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The year was 1989.
It was another night in another hotel. Nearly three decades of this, he was well accustomed to touring.
He had only just arrived, walking through the corridor. He wanted to freshen up in his room before settling in. He had a press conference in just a few.
Though, as he walked, the surroundings felt familiar.
Paul brushed it off. He’d seen so many hotels, a lot of them were the same. Especially the corridors, places people passed through and didn’t spend a second thought on. It was nice enough, but depressing to linger. It was best to just move through.
His eyes grew weary. Maybe he did stay here before. The fans likely knew his life better than him. All the hotels and tours blended together in his mind after so long.
His room must be close.
Though… he hadn’t been paying attention. He felt it should’ve been a shorter walk than this. It was never a long walk, not anymore, not for him.
He wasn’t looking where he was going, in his own mind with things. He was rubbing his eye with two of his fingers, head tilted down, still walking at a healthy pace, just wanting to sit down with things.
That’s when he was quickly taken out of it, harshly and bluntly, his shoulder ran into, a figure carelessly rushing past.
Paul was immediately infuriated, being treated this way. Didn’t the bastard bloody know who he was?
He turned sharply, glaring his eyes blinking open, collecting himself. Albeit he could’ve been the one at fault, he’d give a harsh word to the young man.
“Hey!” He called out.
The other figure slowed, Paul’s eyes still focusing.
The other man only slowed, giving a very brief glance, paying little attention.
“Sorry, mister.”
Paul was about to go off on one, but his voice quickly died in his throat. First from the familiar sound, then the fact his eyes had focused. His limbs felt numb, his chest sank, his mind ringing, staring in dull horror.
He must be hallucinating, it must be an illusion. The only explanation was that he was losing his mind. That, or he was dead.
The hotel seemed different now. It was the same depressing yet ornate corridor, but the atmosphere had shifted drastically.
The other man, who barely spared a glance before, had stalled as well. He was squinting at Paul, silent and contemplative, stopped now. He was just as taken off guard.
The other man rubbed his eyes, still squinting, brow creased. His eyes were not good.
He wet his mouth, then shook his head, rubbing his thick shag of hair.
“Sorry,” he repeated again, voice naturally rough. “Christ, my eyes must really be goin’. Look, sorry then, was in a rush. Don’t go barking at me, jock.”
The man still seemed muddled from the interaction, but seemed all to happy to hurry off.
Paul was able to find his voice.
“Hey!” He called.
The man stopped again, this time more disconcerted, the second time solidifying the voice he heard.
The man turned his head, an annoyed, yet disturbed expression. There seemed to be more recognition than before, when he had hardly looked. He seemed to be at odds with himself, squinting and attempting to recognize the man in front of him.
Paul’s voice sipped out, weak and eerie. He felt like he was slipping from reality.
“John… holy shit.” he said.
His fingers felt numb, his whole body really, his head throbbing.
He must be dreaming, if he wasn't mad. But it felt too vivid. He felt completely awake. Maybe this was death, and he had died somehow. Maybe having slipped on the stairs, caught fire in the lift, hit by a car. Death could come in so many ways, he knew. Maybe this was his passageway to death. But he felt alive, he was breathing, though choked now.
Paul didn’t want to be dead. He still had things he wanted to do, he wanted to see his kids grow up, even though they were close to their way out.
But it was definitely him. It couldn’t have been clearer if it was Paul’s own memory. Hell, it was leagues clearer than that. It was better than any record, his photos and videos, grainy, black and white, distorted with age. This was the very same John, twenty years younger, exactly the same as he was then, in glorious technicolor, only brought down by Paul’s own aging eyes. Paul could still feel where he collided with his shoulder.
This time, he did have John’s attention, could see the frustration on his face, just looking at him.
“Bit old to be a fan, aren’t ya?” He said, an uptilt of snideness. “What’dy want, a lock of hair for your daughter?”
John’s mouth ran, but his eyes were still scanning his face, squinting, scrutinizing. There was something about Paul that put him off (as it should), that kept him standing there, rather than doing the obvious alternative.
That voice was so goddamn familiar. Paul could remember it well. Back before their accents even began to change.
John stepped closer, but was still wary, untrusting. As if he did recognize the man before him, but not quite.
His face came closer, but not too much so, squinting.
His eyes then shot open in shock. He rubbed them in disbelief.
“Fuckin… Jim? ” He said. “Wh- what’re doing here? How did y’even get here? Wha-”
John didn’t seem to fully believe it himself, but was grasping for straws.
Paul frowned, though in truth, he wasn’t so far away from his fathers age back then. At least he had his hair though.
At such a surreal scene, Paul couldn’t be blamed for lacking in tact. It might as well be a dream, where the consequences didn’t matter.
He reached forward, and firmly grabbed John’s face by the jaw, hard enough to squish him, pulling it upward, manhandling and tugging at the mop hair.
He was solid. It was real flesh, even if he gripped horribly tight, it was real hair between his fingers. The spector was corporeal. His skin was warm and the textures were correct.
John was taken by incredulously and shock by the audacity of him, before devolving into his characteristic fury.
He shook Paul off him with an angry shout, shoving him back harshly by the chest. He paced back a couple steps, furiously straightening his clothes and pushing down his hair.
“I’ll have the fuckin’ guard, old man!” He said in a rage. “Won’t have the likes of you roughing me up. You know who I am, don’tcha? Well!”
Paul snapped out of it, before letting the man go. He was surprised more than anything, the roughness in which he was shoved. It’d been a good while since he’d had anyone be physical with him. Too much respect, too much influence. Some anger of his own began to brew.
Paul roughly snatched him back by the arm, keeping him in place by force. Another shout of outrage from John, this time much quicker.
“I said, gerrof!!”
John’s arm shot out, grabbing Paul by the face, nails digging in harshly. Paul shouted in reflex, eyes flying open. Unthinkingly, his body struggled against it.
Though, the tussle had brought their faces closer, and he was looking John in the eye.
Suddenly, and Paul could see it, the hostility, distrust, and lack of recognition melted from John’s face, turning into surprise, then hysterical humor. He began to violently laugh.
“Holy shit!” He said.
John stopped struggling, and he stood up straight, finding the entire thing hilarious.
“It’s you, Paul!” He said, incredulous, seeing him clearly now. “Holy shit, what’ve you got on? That a wig?”
He began to roughly giggle.
“Could hardly recognize ya. Was about’ta pummel’ya.”
John fraternally patted him on the back, detangling from the tussle. However, hands clasped behind his back, he leant in, studying Paul’s face in interest, eyes squinting.
Paul could still feel where he’d been grabbed. He didn’t have time to process.
Yes, it was John. Really John, put in front of him, the same as he was in ‘64. He could touch him, John could touch him.
Paul wanted to process it, but he just couldn’t, staring in horror, acting out of instinct, mind blank. He felt at the brink of crying. He didn’t know if he was happy or sad. He couldn’t even understand what was happening, if this was madness or some sick joke.
“Lord, Paul. You’ve really done yourself up. I’ve just seen’ya!”
His head whipped around, jerking movements.
“You’ve, damn, you’ve changed clothing so quick. That a wig? Where’s your hair gone? Lord, it looks real.”
It happened too quickly, and especially so due to his state, Paul wasn’t able to stop it. John’s hand reached out, very roughly, carelessly, yanking Paul’s shoulder length hair hard enough to nearly yank it out.
Paul immediately cried out at the horrible pain, then yanked off the hand in reflex, making John let go of the lock of hair he was still grabbing.
John seemed equally as upset, not expecting the reaction so quickly, even if Paul was only pretending to mess with him. He looked down at his hand, a couple strands pulled out, slack jawed, then back up at Paul, who was still cringing in pain, the sensation still stinging.
“Fuck it’s on there good.” John muttered to himself, before his mind could react, numbly staring, having lost his humor.
Paul bit his lip, tears having spiked on his eyes, rubbing his head. He would’ve been too proud, especially with John, but it hardly even felt real.
When Paul’s eyes opened, John was stood there, more of a lost look, brows drawn and mouth slack.
“Paul?” He said. “Wh-”
Paul began to get emotional then. It was coming on quicker than his mind was catching up.
He grabbed John by the shoulders, giving him a shake.
“You’re real!” Paul said. “You’re solid, mate!”
He gave John another shake, thrilling in the weight of him, not being maneuvered so easily.
Even if he were dreaming, he’d take a dream. He liked dreaming of his old mate.
Though in dreams, often he was also young. Reliving memories, though warped and inconsistent in narrative.
This time, John didn’t get furious at the rough grabbing, but still seemed uneasy. It seemed he recognized Paul, but that only made his confusion worse.
John grew even more flustered when Paul placed two firm, fraternal kisses on each of his cheeks. The kind italians gave one another, but a way as good as any to convey how happy a reunion it was.
John shoved him away, though this time, a playful roughness.
“What’s happened to ya?” John said, amused. “You’ve found a stylist to make you old and queer?”
Paul began to giggle, covering his mouth with his hand, the other gripping John’s arm in a vice-like grip.
His eyes opened when he felt a finger rubbing, not quite gently, at the side of his eye. John wasn’t smiling now, looking quite perturbed.
“Why’ve you got wrinkles?” He said, disturbed. “This makeup? Why’ve you got lines here? Can see it better up close, Lord, they’ve made you up aged.”
He dropped the playfulness.
“Paul, I’ve just walked out of a room y’were in.” He said. “Y’were wearing somethin’ else, and your face wasn’t even powdered, much less made up. Y’had your hair as it should be.”
Paul’s lightness also dropped.
—
They had gone back to Paul’s room, which apparently was right where it was supposed to be.
The hotel was eerily quiet otherwise. They didn’t see nor hear another soul as they made their way toward it.
They sat side by side on the edge of the bed, in silence, staring forward.
Paul felt a stiffness throughout his whole body. It wasn’t like a dream. Time didn’t pass the way it did in a dream. Everything looked and stayed solid, grounded in reality. That was, except John.
He wouldn’t have believed it either, if Paul were John, but there was no arguing it. Paul was Paul, and clearly not the same Paul John knew.
They sat in silence.
For all the things Paul would’ve thought to say to John if he could’ve seen him again, when put on the spot, nothing came to him.
He felt like he had a headache from the strain of John’s presence. The pressure of it actually happening, not knowing how much time he had, how surreal it was.
John was the one to break the silence.
“Now that you’re forty, does that mean you’ve tried everything?”
That took him off guard, causing Paul to lose some pain.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He said.
John chuckled.
“Well…” he said. “I’ve also heard that life begins at forty, for what it’s worth.”
Paul gave a weak laugh, gaze returning to his clasped hands.
“Well, I think with us, we’ve lived our forty years by twenty-five. Maybe even eighty. Yet it flew by so quick.”
Paul had been so overwhelmed seeing him again, the significance of it. He’d forgotten how natural it really felt, speaking with his mate.
Maybe it was all the others that built it up, the significance of their partnership, some spectacle. Paul had done it himself, really. Maybe to tell the others what they wanted to hear. But in reality, all John had been was his good mate, and that’s all he needed to be.
Paul’s smile dissipated at that. He felt a wrench of something, pain, as if it were fresh again.
“Paul?”
Paul’s eyes shifted to him. They must look hollow.
John was grinning, but there was worry on his features. It was so familiar. John would never fully drop the goon facade in the early days. Only very rarely.
“Lord, Paul. Never thought I’d see y’like this. You seem like some weary, downtrodden, scornful old man.”
Again, Paul was taken off guard. His image of John had really warped and shifted in his head. He wasn’t some martyr or messiah, here to give him wisdom. Especially not when he was younger.
“Happens to everyone, doesn’t it?” Paul said, light. “What did y’expect? Plus, I’ve got kiddies now.”
John’s eyes widened, a mirthful expression.
“Do you now?” He said. “Couldn’t be. Not you. By the same bird?”
Paul chuckled.
“You’d be surprised, John.” He said. “I’ve settled down, proper. Same girl every night for… god, coming up on twenty years.”
John had been teasing before, but his expression turned to pure disbelief.
His voice came hushed.
“No fuckin’ way.” He said, grave. “Couldn’t be you. Y’don’t even fool around on the side?”
Paul felt some pleasure at making John react in this way. Not sure why. Maybe just getting a reaction out of him.
“I don’t.” Paul said, resolute. “Dunno, John, I got it out of my system. Had the wildest bachelor years any man could ask for. No shame in retiring once there was no more to see. I like the married life, really.”
John had some displeasure on his features, his eyes averted.
“Some bird.” He muttered.
John paused, his mouth parted.
“What about me, then?” He said, some firmness. “Y'know how we are. We’ve got our birds, but the group, y’know…”
Paul’s demeanor changed again, no longer as light.
“No group.” He said, bitterly. “Hasn’t been for a while. Y’think it’d go on for thirty years? Shaking our heads, like, singing yeah yeah yeah ?”
That caused John to quiet down, feeling the true gravity.
They really did live for the day back then. It must not be simple being faced with the future.
“Well, Paul…” John said hoarsely, once some time had passed. “Surely, y’still keep me around?”
John paused, then spoke again.
Traced of pleading, trying to pry for the truth.
“C’mon lad, we’re mates aren’t we?” Whatever happened with the group, surely, we’d be the same as we ever were.”
Paul felt a hollowness in his chest.
This John wasn’t the same as the one he knew. 1964… they were so close. It was impossible to imagine anything else at the time.
Paul made a tight smile. He nodded at John.
“Course.” he said.
If it wasn’t some delusion, and it was truly his mate from years and years ago, so young still, he’d rather tell a pleasing lie.
What good would the truth do? Why not have John believe it would end well? He would find out in time how it really was. Paul would rather believe the former himself, and have this John believe.
It did seem to placate John, returning to a light demeanor.
“How am I then?” John said. “Have I been beaten down by a broad like you have? With the kiddies? Am I an old man, then?”
Paul scoffed.
“It’s not as bad as it’s made out to be.” Paul said. “Told you, I like it. Y’know, it’s much less hassle. I get laid anytime I want, and I don’t have to go out. Clubs, you know. The whole point of them is negated once you’re married.
John muttered.
“Same girl every night, though.” He said. “No fun in that. Same tits, same cunt. Thought you enjoyed the variety, Paul.”
Paul didn’t gratify that with a response. He had no clue why John was getting so hung up on this.
He shut his eyes, turning his head away in contempt. Somehow, John was getting on his nerves again, just like he used to. That was the thing about memory, you viewed it through rose tinted glasses. It wouldn’t be so sentimental, a reunion with John. At least, not this John.
Paul felt a hand on his shoulder. The same insistent grip, so familiar of a touch.
“Do we still write together, Paulie?” John pressed. “Even without the group, surely? Or are we too old for rock n’ roll? We’ve gone out, like.”
“I do well.” Paul said, aloof. “I’m on tour right now, in fact. People come to see me, lots of them. Haven’t lost my relevance. The older ones bring their kids, but I get all sorts.”
John seemed unimpressed with the gloating, looking at him wryly.
“Good for you, then.” He said. “Not surprised your little love songs haven’t gone out. They don’t tend to, inoffensive little ditties.”
Oh, he should’ve known bragging wouldn’t work on John.
Paul stood up, huffy. He’d built it up in his head all these years, but John was the same as he ever was. What did he expect, really? John wasn’t some angel. He wasn’t the devil sometimes made out to be, but he was certainly no angel.
“Awr, I’m only teasing, Paulie.” John crooned from the bed.
Paul shot him a look, pacing back and forth in the room.
“Didn’t intend to upset the old bint. Hate to see an old broad worked up.
Paul let out a shout of exasperation, shutting him up.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” He said. “You get to stay young, but I get to age. Fuckin’ look at me, John. Fucking fine, I’ve aged. I’m forty fucking seven. That’s how time bloody works. I’m gonna keep aging, and aging, but you’ll stay fuckin’ just like that.”
Paul was breathing heavy once he’d stopped.
John’s eyes were squinting. Maybe his nearsightedness, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him.
“Ey?” John said.
Paul was pacing again, sucking one of his fingers. His eyes were blurring, getting watery. It was catching up with him, all of this. He must be losing his mind, hallucinating or some sort. He was probably shouting to himself, alone in a hotel room, losing his mind. This was the end of him, if he wasn’t already dead. His breaths were shallow, his head spinning.
“Hoy, Paul.”
That rough gravelly voice was all too familiar. Before their accents changed much, just in the beginning of their fame. It was all too jarring to hear. Paul felt as if he’d faint, but he kept pacing, his vision going blurry, sucking his thumb nail.
Paul felt a firm hand grab onto his arm, stopping him.
“The fuck’s happened to’ya?” John said. “Would you stop that?”
John was harsh, but in his expression, he seemed genuinely concerned. That’s all he knew to do back then, Paul figured.
Paul stared at him, eyes wide and blank. He must look scared, and in a way, he was. His fingertips came to his head, pressing against the sides of his temples.
He felt so old, with how young John was. It was easy to forget, but being faced with it, he just felt so old.
Paul’s mouth curled, beginning to chuckle. It was just absurd.
“I’ve aged, haven’t I?” Paul muttered. “That’s how you see me, isn’t it? An old bint.”
This seemed to take John aback, not what he’d been expecting to hear. He gave Paul a strange look.
“What?” John said.
Paul shook his head, eyes falling shut, only weary now.
“Every year I get older.” He murmured. “I’m older than you are, John. Don’t you think that’s fucked. You’re supposed to be older than I am, but you’re not. Not anymore.”
John stayed silent, looking at him fixedly. His mouth parted, showing his chipped teeth.
“Paul?” John said.
He met John’s eyes, lidding them. Paul looked grim, but stayed silent.
John’s brows furrowed. He took on a more sympathetic tone.
“Oh, Paulie.” He said, voice thick and earnest. “I don’t mean it, love.”
He rubbed Paul’s shoulders, fraternal and firm.
“Think you’ve aged well, mate. Suppose I should’ve known it’d be hard on you, your pretty face and all. But I wouldn’t worry.”
Paul’s brows raised. He wanted to laugh, if this whole thing wasn’t so strange. Course John would construe it as such, Paul being insecure, with the information he was given. He was, sure, not what he used to be, which took its own toll, but that wasn’t the matter at hand.
“What?” Paul said, voice thin, his mouth curling.
John averted his eyes. He cleared his throat.
“Well, course you’re not gonna look the same twenty years on, but all things considered…”
Paul only blinked at him, meeting John’s squinting eyes.
“Yer hair’s longer.” He said.
Paul’s eyes followed the movement, John pinched some of Paul’s hair between his fingers, feeling it. All the touches were a bit rough, though Paul was familiar with it.
He winced when John gave it a slight tug.
“Ey…” He griped, his scalp still sore from before.
John was chuckling, hearty.
“It’s real, then.” He said. “The color’s lighter, though. You’ve gone gray, son. But it’s nice long, gotta say.”
John’s eyebrows raised, voice lighter.
“D’you look like a girl from the back? Turn round, Paul.”
Paul had been apprehensively flattered, but drew the line here, narrowing his eyes, teeth gritted.
“Not with the shoulders, maybe.” John muttered to himself, paying no mind to Paul’s demeanor, the hand on Paul’s arm tugging at it.
Paul shook out of the grip, glowering at him.
“I’m only teasing, Paul!” John snipped, annoyed. “Lord, I must’ve gone soft or something if this’s enough to set you off.”
Paul rubbed his jaw, looking huffily. John didn’t reciprocate.
“Y’know, Paul.” John continued. “How you’ve said you’ve done everything, now that you’re forty and married.”
“What about it?” Paul said.
John smiled wide, now meeting his eyes.
“Have you let me fuck’ya yet?”
Paul recoiled. His eyes shot open, face contorting in shot. His heart jumped out of his chest.
“What?!”
He must sound like a scandalized woman, but damn well felt like one.
John seemed disgruntled by Paul’s reaction, but not embarrassed in the slightest.
“Well,” John began.
“”Fucking Christ, John, what sort of question is that?!”
John looked offended, if anything.
“Well, lord, Paul. It’s a simple question.” He said.
Paul faltered, beyond words, outraged. That was the last thing he expected to hear.
“Fucking hell!” Paul said. “A simple question?! Of all things you could ask, that’s what you thought of? Why in God’s name would… what, you expected it to happen?!”
John’s expression was unbothered, his eyes narrowed.
“Oh, calm down, Mum.” He muttered. “You said it yourself, you settled down after doing it all. Is it so outrageous? It was bound to happen, wasn’t it? The two of us. Well, I did think. If you’d done everything else, why not this? I always thought it’d happen eventually. Just to try it, y’know.”
John shrugged.
“Hasn’t everyone been curious as to what it’d be like with a man?” He said. “And between us, too. Seems obvious, really. What else would it resolve in? Everything surrounding us. Bet they already think we’re fuckin.”
Paul was at a loss for words. For him, this recontextualizing everything he thought he knew was an understatement. He looked at his old mate in bewilderment.
“Fucking hell, John.” Paul said, tight. “You’re still full of surprises, aren’t you.”
Hell, this was not how he expected their reunion to go, no matter how unlikely that reunion was.
“Lord, Paul. Didn’t mean to upset you.” John said, defensively. “Just thought, y’know, in thirty years…”
Paul suddenly felt self conscious in his body, even if it was older than the one this John knew, thinking John could think of such a thing, imagining Paul in that sort of way, even looking at him now.
Paul’s face felt hot.
“Well…” Paul said, unsteady. “What, are you… is that something you wanted to do?”
“Not necessarily.” John said plainly. “But sure. Why not? You’ve always been easy on the eyes, haven’t you?”
He shook his head, losing momentum.
“But if it hasn’t happened, y’know, suppose that’s how it is.”
Paul’s mouth scrunched. He moved to sit on the bed, face blank, processing.
John was sympathetic again.
“Well, sorry Paul.” He said. “Thought you’d be less prudish, really. From what I know about you, you’d fuck a tree if it had a suitable opening. Didn’t think it’d put you in such a mood. Don’t mean anything by it, love, just thought it would’ve happened is all. Little surprised it didn’t.”
Paul’s mouth was slack. He shook his head in disbelief.
“What?” He said. “You’re saying you wanted to have sex with me? You would’ve done it if the opportunity arised?”
John’s eyes drifted up, thoughtful.
“Well,” he said. “Dunno if wanted is the right word. More so… thought it was bound to happen, y’know. The two of us.”
Paul’s mind was racing.
In a way, he was beginning to comprehend where John was coming from. It just didn’t cross his mind all these years.
John’s voice got growly, lowered, almost seductive.
He came closer to Paul, also on the bed, infringing on his personal space. He did before, long ago, those years ago, but this felt different, as Paul could clearly see the edge it had always had. Too close for comfort.
“Well, there’s a time for everything, isn’t there?” John said.
Paul’s nerves crept, his face feeling clammy, rather jittery now. He began to chuckle weakly, a nervous reaction he sometimes had.
This only prompted John to rub a finger along Paul’s cheek, as if itching him, but with the pad of his finger. Then Paul’s neck.
Paul’s reaction was to draw into his shoulders, squeaking in reflex. This only caused John to chuckle darkly, as if endeared.
John’s voice was thick, as if Paul really was some broad he was putting the moves on. Not quite the level of deception, as it was Paul, who knew all his tricks.
“Better me than him.” John said, in mockery of his older self. “What’s he now? Fifty? Bet the old monk can’t even get it up. He wouldn’t be able to do it properly, even if you gave him a chance. You’re lucky fate’s brought me here. That’s what y’deserve, isn’t it, pretty old thing. We’ve been given a cosmic chance here, son, to put things right.”
“Hey now, John.” Paul said, shakily and incredulous. “You’re really something, aren’t you?”
John’s filthy grin grew wider, as if expecting reciprocation.
When he moved closer, Paul leant away. However, that didn’t stop him from grabbing a fistful of Paul’s chest.
Paul grabbed his wrist, quite harshly at that. He slapped John across the face, snapping at him.
“Really, mate!” Paul said, angry. “Some cosmic mistake has happened, putting y’in front of me here and now, a chance to see y’again, and you’re takin the piss outta me, just cause I’m a poor old man, isn’t it?”
John’s expression twisted in offense, holding his cheek, face burning.
“Should’ve known you’d be fuckin’ tempermental.” John huffed, indignant. “Age hasn’t mellowed you out a smidge, has it?”
Paul rubbed his head, still blindsided, some frustration.
“What, you really want to f’me? You want to fuck this old body of mine? That’s what you’re saying? What you’re tryin’ at?!”
John stared, blank.
Paul was entirely frustrated by him. Not only this whole situation, but how young John was. John would always look like this. Either this, or his later image, with the bottle cap glasses and long hair, a hippie Scouse jesus figure, dying for your sins. John would never age, have his hair go white, fall out, his skin sag and senses fade.
He’d always be like this in Paul’s memory, even more so than when he was older. This was the John he’d known.
In most of his memory, this was John. Stocky and grating, short sighted and aggressive. Same head full of auburn hair, sharp nose and chipped tooth, strong features.
“Yeh.” John said, short.
Paul groaned, rubbing his eyes. He would never get through to this thick headed nit-
Then Paul realized something.
His irritation melted from his features. It was all so obvious.
It had been a while, it really had been. But Paul wasn’t some fool who dealt with them from the outside in. He was himself, for God’s sake. He knew how to act in opposition to John. Lennon-McCartney and all that, the gruesome twosome. He was letting John get to him as if he really were some old man they were both driving mad, like in the old days. He’d gone soft.
Paul had to play along, that’s what he did. If he wasn’t playing along, then he’d be left behind in the gag, rendering him the fool.
It had just been a long time, that’s all.
He was in on it now.
Paul began to giggle, his nose scrunching. He covered his mouth with his hand.
“Right…” He said, wry. “Right, you’re gonna fuck me then, aren’t you John. Cause you’re better than the fifty year old version, is that it? Cause you can’t get it up today, y’had to come from twenty years back to get the job done?”
John’s mood turned back around, seemingly forgotten the blow. He nodded, chuffed.
“That’s right.” he said.
Paul began to giggle more.
He ought to feel embarrassed, forty-seven years old, father of four, giggling at the thought of his dead mate buggering him.
“Should I undress, then?” Paul crooned. “Or do you want to do the honors?”
Paul toyed with the collar of his shirt, teasing at the top button at his neck.
John looked as if he were salivating, he nodded jerkily.
“How about y’start.” he said, thick.
Paul nodded, playing along.
He stood up, a pace away from the bed, far enough for it to seem like a show.
He put on a feminine sultry expression, surely comical on his old face. Paul began to tug off his shirt buttons, teasingly and painfully slowly.
Paul averted his eyes, flitting downward, being coy. He teased only slivers of his skin at a time. He swayed his hips slowly, side to side, naturally as he moved.
When Paul heard a groan from the bed, his eyes did reflexively look up, a dazed look, lips parted, still emulating something seductive as a gag.
Paul’s breath hitched, going stiff when he saw John wasn’t sitting on the bed, stifling giggles.
John was reclined, watching Paul moonily, palming at the insistent stiffy he was sporting in his trousers, encouraging it.
Paul jumped, like a woman scandalized, eyes going wide.
“Keep going.” John muttered, thickly, his eyes narrowed, watching Paul intently. His hand didn’t stall the self-gratification.
Paul was at a loss for words, and balked.
And yet… he did as John said.
He didn’t know why himself, but having started it, the encouragement, kept unbuttoning his shirt.
John grinned, not subtle in the way he stared.
He squeezed himself. He was in a state of arousal. It couldn’t be faked, could it?
“Just like that.” John said, rich. “C’mon, Macca. Trousers too.”
Paul was hit with another wave of insecurity.
Not that he disliked the way he looked. His wife loved it, and told him so. That he was pretty still, her sweet boy. (Hell, he loved his wife. Was he being unfaithful? No… she would understand. What John had meant to him. He would’ve allowed her the same, if she had some equivalent. He wouldn’t love it, but he would understand…) The press were just as flattering, his fans were still as passionate as ever (though nothing could compare to the madness of the early days).
Maybe it was that it was John, specifically this John. Of course, Paul was less than shy around him in the old days. It was a non-issue in fact. Nudity was nothing to them, not after what they went through. And it was sexless, changing clothing, if they caught a glimpse of flesh, it was nothing erotic. John might jab at his pigeon chest, but it was nothing to him, Paul would jab back.
Maybe it was that John could see more clearly than anyone else how he’d aged. Everyone else, they had aged along with him. John this young, in fact, younger than his eldest daughter (fucking hell). John could likely see Paul’s younger body very fresh in his mind, then see exactly how Paul had aged.
Paul dropped the facade, even if it hadn’t been on in the first place on John’s end.
Paul’s shirt was undone, but he pulled it shut, looking away.
“No.” he said, his voice small.
John seemed irked.
“Lord, Paul.” He said. “What’s wrong with you? Are y’the same lad? You’d think I’m courting some vicar’s daughter.”
At Paul’s sorry expression, John’s demeanor softened.
Though Paul knew better. This was all his seductive act. Paul had his own, though seldom used as of late, married life and all.
John smoothed down the bedsheet beside him, though it was already made.
Paul didn’t know why he was listening to John. Maybe it was getting overwhelming, the longer he was with his old mate, so surreal and young, having walked right out of his memory.
When Paul sat down, he was melancholic, looking down. He hugged himself, even with John mocking him about being a frigid virgin.
“C’mere, then.” John purred.
Paul felt his body tugged. Even if he was heavy, there was some ease working with gravity, he was pulled onto John’s lap.
Lord, he felt like a broad, but Paul made no move to stop it, even if he could’ve. He let it happen, unsure why. He had no clue why John was so intent on such a thing. John certainly had many chances over the years if he wanted Paul in bed. Paul had no inclination that John had any intention toward him that wasn’t brotherly. This was all coming from left field.
Sure enough, though, Paul could feel John’s stiffy, the kind you got as a younger man, quick and firm, pressing insistently against his own clothed prick.
“Ugh…”
Paul let out a groan, some fogginess in the mind.
Maybe that’s why he was going along with this. It had been so long since he’d see his mate. Speaking alone wasn’t enough to make up for all the time he had lost. Only something like sex was enough to make use of however much time they had together, the intensity of that connection.
Maybe that’s what John was getting at. More than just sexual desire, it was inevitable that they’d consummate their partnership in such a way, what they were to each other and society as a whole. Lennon-McCartney. They had to consummate their pseudo marriage. It made sense now.
Maybe that’s why John was brought to him. It had to be done. They couldn’t have it left undone.
Paul felt John’s damp mouth on his neck. John was mouthing him there, Paul could feel his lips, his teeth, even the chip dragging against his skin. Paul shivered beneath it.
John was grasping at his back, pulling the fabric, insistent as if Paul were some timid broad.
Paul’s arms rested over John’s shoulders. There was something soothing in being fussed over like a broad.
It didn’t quite pop up like it used to (though sometimes it still did) but Paul’s groin had begun to stir at the sexual attention.
John was getting even further worked up by this, beginning to rub against him like a randy dog. They were both restrained by their trousers. John groaned under his breath, successful in tugging off Paul’s dress shirt, now crumpled.
John pushed forward with his hips.
When he pulled back, Paul was able to look him in the eye. Frankly, John looked possessed.
“You’ve got an awful sultry look, Paul.” John said hungrily. “Makes me want to fuck holes in yer body.”
Paul had his eyes lidded, likely that pushed out lip expression he took from time to time.
Paul gasped when he was pushed back, being taken off guard. John climbed atop him before Paul realized it’d happened.
John began to nip down his body, from neck to chest. Proper nipping, biting him!
“Ouch- ouch John!” Paul griped.
His skin was more sensitive than before, for God’s sake… he’d bruise more easily.
John giggled, squeezing the flesh on his hip.
“Oh, Christ, Paul.” John groaned, thick. “You’ve really aged beautifully, I’ve got to say.”
Paul scoffed.
“Right.” he said, curt, somewhat bitterly. “For all your mockery.”
John slowly ran his hand over Paul’s hip, up his side. He chuckled apologetically, though his eyes were narrowed.
“Y’know I don’t mean it, darling.” John grumbled. “I was just teasing, Paulie. Lord, think I like you even better like this.”
John squeezed at Paul’s side. Paul shivered, but somewhat out of embarrassment, attention being drawn to his softness.
“Really, Paul, like fine wine.” John said. “You’re all elegant now, the long hair… was always pretty, but it’s done you wonders.”
It seemed genuine. Paul didn’t know how to respond.
Paul felt his trousers being tugged down impatiently, then hands fiddling with his belt.
“God, they’ve gotten baggier again.” John muttered. “Wasn’t it you tightening them under your dad’s nose? What’s all that strife for, then?”
Paul grumbled, head rolling to the side.
“Too old for them to be starin’ at me legs, isn’t it.”
John shook his head, muttering something Paul couldn’t make out, even if he did pay attention.
Paul didn’t want to feel like a dead fish, and impatient, so he shoved off John’s hands, tugging his own trousers off himself.
John’s eyes widened, salivating. He didn’t wait for Paul, tugging off his socks, then pants, and quickly, without warning, grabbing onto Paul’s sensitive bits, making him yelp.
“Christ!” Paul winced. “ Gently, John!”
John was apologetic, murmuring grovelling pleasantries like Paul were a little dog. His touch lightened, but still squeezed gently.
“Sorry, Paul.” He said. “Sorry, there.”
Paul was getting there, half hard. He felt put on the spot, John’s staring, yet funnily enough, it caused more blood to flow below. Paul already knew eyes on him made it go up faster in any scenario.
John was playing with it, looking over Paul’s genital as if it were a shiny new toy, almost forgetting about his own arousal. He tugged at Paul’s shaft, prompting a reluctant moan, John’s other hand closing around Paul’s scrotum, perhaps testing to see how hard until it’d hurt him. Maybe he wanted to see Paul squirm.
His fingers stroked through Paul’s pubic hair.
“It’s gone light, Paul.” John said, pleasant and inquisitive. “Shame, y’had such a formidable mass of dark stuff, didn’t ya.”
Paul’s body shivered at the intimate touches. Though John wasn’t being quite erotic with it, looking and feeling him up like it was a bit of fun. Paul wished he’d take more care.
Though, he didn’t mind the hands on him.
John’s palm reached out, squeezing at the softness of Paul’s squished stomach, groaning under his breath.
This made Paul cringe, feeling insecure. He pushed John’s hand off.
Paul had never felt particularly masculine, but he wasn’t as lithe as he would’ve liked anymore. He didn’t care for John accentuating that fact.
“Don’t, John.” He said.
John blinked, mouth tightening, but he withdrew his hand.
“I like’it.” John muttered.
He diverted his attention, moving lower down Paul’s body. He pushed up one of Paul’s thighs, causing Paul’s legs to widen. John squeezed the flesh of his thighs. Paul groaned, his head tilting to the side.
Paul’s heart jumped when John’s head dipped, feeling the damp, warm softness of a mouth on his prick. He moaned, heartily, it taking him off guard.
“Gettin stiff now, Paul.”
John hadn’t done this before, clearly, but it was a decent effort. He sucked at the side of it, kitten licks, then began to suck under the head.
Paul felt the familiar warmth pool in his abdomen, pleasurable sensation. Well, he hadn’t expected John to take an active role in pleasuring him like this (or pleasuring him at all).
John had a hand gripping his balls again, thumb stroking Paul’s perineal raphe. Paul’s arousal began to build, and it was sufficient to say he’d some to full mast, though obviously it’d take longer for him than the 23 year old John.
Paul would’ve never thought John would do such a thing to him, but here he was, doing it. His teeth grazed against Paul’s sensitive flesh, imperfect technique, but it only shot sparks of pleasure up his hips.
When Paul felt his head enveloped by John’s warm wet mouth, he reflexively thrust forward, causing John to sputter and shout, pulling off. He slapped Paul on the thigh, causing Paul also to start.
John raised to a kneel, beginning to work on his own zip.
“Well, that’s enough sweet stuff, Paulie.” He said, pleased and rough. “Think it’s time for us to consummate.”
He said it so matter of fact. But Paul’s eyes widened at the position. His own leg was rested on John’s shoulder, and John was pressing his cotton-covered hard-on into the crease of Paul’s ass.
“Woah, wait, hold on there!” Paul rushed out, then irritated. “Y’don’t mean to… I have to be the one to be fucked?”
This reflected onto John.
“Well, yes.” he said, plainly. “That’s what I said, love.”
Paul scoffed.
“Now, why should it be you?” He said.
John seemed to take great amusement to this. He gave a grating laugh.
“C’mon, y’should’ve expected as much.” He said. “Y’know how it is! I mean, c’mon. Between the two of us. Of course it’d be you.”
Paul took great offense. He drew his legs in, making a less clear trajectory for John, even restrained in his cotton y-fronts.
“I’m the taller between us!” Paul said, indignant. “And I’m older, too.”
John laughed to himself.
“I’m older, son.” He said. “Doesn’t matter how old y’are. Was born two years before you did. I’m two years older, always will be.”
Paul frowned. He couldn’t think of a rebuttal to that. He gritted his teeth, narrowing his eyes.
“Well, it’s not enough to toss each other off.” John reasoned. “Don’t you think, la? We’ve got to properly consummate, given we do anything at all.”
“Why’s it gotta be me, then?” Paul muttered.
John looked at him, sympathetic.
“I’m not a bloody woman, John!” Paul huffed. “No matter what they say about me! I’ve got my manhood, and it works! I’ve got four kids, John, like I’ve said. I’m man enough to knock up m’wife time and time again.”
John let out a breath, easing off of Paul.
“How about we play for it?” John said. “Paper Scissors Stone?”
It felt odd to do with your willy out and stiff, but Paul sat up, his left hand in a fist.
Not as if he had a better solution.
“Paper… scissors… stone…”
Paul had made a fist, and so had John.
“Again.” Paul said.
“Paper… scissors… stone…”
Paul had done paper. John had also done paper.
“Again.” Paul said.
He bit his lip. He was losing wood, anyway.
“Paper… scissors… stone…”
Paul had done scissors. John had done stone again. He hit Paul’s scissors with his fist.
“Ha, got you then.” John said, satisfied. “Lie back then, Paulie.”
Paul glowered at him.
“C’mon, Paul.” John said, pacifying. “M’not gonna go at it like you’re any old broad. I’ll be good. I’ll be gentle.”
This wasn’t new territory for them. They’d both fucked girls the back way, even if it wasn’t their preferred route (no alternative now). They knew how to go about it.
Paul hesitantly laid back, shutting his eyes. He spread his legs.
It was only John. For all his faults, he knew John wouldn’t hurt him. Not on purpose, not physically. Especially not like this. Paul was putting his trust in him.
He felt hands on his thighs, pushing them up. He heard John spit, some slick fingers prodding him. He tried to relax.
“Look at me, Paul.”
It was a cloying voice, not often heard from his mate. Paul did so.
“What?” He said.
“C’mon, Paul. We’re consummating our partnership. Look me in the eye like we’re lovers, won’t you.”
Paul found humor in this, but indulged him, softening his gaze.
He didn’t feel old anymore. His body didn’t feel as young as he used to, but it didn’t feel so strange. It might as well have been 1964, him here with John.
It was difficult to look him in the eye, doing something so intimate, but John’s eyes were fixed on his face, breathing shallow breaths.
Paul could feel the blunt head prodding his entrance. His features tensed. There was a time for everything, he supposed. He had done a lot when he sowed his wild oats, but he’d never been fucked by a man. But if he was going to, it made sense that it would be John. He couldn’t think of a better partner.
John slid inside him, Paul sufficiently relaxed.
Paul’s eyes fluttered open, being surprised by the sensation.
There was something inside him, an organ, alive and twitching. It really did feel like a connection, John’s hips flush with his.
Paul let out a breath, allowing himself to adjust.
Paul’s eyes were shut, but he felt something he didn’t expect. A soft touch on his cheek, almost a reverent one.
John lived up to his promise, gently moving to begin with.
Paul opened his eyes. One of John’s hands gripped his hip, the other braced on the bed. John’s stomach brushed his.
“Alright, Paul?”
Paul made a tight smile. He nodded.
John grinned back.
“Can’y believe it?” He said. “I’m inside you, Paul. Isn’t that gear?”
Paul murmured and shifted, feeling it throb inside him, hot and heavy, and insistently solid. It wasn’t a dream, John wasn’t going anywhere.
Paul lazily reached up, resting his arms on John’s back for stability. He let out a breath.
“Ooh… you’re just so soft inside, Paul. Y’have no idea. Just perfect. So warm, too.”
John begun to fuck him, carefully, but with his characteristic harshness.
“Ah, Paul…” He groaned. He squeezed Paul’s thigh tighter. “Y’feel so nice.”
There was some pleasure to the friction, but he needed sensation on his prick. Paul reached his hand down, squeezing. He had lost some stiffness, but was still in a state of arousal.
“Ah, Paul…”
Paul felt hot breath on his neck, mouthing. Paul’s nails dug into the fabric over John’s back.
Paul shivered when he felt the sensation of a tongue against his sensitive skin, on his neck. John had begun to pick up speed at no discomfort so far on Paul’s end.
“Y’look good like this, Paul.” John muttered. “Y’look good, all mature-like.”
Paul felt color on his face. Even coming from John, flattery had an affect on him.
Hell, especially John. He would never compliment him. Jab at him, more like.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. When he thought back on it, John never ceased commenting on his appearance. Not always positive, sometimes innocuous or teasing, but John always paid mind.
It was the same John from his memories. He could only reminisce before. Now his heated, damp body pressed against Paul, buried inside him, being pleasured by his body.
Even if they consummate their partnership in this way, Paul wouldn’t have expected John to be so amorous, touching him like this, mouth all over his neck.
It felt like they were a honeymoon couple, Paul’s legs wrapped around him.
“Y’would’ve been too proud to let me do this back then, wouldn't you…”
“Eh?” Paul said.
He felt John’s nose rubbing his damp neck.
It was more loving than Paul would’ve expected. Maybe it was because Paul was old and delicate. John could be rough when he fucked, Paul knew that much. It was passionate, though, this.
John raised up, looking down at Paul, looking over him, as if admiring his features. His hips moved firmly with each thrust, and had begun to perspire, looking his characteristic mad self, panting like a dog. Paul kept tossing himself off, the buggering still doing something for him too, a pleasurable buzz in his abdomen.
“Yeah, Paul, jerk your prick, just like that.” John said. “God, Paul, you’re a treat.”
Paul could feel the sheet beneath him, grounding him. It was surreal, seeing John again, above him like this.
Even if it was an odd way of doing it, it was nice having John with him again, gazing at him dearly like this.
John’s breaths were getting ragged. He was grabbing all over Paul’s body, gripping the flesh, eyes darting all over his form, pupils blown.
He lowered himself, taking Paul’s mouth. It was heated and wet, furious too.
Paul was taken aback, his eyes opening. Even with the sex, kissing seemed like a different extent to take it. John was fucking him quite roughly now, the bed creaking on it’s posts.
It had become second nature. Paul began to push back, seeking his own pleasure. It felt raw, and primal, as if they really were becoming one flesh.
Paul clutched him in return. John was so young, so virile, as Paul remembered him so long ago. It was difficult to keep up with, but he let go, enjoying the pleasure.
Paul felt John’s hand grab at his own fisting his prick, forcefully pushing it off and taking over.
“John, wha-”
John chuckled.
“Let me, let me…”
Paul hadn’t expected John to take such an aggressive role, even if he had to be the one fucked.
It fell into a rhythm, rocking back and forth. If any sound slipped through, it seemed to meld together, just like their songs.
Paul’s mouth was slack, taking heavy breaths. The hand tossing him off was equal to the speed of the fucking, and he let himself be lost in it, blurrily looking up at his old mate.
Time seemed to fold into itself, the thrusting and groaning.
The voice was coarse as it called for him.
“Paul… Paul… Paul…”
Paul’s face was being peppered with kisses. They weren’t tender ones, but like the sharp snap of a rubber band. The hand gripping Paul’s thigh had its nails dug in.
He felt John’s movements get jerkier, more erratic. His hips stuttered, and Paul felt warmth leaking into him, John groaning in rich pleasure, the hand on Paul’s thigh gripping it white.
Paul felt some indignance, realising what had happened, the prick pulsing inside him. Maybe John didn't take it into account, but it took Paul a little longer to reach orgasm than it used to.
John pulled out, his prick softening. He chuckled apologetically. His hand was still gripping Paul’s prick, rubbing the head in pleasing circles. Paul had only just begun to leak, John smearing the fluid.
“I’ll be back up, Paulie. You know me.” He muttered. “I jus’ couldn’t help meself. We’re on opposing playing fields, son.”
Rather than lose interest once reaching his own release, John began indulging more in Paul.
Paul felt some disgust at the strange sensation. John began to lick him, actually lick his skin, down his chest.
“Ooh-”
Paul enjoyed having his chest stimulated or sucked. He’d come around to it over the years, the pleasure he got from the attention. John was sucking quite insistently.
John had begun to groan as well, somehow enjoying it on his end also.
Paul rolled his hips.
He let John have his fun, sucking and licking most of his body. Paul had gotten over his shyness by now. No room for that when they were consummating.
Of course he wouldn’t be shy. This was John, he knew John better than anybody, and John knew him.
Soon, John was hard again, and shoved back in. Paul had already been fucked, and it was a nice easy slide.
“Ugh, Paul-” John groaned, impassioned.
John began to fuck him, and by this point, Paul was close. He began to rut against John’s clothed stomach, well damp from sweat, the damp fabric an interesting texture, becoming addicting, Paul chasing his release.
“Oh lord, John.” Paul blithered. “Keep goin’ like tha-”
John seemed uncannily enthused at the thought of being the one to get Paul off. His wide grin showed his chipped tooth, his eyes piercing.
“Is that so?” John said, voice raised. “Oh yes, Paul, go on then. Let me see.”
Paul was making short “ah” sounds, desperate to get his release after being denied before.
John had shifted attention away from his own gratification, having gotten off once before. He ran his hands all over Paul’s body, nipping the sensitive area on his neck.
Paul’s hips began to jerk, as if he were fucking, but was only rutting against John’s stomach. The friction from the sex was doing something to him too, bringing about a more intense orgasm, from within, as well as his prick.
“Ugh, John- God, Johnny-”
Paul began to feel burst of pleasure, squeezing his eyes shut. Lord it felt good. Not just the sensation, but being attached to John. He had been right, this was inevitable. They had to do this together, consummate what they had. Their partnership, their significance. Of course John needed to be brought back. They needed to do this.
John pushed in and out of him, hurrying his own second release. It wasn’t difficult, sensitive as he was.
It felt good, the warm wetness. John’s essence inside him. It was good and right. It leaked out of him as John softened.
It was fading.
“Was a good lay.” John said, satisfied. “I’ll see you again, Paul. Remember it.”
John nodded.
Paul felt fear creep into him, laid on his back, in post coital bliss. He didn’t want to part, not so quickly.
Though, if there were things to tell him, Paul would’ve thought of them.
There wasn’t much he wanted to say, after all. If there was, this wasn’t the same John he needed to say those things to, the one caught up with all he knew until the end. This John was still so young.
“Say hello to myself, I suppose.” John said, light spirited. “I hope that old bastards not gone sour, though they all do.”
All he did was blink, and he was gone. The warmth laid on him was gone. But the warmth was still within him, at least. Leaking out, the love.
They had consummated.