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“What would you do if I kissed you?”
Paul and John were very high. John had gotten hold of some pot, and had decided to wait until George and Ringo left before he fished it out of his trouser pocket. John offered to share it with Paul, and Paul gladly accepted.
(In retrospective, that was a horrible idea. Paul should have known that John was up to something whenever he waited until the other two were gone.)
The two of them were splayed out on the scratchy carpet in the recording studio. They were lying in opposite directions, and the tops of their heads were touching, and Paul was humming delightfully.
It was quiet, as it always was whenever they got high together –peacefully quiet until one of the men said something that “broke the ice” - whenever John sat up. Paul opened one eye, to see where John was going. John turned around to face Paul, and Paul opened his other eye and smiled a toothy grin at John. John chuckled and motioned Paul to sit up. Paul did this, and faced John, crossing his legs.
They stared at each other, and Paul took the opportunity to just look at John. He didn’t get the chance do so very much anymore, with all the hub bub going about recently. He remembered the day that he met John, and how he saw an intimidating older boy with a skiffle group and beady eyes. Paul wanted to laugh at his younger self’s ignorance.
The John Lennon sitting in front of him was all but intimidating. Well, to others maybe, but all Paul saw was a twenty-seven year old who still refused to wear his fucking glasses most of the time (but he’d gotten better and Paul was very proud of him, or at least he’d tell John that in a teasing motherly way).
The first thing that Paul noticed was how old John had gotten. The hard work he’d been putting into the Beatles was evident. His posture was getting sagging (which was horribly uncharacteristic) his signature smirk dying, and light bags rested under his eyes. He looked so sad and Paul didn’t know what to do. He knew that things with Cynthia were bad, but surely lovers’ quarrels didn’t cause this much of a shift in John’s demeanor, did it?
Then Paul saw that silly little mustache and chuckle. John didn’t look like John with a mustache. He looked like a train conductor or a squirrel at times. Paul had grown his mustache, too, but it seemed to fall on his face more naturally than it did with John’s.
John was very handsome, and Paul had always known that. How couldn’t he? Birds and blokes alike were always after him, but Paul could see it himself – there was just a natural appeal to John Lennon. Paul had been quite infatuated with John himself whenever he was younger, but he’d grown out if it a bit. The keyword was a bit. Paul still sometimes found himself staring at John for way too long, just admiring him, or he’d daydream about him and John.
Kind of like he was doing right now. But this didn’t count, did it? John was staring back, and they were both high. This was innocent, really.
At least, it was innocent, until the aforementioned question came into the scene.
John had said it rather quickly, and it sounded more like “WhatwouldyoudoifIkissedyou?” But of course Paul had heard it. Paul didn’t process the question for like, twenty seconds, and but Paul did register John’s face dropping. When Paul did finally let the question sink in, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.
“What are you smiling about, son?” John asked, a smirk coming up on his lips.
“You.”
“Specifically?”
“The Great John Lennon faltering under the rejection of Paul McCartney.” Paul laughed, and reached forward and touched John’s clothed shin. John flinched back, so Paul removed his hand, embarrassed. What was he thinking? No one fucking said John wanted to kiss him – John just wanted to know if Paul was a queer. Well, he certainly was not.
“Aye, I’m not faltering. I just thought that you’d thought I was a queer,” John said. Something strange flashed across his face, and he said with a smile, “So you’d reject me then?”
“Huh?”
“If I tried to kiss you, you’d reject me?”
“Well, no one said that,” Paul said, moving his gaze from John.
“You’d let me kiss you then?”
“Shut up!” Paul shouted, throwing his fists down on the floor. He stood up quickly and stared down at John, who was looking at Paul deviously. “No, I would not let you kiss me. That’s queer. I’ll let you know that I like birds and if I did like blokes, I certainly would not go for you, thank you very much.”
Paul crossed his arms and stomped to the other side of the room, flopping onto a spare couch. How dare John have the fucking audacity to read his mind! Paul couldn’t have made it that obvious, could he? Paul was always so good at keeping his thoughts to himself. It was the bloody grass that was doing it to him. Pot always made him too talkative.
“Oh, come on, Paulie,” he heard John say. He looked to John and saw that he was standing up. Once John was up, he put his hands in his pockets and said, “No one said you were queer.”
“Only queers kiss other men,” Paul scoffed.
“That may be true, my dear Paul, but you wouldn’t be kissing me, now would you?”
“But you said-!”
“I said, what would you do if I kissed you?” John said, walking toward Paul. He stood directly in front of Paul and smirked. “No one said anything about you kissing me back.”
“You’re a queer, then, Johnny Boy?” Paul laughed and crossed his legs.
“A right poof, Paul, if you must know. Now, I asked you a question. What would you do if I kissed you?” John bit his lip and raised his eyebrows.
Paul sighed, and let his eyes flutter close. Of course he’d let John kiss him, but he knew that he shouldn’t.
But when he opened his eyes, John was still staring at him with those gorgeous brown eyes, and fuck if he forgot about everybody, including himself, except John.
Paul whined, and whispered, “Why don’t you kiss me and find out?”
John smiled and placed his hands on the back of the sofa and leaned down toward Paul. Paul quite enjoyed the feeling of John above him, overpowering him, and he leaned slightly toward the man in front of him. Paul placed his hands on John’s stomach and he felt the pudgy skin under his fingertips.
“Now, just be still,” John said softly. “Just be –“
John pressed his lips onto Paul’s and Paul squirmed in his seat. Paul stopped himself from kissing back, because this was so wrong. But, God, could John kiss. John’s mouth was cool against Paul’s own heated one. John was good with his tongue and making his mouth move smoothly against Paul’s. Paul had never experienced something so good with anyone. It went on for a moment, and Paul was just going to kiss back when John pulled away.
“What are you doing?” Paul asked in a whining tone.
“I kissed you, and you didn’t do anything,” John asked. “That answers my question.”
“No, come on,” Paul said, pulling at the cloth on John’s shoulders. “Come on, kiss me again. Please.”
“Okay.”
John connected their lips again, and this time Paul was more than happy to kiss back. Paul wrapped his arms around John’s neck and pulled John toward him. John moaned moved his mouth rougher against Paul’s, and Paul giggled at the feeling of their mustaches rubbing against each other. Paul moved so he was lying on his back, and he pulled John on top of him. They kissed for a bit longer, until Paul pulled away to breathe.
It was silent, as it was before, until, again, John broke the silence.
“How was it?”
“It was nice,” Paul said, running his hands over John’s face and hair. “It was great.”
“Good,” John said, kissing Paul’s nose. “I liked it too.”
Paul placed his lips back on John’s and they continued to kiss, hands roaming over skin and their minds forgetting about everything – about their ladies back at home, about the studio workers probably watching them from the booth above them, about how queer it was for them to be kissing. All that went down the drain, and what was important to both of them was the feel of the other one’s lips.
John pulled away and said, “You were the one who kiss me that time.”
“Yeah, I guess I’m a bloody queer,” Paul said.
“You said you wouldn’t go for me,” John said, chuckling.
Paul ran his hands over John’s cheeks and said, “I was lying.”
Paul noticed that John was dozing off, so he pulled John’s head to his chest and kissed his hair.
“We can’t sleep here,” John said, his words slurring. “George and Ringo …”
“Ah, fuck ‘em,” Paul said.
But, John was already asleep. Paul kissed his hair again, and he was beginning to feel sleepy too, so he fell asleep with his lips buried in John’s auburn hair.
-
The next day, when George and Ringo arrived at the studio, they knew something was up.
“Did you see Paul or John’s car out there?” Ringo asked, having noticed that the entrance was free of cars or anything to show sign that the other two Beatles were there.
“No,” George said. “They’re probably tired, they stayed late. Or, maybe they’re still here.”
What they found didn’t shock them, really.
“They’ve been like that all night, haven’t they?” Ringo said, his mouth agape.
“Probably,” George said, chuckling. “They were probably up all night.”
George was reaching for something on the ground as Ringo said, “Who do you think made the first move?”
When George was standing back up, he had a half-joint between his fingers.
“It was John, by the looks of it,” George said, putting the joint between his lips and lighting it. “John always gets high when he’s got something important to say. He probably said something stupid, too.”
“Probably just told Paul he was going to kiss him and Paul just let him,” Ringo said, taking the joint from George. George nodded, smoke leaving his lips. Ringo and George finished the joint and sat there for a while until Paul woke up.
“Good afternoon, Paul,” Ringo said, laughing. “Did you get a bit too riled up last night?”
“Shut up,” Paul said, rubbing his eyes.
“What’s wrong? Did you wake up on the wrong side of Lennon?” Ringo said, making George giggle.
“Ha ha,” Paul said, wrapping his arms around John’s neck and playing with his hair. “Are you two high?”
“Not as high as you were,” George said, grinning. “I imagine John would have to get you drugged up before you’d kiss that mug.”
“John’s face is perfectly fine for kissing,” Paul said, frowning.
“You’d know,” Ringo said.
“Yeah, I would,” Paul said, pushing John off him and sliding out from under him. “Do you have any more pot?”
“We found this on the floor.”
Paul searched through John’s pockets and found another joint.
“Thank God,” Paul said, lighting it up. He woke up John and squeezed next to him on the couch.
“Here you go, Sunshine,” Paul said, handing John the joint. John took a large draw and passed it back.
“They know,” John said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah, we do,” Ringo said, lying on John and Paul’s laps. “We know all about your little escapade.”
“You wish,” John said. “It was hot.”
“You don’t even remember it, do you?” Paul said, smirking and drawing from the joint.
“No,” John said. “Not the details. I know you’re a good kisser, and you’re very grabby.”
“Good,” Paul said, biting his lip. “Now, let me fill you in on the details.”
Paul wrapped an arm around John’s shoulders and pulled him in for another kiss. He heard Ringo groan and say something like ‘not this early, guys’ but Paul didn’t care. He was kissing John, and John was kissing him, and everything else could wait.