Paris '61 (McLennon smut)

thirteen

When they laid there for bit, the two drifted to sleep at around four o’clock in the morning.

John was the first one awake, up at the rich hour of twelve forty-two in the afternoon.

He saw Paul’s head gently resting on his shoulder, and his heart raced fast. It’s true, John thought, it fucking happened. This isn’t a dream.

He went to calm down his panicky-shocked state, but he felt all sticky down there. John's bum was painful, except he didn’t care about that considering it was worth it if it meant having such a strong orgasm.

One thing bothered him, though. Lennon couldn’t risk Paul waking up and changing his mind about going forward with this while naked, and he told himself he needed to get cleaned up. If… in case Paul wanted to go. Why he assumed Paul would just be going was a mystery. After such an amazing experience, however, John felt like this was doomed from the start. He wasn’t able to enjoy this right away. He would always need constant reassurance. This was just one of the few flaws of John Lennon. Of course John saw himself as having a million things wrong with him, but this was just one of the main reasons things would probably go south. His self-esteem and confidence have never been too high. He may pretend it is, and he may appear arrogant; in reality, he always felt replaceable. Constantly he prepared himself for the worst.

John slowly removed himself from the comfort of their shared bed, wrapping a sheet over his lower half quickly. He made it to the bathroom and instantly got the water ready to get underneath.

John washed up nicely in the shower. Coming out with a towel wrapped around his lower half, his hair air drying on account of the water he just stepped out of. Rushing to dress himself in embarrassment, he thought about how he literally cleaned himself of Paul’s cum. The memories of the night before turned his stomach. Not because he was sick that it happened, but because it was real and it actually happened and that Paul could very well wake up only to decide he hated it.

“G’morning, John. Happy birthday,” Paul greeted him, snapping him out of his thoughts quick. His towel fell when he jumped, revealing him to be naked again. John tried to play it off like he wasn’t mortified, except then he felt better about it when Paul let out a good chuckle. He put the towel back where it belonged and Paul sat up in the bed.

“Thanks,” he shook his head, trying to shake those thoughts away.

“You don’t have to be strange about what we did last night, y’know? Like you said,” Paul started, even if they did all that in the early hours of the morning and not ‘last night’, “Nobody but us is here. And I very bloody well saw ya completely naked. Don’t be shy now, Lennon.” John hated that Paul decided he was in charge of making him feel butterflies. This was so genuine and he never had the chance to ever feel like this with another person. I mean—he’s had crushes before. But he knew that didn’t matter in this case. Because it felt like maybe this counted. Maybe Paul would be the one to make everything better. The somebody he needed to grow up and be a better version of himself with. And John was so bashful and afraid to fall so deeply for Paul.

“Cheeky bastard,” John tried to flip the script. “You know you enjoyed seeing me birthday suit another time.”

“Yeah, maybe I did. So what?” Paul scooted to the edge of the bed. “You gonna do something about it, sir?”

John put on some underwear quickly before turning to face him. “Sir? Didn’t know ye was that kinky, princess. But I’m up for that if ya want.” He knew Paul would get all pissy at this but he genuinely didn’t care too much. He liked the idea of Paul calling him that.

“Let’s get one thing straight—” Paul tried to talk whenever John cut him off.

“Not us, anybody can tell you that.” John joked, causing his mate to giggle a bit.

“No, probably not. But what I was saying, okay, was — one thing needs to be clear. You aren’t going anywhere near me with yer rod.” Paul retorted to John now, folding his arms. “I simply won’t do it. Ever.” Maybe Paul was being so ‘opposed’ about it because he was curious, John assumed. “I’ll touch it all ye want, y’know. Maybe more. Just not inside me arse.”

John rolled his eyes as he went on to get dressed.

“I promise you’ll let me. And you’ll love it. I’m telling ya it’s way better than normal. I’m not even ashamed to admit it feels amazin’. Felt like a bird with how loud I was getting.” John really wasn’t telling a lie about that, he was usually very dominant until last night. He just wished he could let Paul know how great it feels.

“Yeah, right. I saw how ya was at first. I know it hurt. M’sorry.” Paul genuinely meant it, standing up to find some bottoms to throw on.

John walked over to him, wrapping his arms around him from behind. “It didn’t hurt for long. I mean—the stretch was what hurt, yeah. But I’d take my time on ya. Maybe in the shower, where it’s wet, I dunno. Wouldn’t go out of my way t’ hurt ye. Only want you to feel as good as y’look.” John nuzzled his face up next to Paul’s hair in the crook of his neck.

Paul couldn’t help but love the way he felt a bit smaller compared to him now, his mate’s voice sending shivers all the way throughout his body. And he hated to lie; to say curiosity wasn’t an emotion felt would be doing just that. His head fell back to let John kiss him where he rested anyway. And John did. He sucked on the skin there for more than he would like to admit, biting him just a bit. Paul whined when he did that, “Ow, fuck…”

“You love that, don’t you? Don’t lie to me.”

Paul shook his head, but John proved to be right whenever he repeated the action. This time, Paul moaned softly at the contact John’s lips made to his neck.

“Yes,” Paul admitted, face blushing to a bright red shade. “I hate that I like it.”

“Don’t be ashamed, love. I dreamt of doing this to ya. Here you are proving m’ predictions right. I just—I couldn’t stop thinking about…us…taking each other. I mean… it would only be fair, right? You know how loud I got? That never happens. It’s usually me who chats shit, who has my lover all hot, y’know. I’m embarrassed of what I sounded like.”

Paul turned to face him now, softly guiding him to the bed backwards. John fell on it after a second, and Paul took it on himself to straddle him.

“Of course it would be fair,” Paul stated, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s quite odd. I never thought you sounded bad, for what it’s worth.”

John blushed. Ignored what McCartney complimented. “Quite odd for ye t’ assume I’m always gonna take it like that. No thanks.” John smirked, leaning back on his elbows. “Besides, I just cleaned up. So…can’t. I’m too clean for the mess. Nice gesture, though.”

Paul laughed at John’s joke. “Fuckin’ tosser. Wasn’t trying to fuck you just yet, Johnny boy. Don’t get the wrong idea here. I only want t’ kiss ya.”

“Only? So now I’m not good enough for ye to shag?” John was only kidding, and the latter knew this was his sense of humor. He hugged Paul tightly and secretly hoped that he would never have to let go.

“Fuck off! I cannot win for losing with you.” Paul loved the easy way John played around, leaning into John’s embrace and taking his lips into a kiss. At last, he felt absolutely content in being alone with John. Now that he saw Lennon's true intentions were to spend his birthday with Paul by his side.