's hands were at his back and he was quieting him with soothing sounds.
“Can I turn you back round?” he asked quietly, and Joe nodded, going easily for him as he turned him over. Paul splayed his hands over his stomach and Joe writhed, clutching his hair in his hands and hiding his face.
Paul took his time on his trousers, unzipping them and pushing them down just past his hips. Joe groaned as Paul reached into his underpants and took hold of him firmly, slow, steady strokes while he leaned forward to run his free hand underneath his shirt, palming at his chest roughly.
“God.” Joe thrust up into his hand, Paul holding his upper body still as he kept leaning in, until he was close enough to ghost his lips over Joe's, teasing cruelly so that Joe had to surge up to close the gap, gasping as Paul opened him up with his tongue. Their kiss was haphazard and deep, their noses bumping as Joe drank him down like he had been in the desert, his skin steaming like rain on hot pavement wherever Paul touched him. He soaked Paul up and moaned helplessly into his mouth, all while Paul's hand tugged at him certain and strong, wringing him out until Joe was sweating from the effort. Paul might have been groaning encouragement against his lips, but Joe’s focus was on the heat of his hand, slippery and tight and sure to be so nice to let go into.
Speed was all that mattered as Paul gave up contact with Joe’s lips and growled at him to come on, to give it up to him. Joe arched and breathed deeply, throwing an arm over his eyes as once again he shuddered apart, release flooding out and all effort suspended in favor of relearning how to breathe as he bucked and rolled and groaned, body twisting as Paul milked him and squeezed at his hips.
“Good?” Paul asked, leaning down to kiss his throat, wet and warm. Joe nodded weakly and took him into his arms, bringing him up to kiss him gratefully. He sighed when Paul kissed back down his neck to his chest, before sliding his hands under the small of his back and lifting him up to nose underneath his shirt and press soft, open-mouthed kisses to his stomach.
“You want it off?” he murmured, and Joe quickly agreed, pulling the shirt over his head while Paul followed suit with his own. Paul then hooked his fingers underneath Joe's trousers and looked questioningly at him through his eyelashes. Joe nodded to let himself be undressed all the way. He missed Paul's heat when he got up to shuck off his trousers, but he was back in moments to clean Joe up with his discarded t-shirt, taking his time and kissing back up Joe’s bare chest when he was finished.
Joe felt his entire body flush as they met skin to skin, this touch more intimate than anything they had just done. Paul rolled them so they were side to side, and drew the blanket up to ward off the chill that was creeping back in. Joe had forgotten what it had ever felt like to be cold, and now that he knew where he could go, it was a heavy weight come off.
Paul took him in and kissed him, gently on his swollen lips, and they touched, legs intertwined. Joe tucked his nose into Paul's neck and breathed deep against his skin. He could let Paul protect him now, could feel him there, a shield against the lonely cold and doubt. He could be worried and Paul would hold him; he could be lost and Paul would find him. He could be cold.