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The balmy weather outside did little to settle the cold feeling that sank into the bass player’s heart as he sat on the plush couch inside his London home, the lights dim as he puffed on the fag in his hand. Usually on a nice day like this he’d take to the beautiful garden in his Laudate home, but waltzing into the residence he and Jane once shared after the fight they had wasn’t an option.
An idiot he had made himself to be, thinking he could continue his careless string of hookups and relationships without his longtime fiance being any the wiser. Jane was a nice girl, a fine one, and he broke her heart.
The shrill ring of the telephone interrupts his sulking, the persistent rings grating down his desire to ignore the call altogether. Sighing, he resigns to his fate, picking up the phone and putting it to his face. He knew the agenda planned today. The four were expected to show at the premier of the animated film Apple had scraped together, but like hell he could show face now. They would have to manage without him there.
“I won’t be going…”, He mumbled miserably into the receiver, inclined to put it back until he heard the nasal voice on the other side.
“Like hell you won’t be going.”
“John?”, Paul sits up. Getting a call from his song writing partner used to be a dime-a-dozen, but these days his best friend was too wrapped up in his own personal affairs to bother.
“Who else, son?” Paul can imagine his furry eyebrow raised above his circle-rimmed glasses. “Get you and your little lady ready. They’re already wonderin’ why you didn’t show up in the office this morning.”
“I won’t be going.”, Paul repeats himself.
“Not like the great McCartney to ignore a press event. More of a Lennon thing.”, John scoffs at the notion. Paul stews in his silence before swallowing at the man’s next sentence said more softly. “What happened?”
“Me and Jane…Let’s just say she wouldn’t be too keen on sitting next to a whole movie with me. Or sitting next to me at all.”, Paul says, holding the phone closer to himself.
“Don’t be daft. Another tiff? Ring her up and let it be over.”, John tries brushing off. Paul can hear the plucks of a guitar string from the other side, some song John will no doubt show him the next time they meet in the studio.
“That’s just it. It’s over. I think it’s over for real.”
“That bad?” The plucking stops, the sound of John’s guitar being placed down before he exhales. “I’m on my way. London house, right? Get yourself ready and dry those tears.”
“I can’t go alone.”, Paul protests. He can imagine the nauseating questions the reporters will ask already. The others will walk in with a bird on their arm and he will be starkly by himself.
“You will be with me.”, His heart aches at the finality of the statement, as if it wasn’t to be questioned. Paul was no idiot though.
“And Yoko.”
“Naturally.”, John says, pointedly not acknowledging the slight bitterness in his bass player’s voice. “Doll that pretty face up and have some grass to calm yourself.”
“John-”, Paul says, ready to tell him off despite the way the words make him bite back a small smile.
“Twenty minutes.”, John offers a final warning before abruptly hanging up. Paul tries his best to glare at the phone in his hand before he places it back, the sad feeling stuck in his chest slowly easing.
A visit from John used to mean nothing special. They’ve been tied to the hip since their youth, making songs in John’s room until his aunt would come in to stop the racket. Things were changing though. Where there was John, there was Yoko, and little room for anyone else between the force of their attraction. Paul was content to wait for their honeymoon to lull, for John to be as he was, but as the days were counting by he felt like he was losing more and more of his closest companion.
Was it fair for Paul to stew in that bitter lonesomeness when John was dropping everything to come to his aid? It was such a John thing to do that it made the hope that things really were the same at heart sing.
Glancing to the clock ticking away in the room, he remembers John’s cheeky commands. The four weren’t due to show at the premier for a few more hours. A bit to take the edge off wouldn’t hurt. If he showed up all nerves under the lights of the camera he’d probably let something stupid out about his encounter with Jane.
Digging up a baggie of joints tucked away in the drawer of his writing desk, he lights one up, the taste of the herb giving him something to focus on instead of his thoughts. Idly he picks through his closet as he puffs, picking something slick that would work. They were all encouraged to wear something yellow in honor of the movie’s title. He ties a yellow ribbon beneath his collar, hoping that would be enough.
It isn’t long before the sound of the doorbell chimes, the joint almost ash in his hand and his mind steadily floating.
Opening the door, he’s unsurprised the guard at the gate had let the man through.
“You’re not wearing yellow.”, Paul scrunches his nose as he looks at the white suit the man wears, a clean black button up under.
“I like wearing white now.”, John says as he steps past Paul, slipping off his shoes and walking inside until they were both in the sitting area. His lips quirk in a small smile at the picture of him and Paul framed and hung before he looks over at the man himself. “Should I have dressed up as the bloody submarine?”
“Would have been better than not trying at all.”
“Says the man who wasn’t even gonna go.”, John shoots back, sitting on the couch. Paul bites at the end of his finger, already expecting the next question. “What happened then with you and Jane?”
“Found out I was with another bird.”, Paul says as he plops down on the couch next to the man, the memory of his and Jane’s argument coming to the forefront of his mind once more.
“Which one?”, John asks passively.
“Does it even matter?”, Paul asks, biting at his fingers once more. “I messed things up. Four bloody years down the drain, and it’s all my fault.”
“Come off it now. Is it really over?”
“It is.”, Paul says. It felt like his problems were not his own, far out of reach. “I think I loved her, Johnny.”
“She was a nice girl.”, John says easily.
“So why…don’t I feel sad about it?”, The question slips off his tongue easily. He looks over at John, tears obscuring his vision despite the light cloudiness in his head. Maybe John will think the red in his eyes was just due to the weed, and not because he was on the verge of blubbering like a baby.
His shoulder brushes John’s and mercifully the man takes it as an invitation to throw an arm over him, feigning just using the couch to support his arm as he always did. The feeling of his hand grasping his shoulder made him feel almost relieved, the words coming easy to him. “We were gonna get married. Her family loved me. I loved them. But losing Jane…Why do I feel relieved?”
“It might not be over.”, John offers, his hard eyes peering into Paul’s from behind his glasses.
“It is.”, Paul says with finality that doesn’t bother him at all. “I’m only sorry I hurt her is all…”
“You can’t survive a minute without loving, Paul.”, John says with a shake of his head. “You will be crawlin’ for her forgiveness come morning.”
“I won’t.”, Paul huffs. Why wasn’t John getting it? The recognition of the words sinks into John, his line settling in a thin line as his eyes looked over Paul, really taking him in. Thin hands grasp at the loose ends of the soft yellow ribbon he had tied on under his collar.
The faint pressure makes his leg bounce in anticipation.
“Where is Yoko?”, He asks quietly.
“In the car.” Paul’s mouth twists at the answer, the image of the woman just outside the door while John’s hand tugs the ribbon and pulls the bassist just a bit closer to him. Paul can feel his hot breath against his lips, could count every freckle on his face just as he had numerous times before.
“We should go then.”, He says, not moving an inch away.
“Still got time, love. What you need is to relax.”, John says, pressing a light kiss on the corner of his mouth, causing Paul’s heart to hammer in his chest. “Always running about these days.”
“Someone has to.”, He says, rolling his eyes, an easy giggle leaving him. He had always been interested in the business side of the band, but with Eppy passing suddenly there were a lot more responsibilities to fill. It almost makes him feel guilty that he almost shirked the event of their movie. Lord knows this one needed to go well after Magical Mystery was bombed by the critics. As if sensing his whirling thoughts, John’s hand worked at the first button of his shirt, mouth planting itself on the line of his neck.
“Won’t she come in wondering where you are? You two are hardly apart…”, Paul tries to reason again, but the warmth of John’s tongue running over the sensitive skin there made any reasoning in his floating mind easy to ignore. Sighing, he put his arms around John’s neck, pulling him close.
“There you are, all those annoying thoughts out of your head.”, John praises. Paul barely notices him reaching into his pocket and pulling out a carefully folded bag, fishing something small out of it with one hand while the other finished with unbuttoning the black silk shirt.
Rationally, this was a terrible idea, but John’s full attention on him along with the buzz from the weed was making his head swim wonderfully. It had been so long since the two had gotten into any fun.
“Is that why you really came? To sneak one out before the show?”, Paul shivers when John’s warm fingers pull his shirt off his shoulders, the stubborn ribbon staying there on his neck.
“Come on, don’t pout. Only trying to make you feel better. With how wound up you are this should only take a minute.”, John muses, dark eyes twinkling as he runs a hand down Paul’s chest to his waist, thumbing at the belt there.
“Oh piss off.”, Paul hits John's back lightly causing the man to huff out a laugh before suddenly those perfect lips are on his own. John’s tongue feels like heaven once it passes his lips and explores inside his mouth dry from the smoking earlier, a sweetness invading his tastes followed by a sharp bitterness. He whines against the mouth in confusion, John swallowing the noise as the substance melts between them. Just when had John put that in his mouth?
A flash of sudden anger wells up inside him. He should throw John off of himself and thrash him for pulling such a stunt. If he showed up to the event on a trip there would be no telling how much he’d make a fool of himself.
His thoughts slip from him when he hears the rattle of his belt being undone, a hand swiftly reaching into his pants and palming him over his briefs. John swallows his whine, biting at Paul’s lips as he squirms, fingers deftly teasing and grabbing at his filling cock beneath the fabric.
“Johnny-”, Paul gasps, turning his head away to escape the onslaught of kisses, chest heaving to catch his breath. “That was-”
“Just some Lucy.”, John says with a smile, playfully mentioning the name they were calling the drug on the streets due to their song. “Can’t shag you while you’re stressed as you were.”
“I’m already high.”, Paul says, swallowing as John peels his tight pants off, Paul’s hips rising on their own to help him. “Take this to the bedroom, I’m not letting you mess up another couch.”
“So demanding.”, John says, pressing a few last kisses around the ribbon on his neck before he sits up, grinning wide. “Well, if the princess demands it.”
A startled yelp leaves Paul as he’s suddenly lifted into the air, John’s wiry arms balancing him before they hold onto him tightly, unsteady steps from the weight and the drugs leading them both to the bedroom, door kicked closed behind them before Paul is unceremoniously thrown onto the bed.
Paul can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from his chest as his bare back hits the soft covers, the mattress dipping from John’s weight as he goes over him, face so close that Paul could smell the sour smell of LSD on his breath.
“Beautiful.”, Paul mumbles aloud unknowing to himself, watching as colors shine and gleam on the surface of the man’s glasses, and the brilliant soft brown of John’s long hair changes into a more saturated hue. John hums, as if considering the word, before he is attacking Paul’s lips once more, all teeth and bite.
With clumsy fingers, Paul reaches up and works at John’s buttons, managing to get a few undone before John pulls away, shucking off the shirt and white jacket before he is over Paul again, sucking at his neck.
“Gonna leave marks.”, Paul warns, but the moans and giggles on his lips betrays how much he adored the attention.
“Just cover it up with this pretty little ribbon.”, John says before he kisses over the reddened skin. He takes a hold of the ribbon, tugging at it which makes it bite into Paul’s skin. Another tug, and Paul pants openly with bruised lips.
“Forgot how much you liked that.”, John muses, eyes unfocused but hungry as he finally lets go, wrapping both sets of fingers around Paul’s neck like a well fitted necklace. The pressure added to the sides makes Paul gasp, squirming as his airway is deliciously cut.
“John.”, Paul chokes out, hips rutting up to rub his hardening cock against the rough material of John’s pants still annoyingly on. John presses harder at that, watching intently as Paul squirmed and gasped beneath him.
Paul floats on the edge of it, lungs and brain on fire as the colors in the room wash over him and the touch of John burns, until finally, mercifully, John lets go, air rushing like waves into his aching lungs.
“Missed this.”, Paul pants before he can even think it. John pauses above him, humming as he traced his hand feather-light over his neck.
“Didn’t ever have to stop.”
“You were never alone.”, Paul mumbles, unsure if John even hears him as he reaches over and opens the table side drawer, fishing out the bottle of lube always there before he smears it over his fingers, moving between his trembling legs.
Paul bites his lips at the feeling of thumbs pressing between his cheeks, spreading them to give John a good look. A huffed moan leaves Paul as cold, wet fingers push through the tight muscle, giving no reprieve as they plunge deep inside of him.
John hisses at the tightness, almost addicted to the heat on his fingers as he stabs them into Paul, watching as Paul’s big pretty eyes close tightly at the pressure. Hips rut down onto the fingers, desperate for more despite the slight burn of the stretch. The pleasure and pain were melting into each other, and when John finally pushed his fingers against the bundle of nerves that made Paul see stars he felt as if John himself was melting into him.
“Hurry.”, Paul moans out, head feeling feverish as John keeps pressing those fingers deep inside of him.
“Patience, princess.”, John says, as if the bastard himself wasn’t removing his fingers to take off his pants, grasping onto his hard-on with slick fingers with a moan before he takes hold of the meat of Paul’s thighs to drag him closer until John’s length is hot against his ass.
“John!”, Paul pleads, the teasing nickname making him ache more. John laughs softly, messily slapping his length against Paul’s ass before he finally aligns himself, the give of his rim against his head making the both of them moan loudly.
“Oh god.”, Paul babbles, hands reaching up to scrabble his nails against John’s back. John hisses, burying his head into Paul’s shoulder as he pushes in, teeth biting to ground himself. The fullness is dizzying, Paul’s legs feeling like jello, and his neck hardly able to keep his head up as John bottoms out, his balls flush against Paul’s ass.
“Feel so good, love. All mine.”, John is babbling, his breath hot against Paul’s skin.
Paul opens his mouth, ready to demand the man to fucking move, but the sight of the door open over John’s shoulder makes him freeze up horribly, mouth painfully dry.
“The door-”, Paul finally manages to wheeze out. He had closed it. He barely hears John shushing him over the hammering of his heart in his chest, hands planting firmly on his hips as he rolls his hips to thrust, Paul moaning beneath him.
“It’s just her. Relax.”, John says easily, not stopping his thrusting even when Paul tenses beneath him, eyes straining to look around the room. Dread overwhelms him when he sees familiar dark eyes looking back at him across the room, Yoko sitting on his armchair as if she was watching the band play like in their sessions.
“John!”, Paul whines, hands scrambling to push John, panic clawing at his insides. John is a sturdy wall of hot flesh, unmoving as he thrusts into Paul, hands holding his hips still. The colors of the room are overwhelming, the shape of John above him seeming so foreign and wrong with the weight of eyes scrutinizing him.
Tears spill from his eyes, and he wonders in a daze when he has started to cry. Grunting, John wipes at Paul’s face, the touch feeling like a brand on his skin. It was all too much. He shakes his head, mouth opening but only able to let out a sob as John thrusts into him harder, heart building up inside him. His head is too heavy, and he can’t bear the sight of her in the room, watching him at his most vulnerable, something only meant for John. Sniffling, he lets his heavy head thump against the pillow, lashes heavy with tears as he focuses on the ache throbbing between his legs.
“There you go.”, John praises. “So fucking pretty, Paul. Isn’t he so pretty?”
His ringing ears barely catch the soft agreement, the rustling of the bed as John quickens his movements sounding like a storm. Calloused thumbs brush over his chest, rolling his nipples that cause sparks that make more warmth pool below.
Blindly, he reaches between his legs, panting as his shaky hand just touches his angry-red cock before John swats it away, clumsily gathering both of his wrists and pinning them above his head.
“Not yet.”, John growls, moaning as his thrusts become erratic, hammering into him and making the pleasure build up painfully.
“T’s too much.”, Paul cries, body shaking at the seams.
“Open your eyes. Open those pretty eyes.”, John urges in a breaking voice that Paul can’t help but obey. John was swimming in his vision, almost too bright. It reminds him of the first time they tried the drug together, both restless and scared until they lulled into a deep understanding of one another. Paul had mistook John for an emperor then, unshakable and understanding to a fault. Now Paul couldn’t seem to wrap his head around this at all.
John’s blunt fingernails dig into the wrists they still hold onto, his other hand gripping Paul’s hip so hard he thinks it will bruise. Grunting, John bottoms out, grinding his full length into Paul until he spills deep inside him, panting as he tremors.
“I need-”, Paul says brokenly, unable to finish his sentence before John puts a hand on Paul’s ass. The bassist moans, body taut from need. It felt as if he was on fire, everything so bright around him as sweat slicked his skin.
“Not done yet, love.”, The denial makes him sob weakly, a soft caress from soft fingers making him nearly jump out of his skin. He shakes his head, words caught in his throat as the woman sits beside John on the bed, long black hair brushing against Paul’s leg. John shakes his head, till catching his breath, words slightly slurred from the drug. “Relax. Paulie, it’s just me and Yoko.”
Just John and Yoko. He was sick of the phrase. Sick of how something that used to belong solely to him was ripped away from him. It made his skin crawl horribly, made him so mean and vile. Seeing them hip to hip at every recording, every event, when it used to be him that John reserved that for. A woman never came between them like this before. Even when John was married he still sought out Paul endlessly. But now, John looked at Yoko with so much adoration and respect that he knew what was to come.
“Let me help.”, Yoko says softly, encouraged by the way John shifted out of the way, looking between them like they were the sun and moon themselves. She settles between his spread legs, pushing her hair back before her hands are on him, spreading him. A gasp tears from his throat when something slick and warm teases at his rim before breaching inside.
“Wait-!”, Paul says, at least he thinks he says, but between the sobbing and the searing pleasure he isn’t sure. He kicks out weakly, but John’s hand holds his leg still, looking intently at where Yoko eats him out, licking at the mess there.
“She’s only helping.”, John reasons, hand reaching over to run through Paul’s sweat-matted hair. “Yoko doesn’t care we do this. We don’t even need to hide it anymore, not with her. Isn’t that great, Paulie?”
He cranes his head back, staring at the ceiling and watching it spin like a top as the tongue delves inside him, taking all he has. His cock throbs, begging for release, and for an agonizing moment he doesn’t register the hoarse pleas leaving his lips until John leans down and kisses them quiet.
“There you are. Daddy’s got you. Let go.”, John says against his trembling lips, hand finally grasping at his weeping member and pumping it, the slick sound making Paul’s ears ring until he cries out and sees stars at his release. It feels like hours, John milking his sensitive flesh past completion and Yoko fucking her tongue into the warmest part of him. He moans out sobs, body trembling as they use him until finally the hand is gone and Yoko sits up, wiping her small smile with the back of her hand.
“Fuck, that was amazing.”, John pants out, a laugh escaping him and joy in his eyes as he looks at Paul so warmly. Paul’s chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, laying there uselessly on the bed as John leans over and kisses Yoko deeply, mumbling something about tasting himself when the two part.
Putting a hand over his eyes, Paul’s lips tremble as he cries, tears streaking his cheek and pooling at his chin. He feels like turning away when John puts a hand on his cheek, but his body just doesn’t move, shame eating him alive.
How could he do that to him? How could Paul just lay there and let a stranger watch him like that? Was he pathetic enough that he would weep in front of her to add insult to injury?
“Speak to me Paul. Speak, speak.”, John urges, hands grasping his shoulders.
”Pyramus, arise! Oh, speak, speak!”
He remembers the way he had blushed under those stage lights, John’s hands over him and that awful wig balancing on the top of his head. He had to thin his lips to keep himself from giggling, watching as the stage lights caught John and his silly smile so beautifully.
“I do like to be beside the seaside.”, He mumbles the next line, his unfocused eyes heavy. John blinks at him. Did he forget his line?
“Go to sleep then, Pyramus.”, John mumbles, hand brushing aside the hair stuck to his forehead. “If I take you to the show like this they’ll have my bloody head…”
Nodding, Paul closes his tear-heavy eyes and drifts off.
“Wake up.”
A nudge awakens him, a groan leaving him as he turns his aching body to the side. John is sitting at the side of the bed, fully dressed and smoking a cigarette that sharpens Paul’s senses.
“Get dressed and we’ll be on the road.”, John says. “Think you can do that, or did I roughen you up too much, pretty boy?”
Yoko giggles at the doorway, John shooting her a smile before the bed dips as the man gets up and walks out of the room, the door shutting loud in Paul’s mind. He stares at the ceiling, the events that happened before coming back to him like some awful dream.
Embarrassment and anger churns in his gut so fiercely he thinks he might throw up. The room is bright in color, but the earlier confusion from the drug had dulled into something more manageable from the sleep.
Forcing himself out of bed, he tames his wild hair with a comb halfheartedly before he picks up the clothes from the floor, putting them on and smoothing them out with his shaking hand.
He damn near kicks the door open, John and Yoko talking quietly at the front door. He can’t bear to look at them, anger coming out of him in waves. They get in the car soundlessly, Paul taking to glaring out the window. He wanted to tell John off, to yell and scream, but with John’s temperament he wouldn’t go to the premier after.
All smiles, John nudges his shoulder, relaxed as he says something about the damn movie, as if any of that matters right now. Paul shrugs it off, looking back out the window, swiping his hand away when John attempts to hold it.
“Where’s Jane at?”, George asks when they get there, a moment away from the camera.
“She’s not coming.”, Paul says, gripping onto the apple in his hand. “I came alone.”