Paris '61 (McLennon smut)

one

Sept. 28th, 1961

Band rehearsals were a quite fun experience, aside from George and Pete sort of feeling like background noise. Paul just kept getting in these fits of laughter from John’s comedic wit, and John kept finding that he enjoyed such a sight. He kept singing the words of “Ain’t She Sweet” in the worst American accent he could. Paul rolled his eyes, messing up a couple times just to have a proper laugh.

And if interacting with Paul in those cute ways he would during practices weren’t enough, they often found themselves taking meaningless walks with one another to one of John’s favorite spots. Well, maybe not too meaningless. But the older boy kept telling himself that it was. John hated how much he cared about Paul. He knew how everyone viewed same-sex attraction. And it wasn’t too kind of words, either. He had some sort of internalized hatred about himself when it came to finding both boys and girls pretty. Paul fit his sights more than he liked to admit. Even more recently. For no reason, while the two would be apart, he wrote poems about Paul. He constantly worried if he were okay, how his day was doing, and even if he thought about him as well. But he knew the answer was probably not. John knew it was all wrong to start falling for his best friend; he couldn’t help it, anyhow.

He sighed in deep thought as his pencil scribbled messily a new poem. Everything inside of it were jumbled thoughts and sweet nothings he would never share.

One More Day by J.L.

Your eyes whisper things to me I know I shouldn’t hear,
It’s hard to ignore when it all seems so clear.
I need to tell you somehow but I can’t find a way,
So I will adore you silently for just one more day.

Partly satisfied with how his feelings came out across this paper, he closed the book and quickly put it away. John needed to see Paul. Maybe the constant reminder that they were great friends would be enough to keep holding on to the small hope that one day he might confess his love. But then he scoffed to himself, knowing that it was probably too good to be true.

\\

The walk to Paul’s home was uneventful, save for the thoughts Lennon had to entertain himself. He thought of something for them to do tonight and had an excuse for his friend’s dad for when he asked them where they would be going; John was going to say that he found their group a late night gig at the last minute.

With one hand in his black leather jacket, he knocked on the door with the other.

Soon, his father came to see who was there. He softly sighed when he opened the door to reveal John. Instead of greeting him, he immediately called for his son to come see what he wanted.

“Paul,” he yelled, “Your friend is here!”

“May I come in and wait?” John asked, secretly wanting to annoy Paul’s father.

The man sighed, moving over and allowing him entrance. He knew Paul would probably take a few minutes anyway. Now John could just go upstairs to his room and wait instead of bothering him. But of course, being the most annoying shit he was, he decided to take a seat right on the couch.

“So,” he started, a sly smirk appearing on John’s face, “What did the big man McCartney do today? Work hard enough?”

Jim just rolled his eyes, taking his rightful place back in his recliner. He opened his newspaper back up and began to reply. “Well, considerin’ I’ve been off today? Not really. But m’sure when a fire breaks out, <i>boy</i>, I will be back in as soon as possible.” He retorted matter-of-factly. Paul’s dad was a firefighter.

Now John felt like an asshole, yet he bit the inside his cheek in hopes to suppress his laughter. He didn’t know why his mere presence aggravated his best mate’s father, because he wished things were different. He wondered why he couldn’t joke around with him without him jumping the gun on him immediately. John muttered a quick apology and saw himself up the steps to his mate’s room.

He let himself in, finding Paul tying his shoes. Weirdly enough though, he wasn’t wearing a top yet. His stomach felt itself get in knots at the sight of him so…bare. He definitely had a look at his soft body while Paul wasn’t paying him any mind. He longed to trail kisses down his chest to his belly button, to pin him down and make him feel better than he had ever felt before.

“Oh, hey John,” Paul smiled up at him, shaking him from his fantasy. He watched as Paul then opened his drawer and sorted through it to find a suitable shirt. It was such a boring day after the bird who came over left. He shagged her quick and easily when she came round—why not? He’s single, cute, and likes a good fuck every so often. He’ll admit it.

John was having a great time pondering over how beautiful his body was when he discovered a fresh, small love bite on his collarbone. John instantly became possessive over him, even though he was technically nothing but a mate. He wasn’t going to let that go unnoticed. John was going to put it out there that somehow he could see it, and he didn’t necessarily like it, either. He hated that, in better terms.

“Hey Paul,” he rolled his eyes, flopping himself down on Paul’s study chair. “Seems like you’ve had a lass ‘ere today. Best cover that up before y’dad spots it.”

“Me da’ don’t care,” Paul laughed, “Stop lookin’ there, anyway. And yeah, that cute blonde, Wendy, she was here.”

John blushed and turned away, huffing. Paul noticed how odd his behavior was, as John had never seemed so…jealous before? He assumed that John was only jealous Paul was getting action and he wasn’t, of course. He didn’t put two and two together just yet, but he definitely noticed something was up.

“Hmph,” John scoffed, “Whatever. I thought maybe I’d scoop you up n’ get us out of ‘ere. I’m in need of some alcohol, figured you’d wanna tag along.” He changed the subject. He no longer wanted to focus anymore on the topic of Paul’s sex life. It infuriated him to his core. In a way, he wished he was a girl so he’d have a chance. But he wasn’t, so he’d never have one.

“A’course, but what’re you gonna tell Dad?” he slipped a plain white t-shirt on as well as his own leather jacket. He opted for the brown one since John was already wearing black.

“I got that covered, Paulie,” he assured him with a smirk, “We’ve got a last minute gig t’go to.” John rose his eyebrows twice to show comedic affect.