Work Text:
John awoke with a pounding headache and nausea, as usual. What was not usual was the hairy body he found himself kicking when he tried to stretch.
He blinked his eyes open in surprise, finding Harry beside him.
John sat up in bed, a hand to his head. He noticed he was completely naked, and his and Harry's clothing were scattered on the floor around them. A floor he hadn't seen before. Where was he?
"Harry," John grunted, kicking him again.
Harry opened his eyes, yawning. "John…?"
"Harry, where the fuck are we?"
Harry sat up, looking around. He, too, at least didn't have a shirt on, and though John couldn't see the bottom half of his body, he was pretty sure those were Harry's boxers and trousers on the floor.
"Dunno," Harry said. He shuffled and frowned, putting his hand under the covers and dragging it back out again with cum-slick fingers. "Who does this belong to?"
John sniffed it. "That's mine. Must've had a wet dream."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Some fucking wet dream. I found this dripping out of my arse."
John paused, shocked. "Y'what?"
"I found this-"
"I heard you!"
John looked around at all of the evidence again. He didn't remember fucking any men since Paul. But there was really no other explanation for what had happened last night.
"It's not queer if we don't remember doing it," John said at last.
Harry nodded. "Yeah. Sure."
John looked on the bedside table and in the drawers.
"Where are me…?" John crawled onto the floor, picked up his trousers and got the cigarettes and matches out of one of the pockets. He lit up, feeling somewhat better.
"Can I have one?" Harry asked.
John passed him a cigarette and the matches.
"I'm gonna need the hair of the dog or me head's gonna explode," John said. "Do you reckon we're at a hotel with alcohol?"
"I don't think even our most drunk selves would've crashed anywhere without it."
"Smart, you are," John praised.
He found a phone and a menu next to it. At least that confirmed they were in fact at a hotel. He dialled the number for room service.
"Can we get a bottle of brandy up to our room?" John asked.
"Certainly, what room are you in?" asked the receptionist.
"Um. Harry Nilsson's room."
A pause. "We don't have a Harry Nilsson checked in."
John sighed. He held the phone to his chest and said, "oi, Harry, check what number the room is."
Harry groaned in annoyance, but he slipped out of bed, still completely nude, and opened the door to check the number on it.
"27," he said.
"Room 27," John told the receptionist.
"Great, we'll be right up," she said. "Was there anything else?"
"Nope," John said, hanging up.
John looked at Harry, Harry looked at John. Both their eyes fell to each other's cocks, then back up again.
"Never seen yours before," John said. "It's alright."
"Yours looks better in-person than in photos," Harry said.
"Should I be flattered?"
They both laughed, but the vibration only made John's head throb harder. His insides churned threateningly.
"They better bring us our brandy before I puke," John murmured, sitting back down on the bed and holding his head.
Fortunately, it wasn't too long before there was a knock on the door.
"You answer it," John said.
"Why do I have to answer it?" Harry complained.
"Because I'm a Beatle, and nobody knows who you are."
"Thanks, John," Harry drawled.
"What? I'm jealous of you."
Harry opened the door. The woman at the door was shocked to come face-to-face with a completely naked man.
Harry quickly covered his junk as if he had just remembered it was exposed.
"Uh," the server stammered.
She quickly handed the bottle over and ran off again.
Harry greedily opened it, having a swig. He passed it to John as he sat beside him. John had a long drink.
"Fuck, alright," John smiled, lying down on the bed.
"Do you think Rich will be jealous?" Harry asked, taking back the bottle and leaning against the head of the bed.
"Of what?" John asked.
"Y'know," Harry looked between his crotch and John's.
John snorted. "Why would he be?"
There was a momentary silence.
"Have you seen his cock?" John asked.
"Yeah," Harry said.
"Massive, innit?"
Harry whistled in agreement.
John was attacking Harry for a reason he had already forgotten. They were rolling around on the floor, throwing punches, mostly missing and simply flinging their limbs about.
Harry pulled John's head against his, and… they were kissing. Oh, they were kissing. They stopped trying to fight each other, and got right into making out. John slid his tongue into Harry's mouth. Harry put his hands under John's shirt and felt his skin. John stuffed a hand down Harry's trousers and palmed his cock. Harry moaned into his mouth.
"John," said Richie's voice somewhere above him. "Harry."
"John," said Elliot's voice.
"John," said May's voice.
"Lads, maybe get a room, yeah?" Richie said, nudging John's back with his foot. "People are staring."
"Not illegal anymore," John said into Harry's mouth.
"Why don't we try to not do anything else we'll regret in the morning?" Elliot suggested gently.
John suddenly became aware of what he was doing, and pulled away from Harry. The two of them burst into a fit of giggles.
John looked up at the concerned faces.
"Can no one take a joke anymore?" he cackled.
The next morning, he vaguely remembered the taste of Harry's tongue against his, and though he couldn't quite recall why he knew what it tasted like, he wanted to taste it again.
It was May, not Harry, who John awoke beside. Still, he lived in a house with Harry, so it wouldn't be difficult for him to get what he wanted.
John burst into Harry's room. Harry was still sleeping.
John nudged him, and continued prodding until he finally stirred. Harry flicked him away.
"Harry," John said. "I wanna taste your tongue."
Harry was suddenly wide awake. He stared at John. "What? Why?"
"Let me taste it."
"Why?"
"Because I want to."
"Yeah, but why?"
John pouted. "Please?"
After what seemed like heavy consideration, Harry slid his tongue out of his mouth. John looked at it. It wasn't what he had been thinking, but it would do. John lent down and licked Harry's tongue.
Harry quickly retracted his tongue in disgust. "Fuck, that feels weird!"
John moved his own tongue around his mouth. "Yeah. Did a bit."
"So? Did you like the taste?"
"Not sure. I'm gonna need to try again."
Harry shook his head. "You're not licking my tongue again."
"Maybe it'll work better if I kiss you like you're a bird."
"What, like last night?"
John blinked, having no real recollection of the night before. When they were drinking together, John always tried to keep up with Harry, but Harry seemed to have a much higher tolerance so was more likely to remember what had happened than John was.
"We did that last night?" John asked.
"Yeah, sort of. You can have another go if you want, I guess."
John clambered on top of Harry, sitting on his lap and facing him. He leaned forward, hands in Harry's hair, and kissed him. John investigated Harry's tongue with his own, and Harry did the same.
They pulled apart.
"You taste like Brandy Alexanders and cigarettes," John concluded.
"So do you," Harry said.
For a moment, John felt some excitement that he tasted the same as Harry. They were the same.
Until Harry continued, "with the addition of… is that May's pussy?"
John gaped, jealousy flaring. "Don't you fucking dare go tasting May on me tongue! That's mine to taste!"
"Not my fault you didn't clean your teeth after you did the deed!"
"Then you're not getting any more kisses, are you?"
"Shame. It was fun."
John scoffed. "Faggot."
Harry laughed.
John watched Paul kiss Linda, and John snorted another line of coke.
"Oi, Harry," John pulled him towards him and stuck his tongue into his mouth.
Harry pushed him off him. "Fuck off, John!"
"Bastard," John scowled.
Paul stared at John. John looked back at him, waggling his eyebrows.
"Jealous?" John teased.
"Of you? Of this?" Paul gestured around.
John rolled his eyes. "You know exactly what I mean."
"And I'm perfectly happy," Paul said.
They were very good at having long, meaningful conversations in a matter of sentences, that no one else around them understood.
John was so annoyed by Paul that he sat up on Harry's lap, facing him, grinding his crotch down on him.
"Right here?" Harry raised his eyebrows at John.
"Come on," John trailed his hands under Harry's shirt, up to his hairy chest, feeling his nipples between his fingers. "You know you want me."
Harry shivered under John's touch. He began frotting against John.
John looked back at Paul, who had made a point to turn completely away from the scene. John sighed, though it didn't really matter at this point. His cock was hardening and he just wanted a good fuck.
He dragged Harry away to the bathrooms, fucked his throat without either of them exchanging a word. Being so high on cocaine, his throat was so numb he had no gag reflex. John took him deep and Harry swallowed his cum.
Then it was Harry's turn, forcing his way into John's mouth and making John revert to his submissive side, sucking Harry's cock like the good boy Paul had taught him to be.
If there was one thing John loved, it was watching his idols do what they were best at.
Harry was singing in that sweet voice of his that could make angels melt. The kind that warmed John's chest and made him almost want to kiss him. He was not yet drunk enough to kiss him.
As the session wore on, Harry's voice got more and more ragged. He sounded like John, and it sent a thrill up John's spine. It was the perfect voice for a Schmilennon album. No one could separate the two if they sounded the same.
John's fantasies came crashing down before his eyes when Harry started coughing up blood and had to go to hospital.
John wasn't sure if it was because he had fucked his throat too hard, if it was because of their little screaming contests on the microphones, if it was because Harry had been trying to sing with the flu, or if it was a combination of factors. Whatever the reason, John felt quite guilty.
John didn't like going out in public by himself, but he had to see Harry, and for whatever reason he didn't want to think too hard about, he had to go without May. So he made Elliot take him to the hospital.
Just as he arrived, Harry was wandering out of the hospital, wearing a green hospital gown, brandy bottle in hand.
"Harry!" John exclaimed. "You alright, mate?"
"John?" Harry looked at him. "You got a cigarette?"
John frowned, pulling one out and passing it over.
"I don't think cigarettes are good for your throat," Elliot intervened.
John and Harry both rolled their eyes at Elliot.
"That's what Micky said," Harry said. "I asked him for cigarettes and brandy but he only brought me brandy."
John snorted. "What a tosser."
Elliot sighed in resignation as Harry lit up.
"So, they let you out already?" John asked.
"No, but I had to get out of there."
"Right," John nodded. "Ellie, would you excuse us?"
John brought Harry into Elliot's car so they could talk privately.
"Look, mate, I'm sorry," John murmured, playing with the lap belt of the back seat.
Harry furrowed his brow. "For what?"
"For putting you in hospital…"
"It wasn't your fault, John. And it wasn't that bad."
"I fucked your throat in at least two ways."
Harry chuckled. "Yeah, but I wanted you to."
John crossed his arms, turning away to face the front.
"You wanted me to," John repeated flatly.
"Well?" Harry put a hand on John's thigh. "Didn't you want it too?"
John shivered at the touch, disliking the way it made his cock twitch in interest.
"Not while I'm sober," John snatched Harry's brandy and took a big gulp. "And not in the hospital parking lot."
John winded down the window and called out, "Ellie! Drive us home!"
When they got back to their place on the beach, John took Harry into Harry's room. They didn't speak as John pulled off Harry's hospital gown, then put on his own strip show.
John was hardly tipsy, but he still couldn't help himself from running his hands over Harry's skin, kissing him and nibbling him. His heart hammered in his chest at the pleasure of tasting this man wherever he pleased.
Harry gently kissed John's neck, and trailed kisses down his body as he pushed him closer to the bed. John shivered when he licked his nipples.
"Well," John said with hooded eyes. "Since I fucked you, did you want to fuck me?"
Harry grinned as John got on all fours and presented his arse.
When they were both finished, John draped his arm over Harry's chest. Harry's arm was lodged under John's neck. John could smell Harry's sweaty armpits, but if anything he liked it. He nuzzled against his chest.
"Is it queer yet?" Harry asked.
John lifted his hand and placed a finger on Harry's lips.
"Don't," John said. "Doesn't matter what it is."
Harry licked John's finger. John swatted at his face.
John went back to circling his hand over Harry's chest. Strangely, he felt very cosy like this.
"I wanna go back to New York," John said.
"Back to Yoko?" Harry asked.
John froze. He glared at Harry. "Don't you fucking dare bring up Yoko."
Of course he wanted to go back to Yoko. But he had been trying his very best not to think about her between their phone calls.
"Sorry, but isn't that what you meant?"
"I'm a New Yorker, man, I just wanna be in my city. You should come with me," John said. After a pause, "just you and me."
Harry turned his head fully to him. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," John grinned. "We can get a place together. And, y'know, we can work on your album proper."
Harry chuckled. "Yeah, why not?"
John and Harry moved into a hotel suite in New York together.
John supposed drinking and drugs wouldn't help either of them finish their albums. Still, John wanted to be just like Harry, and Harry was still drinking, so John was still drinking. Secretly, though, he cherished his sober moments with Harry the most because he could actually clearly remember them.
They technically had separate rooms, but John liked sleeping in Harry's bed with him. He liked waking up with a cuddly toy in his arms. He liked tucking himself so close to Harry that he could pretend he was Harry. He liked sneaking kisses that tasted sweeter than cocaine.
Harry made him feel things he hadn't felt since he had fallen for Yoko. He felt so light and joyful being attached to Harry that he didn't want to numb himself to it.
It couldn't be love, though. It was never love with men. It was infatuation. It was admiration for Harry's voice and melodic abilities. He was a groovy musician that John had idolised since Harry's entrance to the music scene. It was a bit like if he had brought Elvis to bed; he wasn't in love with Elvis, but he would love to be inside him.
God forbid it be love, or else John wouldn't know what to do with himself.
One morning, John was lying in bed with Harry. He kissed him on the lips, their prickly beards brushing against each other. John had been growing out a beard again to look like Harry. If anyone asked, though, he would say it was because he simply couldn't be bothered shaving.
"Have you ever noticed we're almost the same person?" John asked, tracing his hand up and down Harry's arm.
"Are we?" Harry asked.
"We're both rockstars. We were both left by our dads, and, well…"
"We both left our own sons?"
"Yeah!"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "I don't think that's the greatest thing to bond about."
"And we both like drinking."
"All I'm hearing is you're describing most rockstars."
John lightly flicked him. "Think about it, Harry! We're so alike. We're both best mates with Ringo. We both have cartoon movies made entirely of our own songs. Neither of us really believes in God. Our favourite drink is a Brandy Alexander. We both see the world for how it really is, not some lipstick fairyland."
John stopped when he realised the kind of childish comparisons he was coming up with.
"I sound daft, don't I?" John sighed.
"It's cute," Harry said, running a hand through John's hair, John bumping his head against it like a cat desperate for touch.
"Do you think I'm putting on weight?" John asked.
"I dunno."
"I'd like to," John said, which felt strange to say. "So we could look the same."
Harry gave him a look. "And let me guess, the next thing you wanna do is dye your hair blonde?"
John pulled at a clump of his hair. "Do you think it would suit me?"
"I think you look great as you are, John."
John's heart rate quickened. "You like how I look?"
Harry lifted himself up on his elbow, slipping a hand under John's shirt and feeling him up.
"I like it a lot," he purred.
John leaned closer, grinding against him and kissing him.
After they came inside each other, they laid back down beside one another, hands tangled together.
"You feel better than booze," John said. "Don't you think?"
"Maybe," Harry murmured, squeezing John's hand. "So… Is it queer yet?"
John dropped Harry's hand, crossing his arms.
"It's not anything," he said. "We're just two lads having some fun."
It was similar to something John had said to Paul a long time again. He remembered the pained look Paul had had on his face. But it was true.
"If you say so."
"Don't tell me you thought this meant something, did you?" John said, turning over to face Harry.
"Did I say I thought that? No."
"Good. 'Cause you're just a fun little replacement."
"Replacement for who? Yoko? I thought May was your replacement for her."
"What did I fucking say about bringing up Yoko?" John snapped, standing up in a huff. "Besides, no! It's not like I love you. You're a Paul replacement."
"What, you were fucking Paul too?"
"Like lads do sometimes," John said, turning to the bedroom door. "You make music together, you might as well fuck too."
Harry laughed. "Johnny, I can't tell if you're being serious right now."
"I'm never serious," John said seriously, looking back at him. "Fuck, I need a drink."
"Me too…"
"You should be flattered, y'know," John said. "There's no one in the world like Paul."
Harry put his hands to his chest, sarcastically saying, "I'm truly honoured you think I compare to the great Paul."
John left the room, though he didn't get himself a drink. He sat on the couch, knees to his chest, cigarette between his lips. He was so… confused.
He couldn't be in love with Harry. He couldn't be in love with a man because there was no stability there. He had to focus on women. He had to focus on getting back to Yoko. All of these games that he played with men just left him feeling all jumbled.
Sure, he wanted to finish producing Harry's album, but they had to stop fucking. They were supposed to be mates. Mates weren't supposed to fuck each other and that was something John finally needed to get his head around.
Harry left the bedroom. He didn't look at John as he went into the kitchen to presumably get himself a drink.
John followed him.
"I'm going back to May," he announced.
Harry looked at him. "Okay?"
John's lips thinned at the non-reaction.
"Just thought you should know."
"Why would that be any of my business? As you said, there's nothing between us."
"Just so you know I'll be moving out, so you should probably get yourself somewhere cheaper to stay by yourself while you're in New York."
"Thanks for the head's up…"
"And there will be no more touching."
"I gathered that."
"You should get yourself a girl. You clearly need it."
"Thanks, but I don't need your advice."
John turned away again, sitting back on the couch and strumming out empty chords on his guitar.
Why did he feel so sick? Why didn't he feel any less lost than he had a moment ago now that he had a plan of action to be with a woman? Well, he had been lost since Yoko had kicked him out, so it shouldn't be surprising.
This was who he was. This was John Lennon. Wandering aimlessly through life, desperately reaching out for love and recoiling again when he realised he had ruined them so much he was ruining himself too. He was doomed to eternal loneliness. There was nothing left to do but accept that.
Yet, no matter what he told himself, whenever he wasn't with Harry, he missed him. Ached for his touch. But what could he do?