Missing You...

Chapter Thirteen

Wednesday, 3 December 1980

After what seemed like an eternity John unlatched his lips from Paul's. There was an awful silence. Neither John nor Paul knew what to say. They just stood there in the bedroom like statues, too scared and embarrassed to even blink. John looked away, his face bright red. He looked around as if he was searching for a rock to crawl under so he wouldn't have to go on with any awkward conversation. Paul smiled sympathetically despite still being in shock. He reached out and grasped John's big hand in his own. He gave it a shy squeeze.

"That was a wish well spent, Johnny." he whispered.

"Thanks." John mumbled, his cheeks still scarlet, but he was smiling.

Paul took a step closer to John and wrapped his arms around his neck. He stared intensely into his eyes, slyly encouraging John to do the same. John placed his hands on Paul's upper back and started kissing his neck rapturously, slowly running his hands downwards. He stopped altogether when he came to the part of Paul's back where his spine finished and his bottom began. John halted his kisses and looked at Paul, as if he was asking permission.

"Go ahead, John." Paul hissed seductively, "You've waited long enough."

That was all John needed to hear. He positioned his hands abruptly on Paul's bottom, so abruptly that Paul himself jerked, practically rising to his toes. He didn't complain and began run his hands through John's thick brown hair. Paul moaned as John planted more kisses on his neck and face, his lips bashing hard against Paul's smooth skin. They shared the passionate embrace for a few minutes when Paul suddenly broke away. Sweat was trickling down his face and he appeared out of breath.

"What's wrong, Paul?" John asked, sounding anxious.

"What are we doing?.." Paul said softly. He stared down at his trembling hands as if they were going to spontaneously attack him. "We shouldn't be doing this."

"Why not?"

"We're not meant to be queer for each other!" Paul shouted, starting to sob. "It's wrong, but it feels right! I'm so confused."

"Well, why can't we be?" said John, "Give me one good reason."

"It's just..." Paul hesitated, "I have this girlfriend back home and she -"

"Bullshit!" John cried, taking Paul by the shoulders and gently shaking him. "You do not have a girlfriend back home, I know you don't! You're always in the limelight and not one stupid tabloid has ever mentioned you having a mistress."

Paul swallowed nervously. "True..."

"What's the real reason, Paul?"

Paul didn't respond immediately, tears slipping delicately down his red cheeks. He let out a small sob and thrust himself into John's arms, starting to bawl. John was stunned for a moment, but wrapped his arms around Paul and hugged him close. Paul wept bitterly, his face buried in John's warm chest. He tenderly stroked his friend's dark brown hair.

"Stop crying, Paulie. I'm the crybaby around here!" said John.

Paul gave a small snort. He could have been laughing but, if he was, it was masked by his heavy sobs. "Oh, John." he mumbled, "I'm just so scared. We can't be together. It's not right."

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course it's right. You love me, right?"

"Yes, but -"

"Then I don't see what you're crying about." John peeled Paul's sobbing body off his chest. He placed his hands on Paul's shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. "We can make this work."

"How?" Paul whimpered. "It's not possible."

"It is possible. I know it is." A smile suddenly broke out over John's face, "Remember, all you need is love. And we've got that love."

Paul sniffled, holding back his tears. He enclosed John in his arms and hugged him tight. John whispered sweet nothings into his ears, then he said something that shocked both of them. Paul stared at John with eyes as big as dinner plates, his mouth hanging open. John nodded solemnly and kissed the tip of Paul's nose.

"Shall we do it, Paulie?" he asked softly.

Paul thought for a moment and eventually replied, "Let's go for it."

John smiled and pushed Paul onto the bed, instructing him not to move until he got back. John dashed out of the room and came back a minute later holding a radio and a cassette tape. Paul glanced at the cover - it was a copy of Queen's A Night at the Opera. John plugged the radio into a wall socket, slipped the cassette into the tape-deck, and fast forward until he came to the end of the tape. The sweet opening bars of Bohemian Rhapsody filled the room. Paul smiled, swaying in time to the music. John smirked and began unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes sparkled mischievously, silently willing Paul to take his shirt off too. 

"After all, what good is leaving your shirt on?"

Paul chuckled and did as he was told. Soon his shirt was lying on the bed beside him. He looked up at John, who was also shirtless and about to take his Buddy Holly glasses off. (He decided they suited him a lot better than his little round specs.) Paul reached out and grabbed John's arm.

"Leave them on." he whispered, "I like you better in glasses."

* * * *

About an hour later the once clean bedroom was an absolute bombsite. The curtains had been pulled, plunging the room into absolute darkness. The A Night at the Opera tape had stopped playing a while ago and its music was substituted for the faint humming noise of the radio. Elvis the cat was scratching at the door, crying to be let in, but to no avail. Clothes were scattered everywhere - on the dresser, on the floor, and on the bed. Loose shirts and stray socks weren't the only things decorating the bed. 

John and Paul were snuggled under the duvet, clutched in each other's arms. They were fast asleep and breathing heavily, engulfed in their dreams. The past hour had been a very dramatic and scary one, but it had made the two happier than they had been in a long time.