Chapter Text
The room smelt heavily of mothballs and cobwebs, that’s probably why it was so cheap to rent out since it was located in the very capital of France.
Moonlight cascading in through the grimy lace curtains barely covering the wide window.
Bed pushed halfheartedly against the wall keeping warmth through the autumn chill of the early October night.
It was a drowsy night for that matter, Paul was already sound asleep next to him—his body giving off thick fluttering warmth.
God, why was he so bloody warm??
The alarm clock sat on the side table reading in a blinking red light ‘3:34’, it was already that past midnight? Last time John turned to check it was ten past midnight.
John had slept in the same bed with Paul plenty of times before, why did this suddenly feel so different?
Those nights when he’d sneak over to Paul’s house like some shitty high school romance. When aunt Mimi got far too pesky every few nights and John would bail, run off to Paul’s, climb up the pipe on the side of the house and sneak in through his window.
He remembers talking for hours with Paul, staying up all night venting about their shared mummy issues.
It was nice. But he couldn’t remember him being this unmistakingly warm.
All consuming like a slowly healing bruise.
The bad was just about big enough to fit two people but still small enough for both their legs to brush against each other.
John couldn’t move, staring up at the ceiling half peeled off wallpaper, far too awake for this time of night.
Was it the new atmosphere of Paris that made this fear so much more goddamn different?
Was it something in the air? ‘City of Love’ is wearing off on him, it must be at least.
Paul snored softly, muted and barely audible. But to John every single sigh was louder than bullets.
The quiet shuffle of Paul rolling over, the soft breath leaving his lips fanning over John’s neck.
Oh Jesus Christ, this is bad, so fuckin’ bad.
John's heart thumps in his chest like a broken snare drum. His whole body fluttering in deep heavy warmth.
The warmth grew louder and more unforgiving as time went on. John was getting dizzy from the pure amount of heated feeling rushing through him.
This is normal, everything is fine. He thought desperately searching for an excuse. Heat rose and suddenly, it was all rushing down, far down…
John was at a loss, completely and utterly fucked up. His head turned to the side ever so slightly and there he was in all his gentle tenderness. Paul.
Long fluttery lashes shut in slumber, his hair a dark brown mop of mess falling haphazardly over his sleeping eyes.
He looked like a damn painting, a cherub-faced boy bathed in pink roses and flushed silk. Pale skin kissed by Venus herself. John couldn’t get his mind off it. Off him.
The swell of warmth in his boxers grew thicker, needier. He tried to hold his breath, ignore it, ignore everything. Paul’s citrus cologne still clinging to his sleep addled form, his slow pace breathing. He was hanging on by his last thread, it would soon snap.
Hesitantly, he lifted the wool-blend blanket covering him ever so slightly till he could see his body. Peering in—he’s hard, extremely so for that matter.
Fuck! This can’t be happening right now, he’s twenty for fucks-sake—nearly twenty-one, he’s not some horny teenager getting woodies from just sleeping next to a warm body. Especially not from a man.
He wasn’t a fuckin’ queer. He had a girlfriend, one he actually really liked! Cyn…why didn’t he bring her to Paris? Why was his first thought to bring his bandmate, his best mate on holiday and not his girlfriend of three years?
Fuckin’ Paul.
Stupid, pretty-boy, doe-eyed Paul.
John bit the side of his bottom lip staring ashamedly at his raging hard-on. This was an outstandingly horrible idea by all possible means but it was too late for any take-backs now. Not by John’s standards.
He threw his hand underneath the layer of blankets and found his bulging erection, toyed with it for a little before shoving his hand down his boxers. Bliss.
He bite his lip harder to muffle any noise, tasting the essence of metallic-like blood blossoming on his tongue.
He wrapped his hand tightly around his length breathing sharply before biting down harder, his other hand coming up to cover his mouth with the back of his left hand. He rolled his thumb over his leaking tip earning a small squeak from his lungs.
He shut his eyes as fireworks of colours spread throughout his closed eyelids, his hand began to pump in slow strokes trying to remain quiet enough for Paul not to wake up. Shit, if Paul woke up what would he say? ‘S’just morning wood, y’know?’ It’s nearly bloody four am! Even Paul’s not stupid enough to believe that bag of lies.
He sped up, the sound of wet flesh against wet flesh underneath several layers of blankets went on, the mental image of Paul clogging up John’s lust-hungry mind.
Why wasn’t he picturing Cynthia?? Why’s it always Paul?
Paul…the way his eyes flick over his form, his eyebrows arching all cutesy and what-not. He wasn’t sure what he wanted but he knew it was involved with Paul, he just invokes something overwhelming inside John, something loud and obnoxious, something that won’t stand being ignored.
Paul had this girlish figure, to the point that if John took off his glasses he’d might accidentally mistake Paul for some lesbian chick.
He pumped his cock hard feeling his body tremble in anticipation for release, biting his lips hard enough to break skin he came. Hard and desperately. What in the ever-loving hell just came over him? Was he really jerkin’ off with his best mate beside him but also bloody thinking of him?? What the bleeding hell was wrong with him?
But even through the post-nut-clarity he can’t deny the fact that this was one of the most hottest orgasm’s he’s ever had from masturbating. All he can think about is Paul’s cigarette lazily dangling from in-between his cherry lips, his voice a damn sirens call making every girl in earshot drop their nickers—apparently John was in the same group as the birds without his underlying knowledge.
He wonders what his mouth would taste like…nothing like how a girls would. Cigarettes and…maybe mint? Boozy notes of course (no brainer). The feel of his plush lips, his….
A sudden shuffling sound came making John’s breath halt, his heart stopping in his chest.
Paul…Paul. He was awake. A stupid smirk played across the very lips John was just imagining kissing. He didn’t look upset just amused.
“You seriously wanking off right next to me, Lennon?” Tease strong and unmistakable in his tone.
John was left speechless blinking wide-eyed at Paul, what if he could read my mind? What if he knows? What if he leaves me? Runs off leaving me all alone for my twenty-first somewhere in Paris?
“You alright, John?” His voice full of genuine concern, felt warm and meaningful, addictive.
“Y-yeah, sorry lad, I Just—nevermind…” John awkwardly spouted on pulling the blanket higher over his trembling body.
Paul raised an eyebrow but it was far too late at night to do much of anything so he laid back down yawning. “Y’should go back to sleep, y’know? Catch some Z’s before y’drop as good as dead tomorrow. Kay, Johnny?”
”Yeah…yeah sure…sorry for waking y’up…” John muttered stretching his legs out yawning cartoonishly, his eyelids heavy as he gleamed down at Paul’s already half-asleep form.
”No it’s alright. y’know, y’looked kinda cute like that…” Paul sleepily mumbled, his words trailing off back into deep slumber.
“Huh?” John’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, did he say he was fuckin’ cute? Cute how? Wanking one out is cute all of a sudden? What did he mean?? What the hell did Paul mean by that?
All those questions were left unanswered as Paul fell back into a drowse, his breathing evening out as he fell properly asleep snoring softly. The questions sat in the air like a cloud of fog until John apprehensively laid back down gazing up at the ceiling like he was doing before this all began.
The peeling off floral wallpaper, chipped paint, and cobweb clad walls gave little comfort to the unravelling surge of clouding feelings he wasn’t used to experiencing so unforgivingly hard.
How much Paul confused him, how badly he wanted him. Maybe he’s felt this same way with Stu—but never this much, never like this.
John eventually fell asleep, Paul’s warm body laid palatable against his, soft and plush. To think this is the first night he’s spent in Paris so far.
How the ever-loving hell was he gonna get through two entire weeks of this??
Time will only tell…