Old Paul and Old Ringo fic: There for You
Title: There for You
Author: Kathryn O
Pairing: Old Paul/ Old Ringo
Rating: NC-17
Timeframe: Sometime between Heather and Nancy
Summary: Ringo sees the lonliness and bitterness in his old friend after his marriage break-up, and offers him some loving comfort
Disclaimer: Though Ringo's comment on Heather was taken from a book, I have no idea how he may have comforted Paul
There for You
Though it was our nature to not really talk about such things to each other, I did feel pretty bad for Paul once the mud was getting slung around in the press thanks to his ex-wife.
I will admit that she seemed way too young or something when he first got involved with her, but it was his decision and his life and he was at least moving on from the loss of Linda finally. You should have seen the stooped gray-haired old man that I saw for about eight months after she died. You wouldn’t have recognized Paul at all.
When Heather came along he dyed his hair again finally and started dressing up a bit. He needed to do that much at least and we all were glad to see him making himself a part of the world again.
My first clue that there was something off about that woman was when we all were at a party that included many of our old friends from the Beatle days. Someone was putting together a book of photos detailing Paul’s life especially focusing on the Wings days and they had an early copy floating around for all of us to look at. For me, since I was in a lot of the shots from the 80s, it brought back some sweet memories.
Heather had picked up the book, flipped through it and then asked, “Where am I in this thing?”
Most of us were stunned. To add salt to the wound, she wasn’t in it since it only went through the early 90s or something.
I remember someone saying to her, “You’ll be in the next edition.”
The first bad thing I read about her in the press ever didn’t even have anything to do with Paul. It was about some assistant she fired griping because the assistant claimed that Heather forced her to give nude spray-on tans early in the morning. I actually had to chuckle at that because it was a fitting image.
Then the torrent of negative press started and it came in a flood. Heather accused Paul of hitting her. Heather accused Paul of choking her. Heather accused Paul of hitting Linda. That third one was the hardest for me to stomach but the whole thing was difficult for me to hear about especially since Paul was my friend.
The Press responded with a backlash of their own printing lots of really negative stories about her. I’ll be honest, I didn’t even follow most of them. I couldn’t. It was too awful to believe. I didn’t want to read about Paul’s aversion to breast milk, or his claim on her body. I didn’t want to know how he nearly drank himself to death and she nearly drowned him trying to get the vomit off him. I stopped even following it at some point.
Her own behavior just got worse. She became shrill and angry in most of her interviews even while trying to claim her innocence. Her friends spoke out against her and her past doing nudes and stuff like that came up but I knew Paul didn’t care about that last bit. He always did like women with a bit of the slut in them as well as brains and heart.
Paul maintained a stoic dignified silence through it all and I’ll give him credit for that. I couldn’t believe it when I was being interviewed once for my own work, a journalist asked me what I thought of Heather’s attacks on Paul in the press. I had to say something and a simple, “Isn’t she awful?” sufficed. What more could I say? I wasn’t going to go into details.
Despite Paul’s silence, I knew that he had to be in a dark place where it came to Heather. I mean, what other type of mindset could anybody have going through that? I’m sure the entire thing hurt very much. He hadn’t been slammed that much since he announced the break-up of the Beatles. I know the press and public he could handle, but still I felt for him.
To rub salt in the wounds, Heather did a lot of her own antics to bring bad press on herself that had nothing related to Paul. I’m not sure what happened to the dog at their daughter’s birthday party, but Paul wasn’t a part of that. She brought a lot of it on herself.
Like I said earlier, I felt bad for Paul but it wasn’t our nature just to call each other up and talk about our feelings. I knew that if it was meant to be, I’d get a chance to offer some kind words or something. Paul was strong and had survived so many awful things in his life. I knew he’d get through this too.
I finally did see him at a party in New York during the summer. That gathering wasn’t the time nor the place to talk about it, and we both knew it. I gave him my support by patting his shoulder now that we didn’t care anymore if others saw us displaying affection for each other.
He at least was keeping up with his hair coloring and I know more then a few of those rich ladies wanted their chance at a shot with him. I was glad that at least the mourning phase was over for him.
As it turned out, during the course of that evening at some point I invited Paul to drop by where I was staying in the city for dinner later that week and he readily accepted. It was just going to be the three of us, me, my wife and him.
The evening turned out pleasant enough with the three of us chatting and laughing. It was afterwards when he and I retired to the living room with our coffee after dessert that the conversation turned to a more personal nature.
He was looking out the window at the lengthening shadows when I asked him if he had to be anywhere at a particular time. It was getting later.
Paul sighed and pursed his lips before he said, “I guess not. Nobody’s waiting for me to come home.” He was starting to sort of feel sorry for himself, you could tell. I don’t know what brought it on.
“What about you’re daughter?” I asked because I knew he was still raising a small child.
“With her mother right now. It’s why I decided to come to New York for a couple of weeks.”
He rarely spoke of his arrangement with his ex-wife over their child as it was a taboo subject. I sort of felt privileged that he opened up to me.
“Why don’t you just relax here for a while then? Barbara and I aren’t going to kick you out.”
He seemed to get a little more moody and defensive. “I’m not totally alone. Stella’s coming in a few days to join me with her family.”
I actually took his hand and held it warmly as he held his coffee in the other one. “No, you’re not alone,” I told him. I kept on holding his hand because I just felt that he needed the contact.
His mind and mood still kept drifting somewhere out that window but he didn’t let go of my hand and clutched it back.
Finally he let out a long sigh. “It’s not been easy,” he revealed.
I knew at once what he was talking about. All the bad press the breakup of his marriage has been receiving lately. It wouldn’t be easy for anyone to go through that.
“I’m sure it’s not,” I replied back to him still holding his hand. “But you’ve managed to keep your dignity nicely through it all.”
He sighed again. “Yeah, but the irony just gets to me at times. For years before this happened, the British press just slammed me time and time again making fun of everything from my clothes saying I didn’t dress my age to activities I chose to do. They slammed my weaker work and I don’t even remember the last time there was a positive article about my work or me in my homeland’s press.”
“But there have been articles that still show love for you,” I reminded him. “In the States.”
He sighed a third time. “Yeah. That’s why they get most of the tours. They respond more positively to my music. It’s not that I can’t take genuine criticism, but the tabloid nature of the press has just gotten out of hand.”
I felt his fingers press lightly into mine. “I agree with you there,” I told him. “You won’t get any argument out of me, but you may have reacted to the press in the past yet you never let it get to you before.”
“Yeah, I know,” He said. “I guess because it was never from my wife before. Do you know the last time I saw her when I went to get our daughter she accused me of being the instigator of all the attacks on her in the media?”
“That’s insane,” I agreed with him. “You’d never stoop so low to do such a thing. Doesn’t she see her own actions created it?”
He sighed yet again. “I don’t know what she sees anymore. I don’t know what to believe. I only know what I did or didn’t do and I never tried to ruin her. I wouldn’t have wanted that. We have a daughter we still have to raise.” He paused for a moment before continuing on. “You remember Jane. I was way more of a jerk to her when we broke up. I mean, she actually caught me in our bed with another woman. She’s stayed silent all these years about all the crap she could have spilled about me and us as a band. She chose to maintain her silence and dignity despite what I did to her. Sure some of the other girls I was with like Francie were a bit bitter, but my relationship with her wasn’t very long and I stayed silent about the trash she wrote in her book. I never dealt with a relationship breakup like this, even when it was John and I.”
He got silent after that last statement still staring out the window while I continued to squeeze his hand. I wasn’t sure what to say so I didn’t say anything.
Finally he commented, “I do hate being alone.”
“I doubt you’ll stay that way for long,” I answered him truthfully. “I know there were several of those high-class ladies in your Hampton circle that are probably circling like vultures once they learn you’re single again.”
“Yeah, but after getting burned this time, I’ll probably be more cautious.”
“Well, you should be. It’s a hard lesson to learn sometimes. It doesn’t mean you should spend the rest of your life hiding. Look at me and Barbara. She’s my second marriage and she’s still my best friend. It can happen again for you too. You just have to give it time.”
He finally turned to me and asked, “What do I do in the meantime?”
I wasn’t sure what to say. That was such a poignant question I wasn’t sure how to handle it. I actually wracked my brain trying to come up with something. “You surround yourself with people who love you when you’re feeling low.” Then I squeezed his hand again. He squeezed back. “And get yourself laid once in a while,” I threw in to him.
He actually smiled at that suggestion. “Know what I do miss? The connection you feel when cuddling with someone you truly love. The late-night conversations in bed. The staying warm under a cold wind. The contact with someone who is a big part of your life.”
“Sounds like the workings of another song,” I commented.
“Probably,” He smiled again and I was glad for that smile. He was stepping out of his bad mood.
I decided to take a chance and pull him close to me with my one arm into an embrace. “Come here,” I ordered him gently. “Let your friend Ritchie here cuddle and kiss you to remind you that connection is still there.”
He didn’t resist me as I held him, putting my head close to his neck since he was taller then me. I would have loved to have laid his head on my shoulder but there was no way we could do that while we were standing up.
“Come sit with me on the couch,” I suggested in a soft whisper.
We didn’t untangle ourselves as we sort of side-stepped in a funny way over to where we could sit together. Once seated, I heard another sigh and felt his hair on my shoulder like I knew he really wanted as much as I did. His eyes were closed and to my surprise, those beautiful long lashes he had were wet.
I kissed the top of his head. “You know I love you,” I told him. “And Barbara loves you. And so do your children and your family. We’re all there for you.” This wasn’t the way we were raised but one of the traits that Paul developed as he aged was the ability to sometimes cry openly and sometimes I was faced to dealing with it. Rare, but it was happening now. It happened when Linda died and when George died and now that his marriage was broken up. It was just something I learned to deal with. He said it was healthy for him and probably it was.
I kissed him again on his hair and felt him kiss me on my neck. I kept my face pressed into him taking him in with my breath and I could feel him melt in my arms as his little butterfly kisses worked up my neck to my chin and cheek.
“I love your beard,” He murmured. “I love feeling it against my lips.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled back and kissed his forehead again.
We kept on like that for a good while kissing each other’s faces until he finally planted a warm one right on my lips. I moaned in reply and kissed him right back on his mouth. Our lips touched pressing against the other’s until I felt his part just a smidgeon and a little tickle of his tongue graced me. I immediately opened my mouth to let him in. I figured it probably had been a good long time since he had been kissed by anybody in such a manner.
The moment his tongue was in my mouth he let out a very long drawn out moaning sigh of such need and contentment that I just kept my jaws open and let him snake himself around in there while I clutched him to my chest. I could feel salvia spilling out over our faces and our teeth bumping against each other. He tasted a little like the coffee we just drank and a bit of sweetness from the dessert we just had. It was a nice flavor in his mouth. I found myself liking it.
When we finally pulled back panting for breath, he wiped his mouth with his hand and whispered to me, “I’m glad your still here for me to show how much I love you.”
That caught me by surprise. I understood that this was no physical lusty need though he probably had those too but this was more of the basic desire for affection and physical intimacy.
“I’m glad I’m still here too,” I quipped.
He laid his head on my shoulder again. “I mean it. I know you miss George and me holding you here got me thinking that in the last few decades of our life, I never really showed George physical love while I got the chance. And we both know how my relationship with John got screwed up. I don’t want that to happen with you.”
“You and George were never intimate?” I was sort of surprised by that because George led me to believe otherwise.
“When we were younger we were. A lot but it was just wanking. We shared beds and yeah, I hugged him because he was a hugger when he wanted to be, but during the last twenty years, you know…I never showed him how much I loved him like I maybe should have. I don’t want to make the same mistake with you.”
I squeezed him. “Don’t worry. You’re not.” I kissed his head again.
He raised his face to kiss me back and that started another session of bumping gums together but this time it brought back some familiar feelings. I remember how he loved having his rear end rubbed and I slid my hand down his side to reach around and grab that bum. He liked it too because he grunted and sort of lifted it up for me while he still had his tongue in my mouth.
I got a little naughty and sneaked my hand around down his inner thigh and sure enough, I felt it there nestled in his trousers getting hard with my help. I slid my fingers over the long lump in that cloth while keeping him occupied with my lips and beard. He moaned again which is an interesting sensation when someone’s got their tongue in your mouth.
He lowered his hands down to my hips but took his time to try and feel me out. Once he actually touched my own arousal, I started fingering his a bit more sensuously and he responded by doing the same to me.
So there we were, too old rockers from Liverpool sucking face on a couch while feeling each other up through our trousers. Does life really get any better then that? I’m just joking but I could tell that was right what Paul needed at that moment and I was the one to give it to him. I did love him and he knew it.
He was getting hot under my fingers while he started to sort of rock his hips and writhe a bit under my touch while still holding that long sloppy kiss. There was no mistaking that he was getting closer with each stroke but the he broke the mood by pulling his face away to declare, “I don’t want to mess up my trousers.”
“Then pull them down,” I instructed gently and he responded by fumbling with his belt and opening them, sliding them and his y-fronts to his thighs while his hardness emerged almost like the inside of a flower and his open pants-front were the petals. It was sort of funny in a way.
I did the same, fussing with my own belt and pulling down my own clothing to expose myself to him in turn. Once I settled back on that couch, I reached for his bare skin. He flinched at my touch but then warmed to my stroking his visable need in my palm, holding it and rubbing it back and forth with my fingers.
He was hesitant, but he finally reached and probed for me and responded in turn.
Our lips met yet again for more sensuous play only now we held each other’s bare skin in the palm of our hands.
I reached climax first which sort of surprised me actually. I felt the surge rushing up through me under his touch and I moaned into his mouth as he had done in mine before. I felt the stickiness hit my stomach but I had to let it go while he still wasn’t there yet. This was more for him. He really needed to be the one to get there.
As I pumped my arm over him, he started to quiver and groan, putting his head back into my shoulder while he made these adorable mewing sounds. It had been a long time for him, I guess.
I decided to step things up a bit so I had to lift his head though I hated to do it but had to. I laid his head against the back of the couch and then I just bent down and took him into my mouth, giving him a good suck once I had him in my jaws.
He really started rumbling then, feeling his hands on my head almost pushing me into him while he cried out, “Oh my God! That beard!” just before he squirted down my throat.
I swallowed his hot juice while he rode out his climax to its finish with his breath heaving and sweat rolling down his bare thighs.
Once I released him from my mouth, I muttered, “Well, that was better then a nightcap,” and I heard him chuckle at me for that.
Afterwards, we took turns scrubbing ourselves clean in the bathroom. I supplied him with a washrag and towel. Then we ended up back on my couch really getting into this good movie that happened to be on
Barbara had appeared and threw a blanket over us which we both sort of snuggled under but not like before, while she sat alone in the comfortable chair under her own blanket. Half-way through the movie I decided I wanted her next to me and I patted the open space on the couch next to me and then she joined us, along with her blanket and the three of us kept warm while we enjoyed the rest of the movie.
When it was over, it was getting late and Paul said his goodbyes and left. I was glad he didn’t seem so maudlin anymore. I would have been worried since that wasn’t really like him but then, he was into expressing his feelings more as he aged. I’ve said that before.
The next day Barbara and I were surprised to get a nice bouquet of yellow flowers with a card that read simply, “Thanks. Paul.” That little touch really made me feel good. He’d be all right in the end. I knew he’d get through this and I also know he wouldn’t be alone forever.