Holding Onto the Things that Slip Through Your Fingers (3-?)
Title: “Holding on to the Things that Slip Through Your Fingers”
Author: Fingersfallingupwards
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: McLennon (John/Paul)
Warnings: PG-13 (for now . . .) SLASH! Boyxboy!
Summary: *Timetravel* Aging change anyone’s point of view, and makes them realize their selfishness as a youth. Paul is given a chance to rewrite his story, and he promises things will be better for all of them. Along the way, he discovers things that perhaps he hadn’t known before . . . TIMETRAVEL! McLennon!
Author notes: This is the story I always wanted to read. Honestly, it’s the piece I’m most proud of.
Much love to beagle_agent and mollybeakers for being soooo stellar!
Previous chapters are HERE
AUTHOR's apology: Hey, I am soo sorry this took so long. It's my own fault cause I've never really had a story where I felt okay posting small-ish chapters for. Beakers pointed out the obvious truth,so we should be trucking. For this story, I think it will be appropriate. By small, I mean around five thousand words a piece or so.
Shoutout to Thewrittingberry for being cool!
Anyroad,
I hope you all had a wonderful Valentine's day,
Phase 1 Phase 2
Phase 3, in which Paul gets frustrated.
*
Paul grimaced at the high pitched roar that followed their exit from the stage. It was like an overwhelming screaming contest, and for some reason, whoever was the loudest obviously liked the Beatles the most. Frankly, he didn’t see how the two correlated, but he wasn’t inclined to doubt the opinion that was clearly held by many thousands of people. With all the cries and pleas he could barely hear himself think.
One thing Paul had not missed from the future was the constant screeching and shrieking that continued even when they played music. Why were they paying so much to see them play if they were just going to be loud the entire time? After all the years he’d never understood.
“It’s an absolute miracle we haven’t gone deaf yet,” Paul commented in a displeased manner, having to shout just to hear himself talk. The four were being hurried out of the stadium. Looking back, Paul was mildly frightened to see many of the fans had broken past the barricade and were storming the field.
“Beethoven seemed to get on alright without his hearing,” George replied with a smile.
“You don’t need it. You never listen anyways” Brian was giving John a very distinct look that promised much lecturing was coming his way. His face had returned to its normal shade because he’d had time to cool down a bit while the boys played. Paul knew that the volcano was merely lying dormant for the moment. There were witne- people around after all . . .
“Well, if as everything below the neck works I think we’ll manage,” John commented suggestively, the after-performance rush too powerful for him to feel any fear about Brian’s ire.
The quintet hopped into the helicopter. The air was being diced by the metal pod’s thin blades which were steadily picking up pace as they approached, primed to launch from the ground at the first word. The sound of their steadily approaching fans coupled with the intense thuds was almost too much for them to handle, but the utter feelings of brilliance from performing surrounded them, making them feel higher and freer than even weed did.
Soon they were being lifted high above the encroaching circle of people, and into the breezy atmosphere. The bandmembers sunk into the nearby cushions, feeling the incredible rush that came from performing leaving their bodies in a mass exodus. Things seemed to slow down to a snail’s pace as things like weariness and hunger and the small mortal things of life were remembered along with the subconscious realization their invincibility was as fleeting as a summer breeze. Even the air itself seemed to be laden with a drowsy affect. The only one who wasn’t falling into the sedated state of being was the unofficial fifth Beatle, who seemed more worked-up than before the concert.
“Do you know how difficult it’s going to be to recover from your little speech?” Brian demanded, earlier anger resurfacing as he spoke.
“Mate, to be perfectly honest, the only thing I know right now is that I’m really bloody tired and that a kip would be a very good idea,” the bespectacled man informed their manager with a lack of his usual flair.
“You swore in front of fifty thousand people! Americans no less! We don’t need them to give their mothers more of a reason to dislike you and forbid their children from listening to you. We certainly get enough flak from your haircuts!”
“They love our hair,” John shot back dismissively.
“It is all they seem to talk about,” Ringo put forward.
“The press is going to have an absolute field day,” Brian groaned, now feeling more weary with the entire situation, as well as knowing that though unloading his wrath on John, although satisfying, accomplished nothing towards solving the problem.
“John, I want you to write an apology note ASAP, as in tonight. That way when someone attacks we’ll already have our defense prepared.”
John opened his mouth but didn’t have a chance to speak.
“Actually, I’ll have someone draft a speech for you clearly outlining what you are to say. Perhaps I should write some possible responses for you in case we have to hold a press conference to apologize,” Brian spoke aloud to himself thoughtfully.
“I can answer for myself you know,” John was feeling a tad bit annoyed.
“You’ve just clarified to me that you probably shouldn’t be near a microphone for the rest of your career except to sing,” The other man snapped.
John looked vaguely cross, but felt far too tired to have a proper row with their manager.
Despite the fact Paul repeated over and over to himself that it wasn’t a big deal and that he couldn’t do anything about it, he couldn’t help but feel dread worming and spreading into worry and anxiety. Though he’d accepted what he’d said earlier when he made the slip initially, he still had harbored a small amount of hope that everyone would forget about what he’d said. Clearly, he had underestimated John. Not had he decided that the words were cool, he had also announced them to thousands of fans, making Paul’s seemingly insignificant butterfly, turn into a gigantic nest full of them.
Paul would have to be more careful in the future, John’s attention was too keen to let anything pass by; the next slip could prove fatal.
“That was quite a stellar show you guys.”
Paul moaned miserably before his brain caught up with the voice.
In a flash he had wrapped his arms around a very surprised looking Mal Evans.
“Oi, what’s gotten into Paul?” Mal Evans asked, feeling confused at the sudden display of affection.
“-Police officers fired repeatedly-“
Their longtime friend and roadie, the ever reliable Mal had been with them and dealt with so much of their shit through the years. Yet never once did he complain, even when he was slighted on pay and advancement. Paul would certainly make sure he would get his dues. Also, if it was within his powers, he’d avert Mal’s premature death.
“They haven’t been- You know,” Neil suggested making motions of someone taking a hit, before Paul trapped him in his embrace.
Neil had lived a long full life, though it was marred by continuous lawsuits and court cases. In the end, lung cancer would claim yet another victim from Paul’s life. He had lasted so long. Paul reveled in their extensive history, going way back to their school-days. Maybe if they caught the cancer faster, things would end different.
There was so much he needed to do. . .
“Yes they have, though it really ought to have worn off by now,” Brian finished with a contemplative tone.
“Really Paul? I thought we’d gotten past this,” John said in a tired manner.
“Shut up John.”
It was plain to everyone he was smiling though.
“If you two had been here, you’d have seen him be like this. Where were you hiding all day?” George asked the duo.
“Where do you think? Setting everything up for the concert, and then making sure everyone’s getting it taken down properly. Though now we’ll be cleaning up after you lot at the hotel and securing everything so it’s ready to go to Canada later tonight,” Neil informed them.
“Tonight? We haven’t even had a chance to rest since the gig,” Ringo said mournfully.
“You can sleep on the train,” Brian said shortly, before he got a good look at the dull and unhappy expression on his boy’s faces.
“Oh come now, it won’t be so bad. We’ve done much worse,” He reminded them.
“Was that supposed to make us feel better?” George asked, eyes outlined in black-bags of weariness.
“Look, we just have to finish off the month and then we can all take a break, you two will write some music and we’ll reconvene sometime in October.” Brian’s promise was sugar to them.
The thought more or less boosted their morale, though many of them were wondering if they would last out the month.
“Okay, so the minute we get to the hotel, I want you all to shower and change into one of your spare suits,” Brian ordered, back in manager-mode.
“Why? I don’t know if you’ve ever tried, but sleeping in a suit is uncomfortable,” Ringo let their manager know, though his attempt at humor wasn’t enough to save them from the inevitable.
“We just have to make it through the after-party and then it’ll be straight to the train station I promise you.”
The entire group let out groans.
“But I don’t want to be all charming-like.” George bemoaned their fate.
“It won’t be a long party, I assure you,” Their manager reminded them.
“Well, how much time will we have exactly?” John queried suggestively, licking his lips as he did so.
Brian just sighed.
“A few minutes ought to be enough for you John,” Paul quipped, ducking when John moved half-heartedly to cuff him.
“There will be enough time enough for any activities you want to pursue, but please show a little self-restraint and only bring one girl each back to the hotel; I will not be dealing with a zoo full of girls before we have to leave,” He said firmly.
“How many does he think we need?” George remarked quietly to his bandmates as Brian moved away from the boys and engaged the two roadies in a serious conversation.
“How many do you suppose would fit in the hotel?” Ringo replied making the others laugh.
“Enough to fill the Albert Hall, that’s for sure,” Paul smiled; enjoying the double joke before he belatedly realized no one got the flip-side of it except him. They still chuckled, taking it at face value.
Paul laughed along hollowly, feeling a pang of loneliness.
*
The large open room was dimly lit. Small, charming giggles decorated the air as girls tried to make themselves seem the most agreeable and best overall of the small flock that had congregated at the after-party. They were eager, and ever so willing as they batted their eyelashes and made sure their skirts were appropriately revealingly short. Ringo had already reeled in a short, fiery red-head and had disappeared up to their floor. John was chatting up a brunette that had absolute stars in her eyes at John’s attention.
Of course, Paul was excited about the girls, but he found his eyes wandering to the furnishings. The mod art around the room caught his eye and he studied it, trying to commit it to memory. He had to stop himself from chuckling when he saw the retro style furniture, with its burnt gold hue. Everything was just so sixties. He didn’t think he missed very much, but the sight of it evoked such nostalgia that it made him smile.
God he was old.
Paul wondered if anyone around him had a single clue for the brimming future that awaited them. Everything was entirely different. The cars, the buildings, the economy, the clothes- just everything. Even the music business had been transformed by social networking and digital mixing. He didn’t even think CDs were even imagined yet, let alone mp3 files and Ipods. It almost made Paul’s head spin as he tried to grasp how things had jumped from this point to 2013. Hell, he’d witnessed it and he still had no clue!
So much would happen between now and then. So many inventions, so many amazing people, and so many wars. That thought made Paul pause. He probably had the power to avert some really terrible things . . .
Paul almost felt like the most selfish creature on earth. He’d been given a chance to go back in time, and instead of using it to avert disasters, he was using it to change the future of his band and save a few of his friend’s lives. He probably should be using his power for the good of mankind. Though many would make the case that helping avert the deaths of John Lennon and George Harrison was a truly humanitarian act, he knew that he could really change many awful events that affected billions of people.
The power and the knowledge he had made him feel almost giddy. Inwardly he shuddered though.
If he chose to change events that were far above his head, he’d be playing with fire. Sure maybe some things would be stopped, and maybe he could really help some people out, but there was always the very likely chance that things would go worse, despite Paul’s knowledge. He really didn’t think he had the capacity to change things that were so big, nor bear the weight of the world’s fate. Had he been younger and more reckless and sure of himself, he probably would have taken the chance.
With so many years under his belt, he knew better.
Which is why he decided to try and stick to changing things in his own little sphere, doing his best not to alter the future too badly.
He wasn’t doing so hot with that at the moment considering his little gaff that John had ever-so-kindly shared with about fifty-thousand people.
Paul was trying his best though, and that had to count for something, right?
“ . . .to which I said- Paul?”
Paul returned to the present and felt a slight flush creep up his cheek. He’d forgotten about the little circle he was in, more interested in the furniture. There were about four people standing around, two birds, some bloke and Brian, who was quirking a brow curiously. Paul hastily responded.
“Sorry, what were you saying?”
Brian pursed his lips, but the bright-eyed blond bird next to him giggled into her hand. Paul shot her a mildly heated look, knowing well the effect it would have. Predictably, she blushed and looked down at her pumps, trying not to look too pleased at the attention. It was evident that she was totally inexperienced with dealing with celebrities. He clucked his tongue. He’d have to see what he could do about that.
“I was saying there should be a new album out sometime . . .” Brian continued on, informing the other man who seemed very engaged with the conversation.
Paul leaned over and whispered the blonde.
“Fancy getting a drink?” He invited her, and maybe it was the accent but she looked entirely enraptured.
“Oh yeah,” She agreed, her American tone ringing quite pleasantly in his ears.
“What’s your name?” He asked as they made their way to the open bar.
“I’m Pamela Hansen,” She then looked at him and twittered a little. “I don’t need to ask you your name though.”
“I suppose not,” Paul returned with a short laugh.
He scanned over the gathering, noticing that George was chatting up the bird with glasses. On the other hand, he noticed John was just stepping off the lift with a pleased expression and an after-sex ciggie hanging from his mouth.
Paul shook his head wryly.
He wasn’t really exaggerating when he said that a few minutes would do for John to finish. The matter had less to do with the bespectacled man’s stamina, and more to do with the fact that he enjoyed quick, messy fucks. The less John knew about whomever he was screwing, the more he tended to like them. So to ensure maximum benefit it was always a little race with himself to see how quickly he could get into their knickers while learning as little as possible without them. He recalled many occasions where John had wrangled a bird, trapping her against the walls backstage of a performance right before they were supposed to get on to slip her one. John had no qualms about a quick knee-trembler. Paul, on the other hand, had higher standards for how one went about this sort of thing.
It was kind of funny, because while he was probably the most sexually active of the Beatles, he probably took the most time to actually get to the sex. Usually he would take the bird out to dinner, listen as she talked about her life, and make sure she had a very nice time before he’d lead things to the bedroom. He tried his best to make sure that whoever he was taking out had a really nice time.
Of course all of this was while he had been dating, and then engaged, the red-haired actress Jane Asher.
Between John and him, he wasn’t sure who the worst cheater was. Paul made his cheating a fully formed event, and John just screwed as quick and with as little personal interaction as he could.
They were both pretty bad, he admitted to himself.
Being able to look back, he did feel guilty about what he did to Jane, but at the same time this was such a regular part of their lifestyle, to not screw would be even odder still. He really did have to figure out what he would do with Jane when they returned to England.
Until then though . . .
“What’ll you have luv?” He asked, knowing that the last word would affect her horribly. Really, Americans could be silly sometimes. She glowed in response, though an unsure look took over her face.
“Oh I dunno, why don’t you choose?”
Paul smirked at her coy behavior.
“She’ll have a brandy Alexander, and I’ll have a gin and tonic,” he informed the barman who was mixing cute little green apple martinis.
When the drinks were made, he passed the glass over to her. She seemed nervous and she looked into the glass with a little trepidation. He frowned slightly. It wasn’t like he’d done anything to it or anything. Taking a tentative sip, a smile spread across her face. He knew he’d chosen well when he picked the sweet brandy. After taking a few more drinks she seemed much more at ease, a light buzz settling around her.
When she was in such a state as this, it was easy for Paul to pry the little details of her life out of her. He enjoyed learning about the girls, and he knew that they loved being listened to. Once he got her started, the floodgates opened and she started laying everything about her life on the table. He heard about her mother, who liked to gossip about everything with the other ladies in the neighborhood, about her best friend, Carol, who more often wasn’t her friend as they shared little spats and about her dog, Alexander who was messy and slobbered horribly, but she loved him all the same.
He made little comments of interest and understanding at the right time, letting her words wash over him. Paul took pleasure from the connections he made with people. The more he learned about the birds, the more he was able to care and have a fuck that meant a bit more to both parties than just a nameless one-night stand.
Paul always had to be careful, because while he enjoyed making that small relationship with them, he also didn’t want to lead them on that much either. Yet he just didn’t know how to have sex without making love to the other human being beneath him. In part it had to do with the sex, (probably a large part) but it was also about the way he felt to connected to others. He yearned for that closeness.
When he noticed Brian checking his watch from the corner of his eye he knew he had to take action now or lose the chance.
“Would you like to see our room?” He invited her the moment a gap appeared in her speech.
She blinked once or twice before a slow smile made its way across her face and she nodded. He led her to the lift. Once they were safely in, he tucked her under his arm and she looked up at him in adoration.
Leaning down, because she was fairly shorter than he was, he kissed her gently on the lips, waiting for her to respond. Pamela returned the gesture slowly, before instigating a little of it herself. Grabbing the back of her neck, he angled her neck so he had better access to her plush lips. She tasted of sweet brandy.
Paul smiled into the kiss. She was young and pretty and she fit very well in his arms. He knew that this evening would end well. The doors pinged open and he led her teasingly to his room. She looked around a little amazed at the surroundings, despite the fact it was barren except for a jacket he’d hung over his chair and his suitcase that was already packed. Still, she trailed her hand over the threads on the chair before she looked back at him with a half-grin on her face.
“C’mere luv,” He gestured, his voice a little huskier. The American looked shy, but she moved to the bed and crawled on top, joining him.
Paul was really enjoying her demure behavior. The way she looked so vulnerable just made him want to ravish her then and there. He settled for stealing her breath as he captured her mouth again. She made pitiful little sounds into his mouth that were high-pitched and needy. Straddling his midsection, Pamela panted and moaned wantonly. Paul carefully moved his hands lower on her, resting them high on her lovely thighs.
Suddenly she withdrew from their lip-lock, giving him a half-lidded look that had him grinning at what was to come.
Pamela bit her lip unsurely before she whispered into his ear, tickling it slightly.
“Be gentle; it’s my first time.” Pamela looked pretty embarrassed by the confession, but that just made Paul’s blood burn even more and he felt it rush to a certain organ that was making itself more and more known.
“I will,” he promised her, capturing her lips hungrily. She responded hotly, moaning into his mouth.
A little slither of curiosity found its way to his mind and he couldn’t help but ask when the kiss broke.
“How old are you anyways?”
He froze at her dear-in-the-headlights look.
“Uh, nineteen.”
Fuck.
It was too late for her. He’d already caught her tell-tale hesitation. Paul had raised too many children for him not to be extremely attuned to lies by this point.
“Don’t lie to me; how old are you really?” He winced at how much he sounded like an authoritative parent in that moment. It totally clashed with his current body. His stern tone worked though.
“Sixteen,” She admitted begrudgingly.
Paul couldn’t stop the shocked and dismayed look on his face. No way. He thought she was nineteen or eighteen at the least. Unfortunately he hadn’t thought much about the age of his chosen target for the night until right now. The truth made him hesitate more than a little. He honestly didn’t know if he could lay someone that young. Gradually he began to realize all of her coy behaviors were actually ones of inexperience and not of teasing. Of course, she was underage, she had no clue what kind of drink to order and that’s why she’d asked him, and also why she’d been so tentative in accepting it.
He felt really stupid right now.
Everything became crystal clear and he faced a moral dilemma.
He’d certainly had sex with girls underage when he was twenty-three, but he was actually seventy-two! Not that anyone would ever know that fact, but he really didn’t feel right taking someone so young. Then again, in body he was twenty-three again. That wasn’t too much of a leap to sixteen. He’d certainly married women with a much larger gap than that . . .
The difference though, was that they had both been adults.
He groaned in disappointment.
Paul couldn’t deflower someone as young as sixteen. It just wouldn’t be right.
Feeling frantic and unwanted, Pamela crashed her lips against his, trying to remind him of her and her budding sexuality.
He broke away quickly.
“Luv, I’m sorry, but I don’t feel right having sex with someone as young as you.” He tried to let her down gently, but it just made her look more desperate to please.
She grinded her hips into his, brushing the length of his hardness as she did. Paul shut his eyes as he barely bit back a moan. Capturing one of his hands she dragged it below her blouse and onto her breast. He felt like he was going to explode. Pamela seemed hell bent on undoing him if it was the last thing she did. It took all of his years of self-control to stop himself from throwing reason to the wind and embracing his body’s urgings. She was hot and needy and very, very supple as he learned as he felt her under the shirt.
His eyes flew open and widened when he felt her unzipping his pants and he reflexively tossed her off of him and onto the other side of the bed in a state of panic. He rolled off the bed frantically.
That had been a close one. He was breathing very deep trying to calm down his racing blood. Glancing over at Pamela, she was on the edge of tears, looking very upset. Guilt settled in when he realized he had quite literally tossed her to the side. Exhaling heavily, he felt the awkwardness settle in. Honestly, he didn’t think in all of his years he’d ever been in a situation like this in his entire life. How to proceed was a complete mystery to him.
Paul hovered uncertainly for a few moments as he watched her hiccup helplessly on the bed. He didn’t mean to make her cry!
Cautiously, he sat on the edge of the bed, waiting to see what she would do. Once he ascertained that she wouldn’t be making another move on him, (he really didn’t think he could withstand another one,) Paul scooted closer to her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“I kn-know I’m young, b-but I promise I’ll be as good as I c-can at it,” Her chest was heaving. The fact of being rejected by her biggest idol made her feel like a horrible failure. Pamela wanted to do anything to prove that she was something special. She’d felt so honored when he’d approached her, out of all the other girls, and decided to pick her up. After he’d been so kind and patient as listened to her talk, and bought her the delicious drink, she’d ruined it all and disappointed him!
“Please, don’t cry.” Even as he spoke that, fat tears started falling down her face.
“I’m sorry I-I’m so young,” She blubbered.
“Shhh, shh, it’s not your fault,” He started rubbing her back, trying to sooth her.
“Yes it i-is,” She countered emotionally, “I’m not attractive e-enough and my boobs are small and m-my teeth are weird and-“
“No, no, you’re beautiful, you really are,” Paul was as reassuring as he could be, but she shook her head and fell into another wave of tears.
“Look at me luv,” Paul asked softly. She shook her head violently. Grasping her tiny chin in his palm, he gently forced her head to face his own. She’d shut her eyes rebelliously though.
“Look at me, please?”
It was the last word that really made her turn her watery eyes towards him.
“Out of all the other girls, I picked you. You were the prettiest girl in the room, I promise.” He looked as earnestly as he could into her eyes, and she flushed a hopeful expression slowly flowing onto her face. “It’s just that I want you to have your first time with someone special.” He had figured that perhaps telling her she was too young wasn’t the best path to take and decided to try an alternative avenue.
“You are special though! You’re the most special person in the world!” Her eyes burned with conviction and he cringed inwardly. No one seemed to quite realize he was the same as any other bloke with a few slight differences.
“I’m not, really. Don’t you want to have your first time with a boy you really love? A boy you really know? I have to leave in a few hours and there’s a chance we’ll never see each other again,” He disliked having to point out the awkward fact. It was usually better to pretend that little truth didn’t exist.
“But I want to share it with you,” She tried once more, quietly.
“I know, but there is someone way better than me out there waiting for you, I promise.”
“Do you really think so?” She sniffed. He nodded along eagerly, trying to encourage this train of thought.
“Alright . . .” She seemed disappointed, but more at peace with the truth.
Paul exhaled in relief. Watching her wipe away a few tears, he felt comforted. He hated seeing women cry.
“Well I should probably get back to the party,” She spoke after an interminable length of time, still a little shaky from the emotional rollercoaster. There was embarrassment in her tone, as though she felt ridiculous for her earlier behaviors and Paul frowned. He didn’t want her leaving like that. No matter what happened, a main goal of his was to make sure every lady he took out left happy. He had grown to care about her, maybe more paternally than she wanted, but still.
“I’m really sorry about how this night ended. Is there any way I can make it up to you?” He asked without really thinking of the consequences. After the words left his mouth he realized that it might’ve been a mistake. Who knew what kind of ridiculous and impossible thing a sixteen-year old would think up.
She gave him a small smile, excitement building up in her eyes now.
“Well, I guess if you gave me something of yours that would be enough. Just something so I can remember you by,” she spoke slightly hesitatingly, and avoided making direct eye-contact.
His concerns were unfounded, and he found himself warmed by her innocence. In that moment he knew he made the right choice in stopping.
Thinking quickly he tried to do a little mental inventory of items he had. Honestly, he didn’t recall all the things he would’ve brought on tour and he didn’t want to disappoint her. He spotted a bit of navy blue from the corner of his eye and he mulled it over thoughtfully. Deciding it would do, he quickly drew it up and wrapped it around her shoulders.
She tugged the jacket of his suit against her with a barely concealed enthusiasm. Pamela inhaled deeply, relishing his scent. It was a little surprising that he’d given her something like this, but she enjoyed that it was oddly personal.
“Thank you,” She beamed up at him, insecurity and embarrassment lost in the moment of her joy.
“No, thank you,” He returned the gesture. She turned to leave. Her hand hesitated on the knob and she looked back at him one last time.
“Please, take care of yourself,” He said seriously and she giggled.
“You sound like my father.”
Paul didn’t quite know how to feel about that one, but he did know that he really needed to work on managing his behavior better. God. He really was awfully paternal wasn’t he?
The look on his face made her laugh again. Pamela shot him one last grateful smile before she disappeared behind the door, clutching the jacket close to her as she did.
Paul exhaled heavily and let his head fall against the pillow helplessly. He’d done good today, he knew that. While he felt all warm and fuzzy inside, he was also getting a case of blue-balls and he groaned.
Why did being responsible mean he had to be sexually frustrated? Jesus, they’d been so close. She’d teased him almost to the edge. He knew if it went on just a little longer . . .
He pictured the way she’d straddled him and the delicious little noises she’d made. His hand was back below her shirt and-
A series of quick knocks resounded on his door and he puffed out a breath, settling on the fact he’d have to deal with the feelings of frustration for the moment.
God he wanted a cigarette. That thought certainly didn’t help his mood at all either.
“Come in.” He couldn’t keep the annoyance he felt out of his tone. Ringo and John both filed in. The satisfied expressions on their faces just made him feel even more exasperated.
“Hello,” Ringo greeted merrily.
“Hi.” He replied shortly.
“Oh dear, did something go wrong with Paulie?” John asked with a grin as he noticed his friend’s unhappy state.
“She didn’t have anything did she?” Ringo wondered, his brow furrowing.
“No. Things didn’t pan out the way I wanted them to,” he told them flatly.
“What happened?” John was more than a little bit curious.
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” he avoided the question.
“Could you get it up? I’ve heard sometimes that happens to blokes-“ Ringo informed his friend, in what was supposed to be a reassuring manner.
Paul just groaned again.
“I think Paul’s got the opposite problem,” John pointed out with glee.
“Shut-up you!” Paul threw his pillow at his co-writer. The wily man dodged easily, the shit-eating grin still on his face. For whatever the reason, the fact that Paul hadn’t gotten any was the funniest thing to the older man.
“Boys, it’s time to leave,” Mal informed them as he poked his head into the room. He did a double take at the scene; taking in Paul’s defeated expression and John’s entirely overjoyed one.
“What’s wrong with McCartney?”
“Our little Macca got rejected,” John informed him, grin still firmly planted on his face.
“I did not get rejected,” he returned brusquely.
“Then what happened?” John pried again and Paul shot him a mild glare.
“I told you, it’s none of your business!”
“Oh, dear, she didn’t have something, did she?” Mal asked in genuine concern, making John laugh aloud and Paul bury his head in the pillow again.
“Paul, I saw some bird leaving with your jacket, she didn’t nick it did she?” George asked as he came into the room totally ignorant to the mood.
“What did I tell you about letting them near your wallet Macca?” John chastised mockingly.
“She didn’t steal it,” He said, not explaining any further, choosing instead to let the exhaustion overtake his body.
It had been more than a long day. He wanted nothing more than to sleep and forget the stress.
“What are all you doing? We’ve got a train to catch!” Brian made them jump into action as he called from the hallway.
“Coming Mimi!” John called back facetiously.
It was a wonder they got things done at all, Paul thought.
*
**
Ta-Da!
I don't know why but the thought of Paul dealing with this made me laugh so hard. As Beakers summed it up, "Paternal Paul with a throbber."
Ahh, so mean.
Also, one last warning. The first year Paul gets back he's going to be dealing with a lot of problems as he adjusts. The Mclennon comes later . . . I promise. Anyways, next chapter should be out in a few days!
Until the McLennon comes, here's a little something to tide you over. . . .
"Just a Kiss," by Membrillita
Happy Valentines~
Next chapters are HERE
Leave a comment to let me know you read!
Author: Fingersfallingupwards
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: McLennon (John/Paul)
Warnings: PG-13 (for now . . .) SLASH! Boyxboy!
Summary: *Timetravel* Aging change anyone’s point of view, and makes them realize their selfishness as a youth. Paul is given a chance to rewrite his story, and he promises things will be better for all of them. Along the way, he discovers things that perhaps he hadn’t known before . . . TIMETRAVEL! McLennon!
Author notes: This is the story I always wanted to read. Honestly, it’s the piece I’m most proud of.
Much love to beagle_agent and mollybeakers for being soooo stellar!
Previous chapters are HERE
AUTHOR's apology: Hey, I am soo sorry this took so long. It's my own fault cause I've never really had a story where I felt okay posting small-ish chapters for. Beakers pointed out the obvious truth,so we should be trucking. For this story, I think it will be appropriate. By small, I mean around five thousand words a piece or so.
Shoutout to Thewrittingberry for being cool!
Anyroad,
I hope you all had a wonderful Valentine's day,
Phase 1 Phase 2
Phase 3, in which Paul gets frustrated.
*
Paul grimaced at the high pitched roar that followed their exit from the stage. It was like an overwhelming screaming contest, and for some reason, whoever was the loudest obviously liked the Beatles the most. Frankly, he didn’t see how the two correlated, but he wasn’t inclined to doubt the opinion that was clearly held by many thousands of people. With all the cries and pleas he could barely hear himself think.
One thing Paul had not missed from the future was the constant screeching and shrieking that continued even when they played music. Why were they paying so much to see them play if they were just going to be loud the entire time? After all the years he’d never understood.
“It’s an absolute miracle we haven’t gone deaf yet,” Paul commented in a displeased manner, having to shout just to hear himself talk. The four were being hurried out of the stadium. Looking back, Paul was mildly frightened to see many of the fans had broken past the barricade and were storming the field.
“Beethoven seemed to get on alright without his hearing,” George replied with a smile.
“You don’t need it. You never listen anyways” Brian was giving John a very distinct look that promised much lecturing was coming his way. His face had returned to its normal shade because he’d had time to cool down a bit while the boys played. Paul knew that the volcano was merely lying dormant for the moment. There were witne- people around after all . . .
“Well, if as everything below the neck works I think we’ll manage,” John commented suggestively, the after-performance rush too powerful for him to feel any fear about Brian’s ire.
The quintet hopped into the helicopter. The air was being diced by the metal pod’s thin blades which were steadily picking up pace as they approached, primed to launch from the ground at the first word. The sound of their steadily approaching fans coupled with the intense thuds was almost too much for them to handle, but the utter feelings of brilliance from performing surrounded them, making them feel higher and freer than even weed did.
Soon they were being lifted high above the encroaching circle of people, and into the breezy atmosphere. The bandmembers sunk into the nearby cushions, feeling the incredible rush that came from performing leaving their bodies in a mass exodus. Things seemed to slow down to a snail’s pace as things like weariness and hunger and the small mortal things of life were remembered along with the subconscious realization their invincibility was as fleeting as a summer breeze. Even the air itself seemed to be laden with a drowsy affect. The only one who wasn’t falling into the sedated state of being was the unofficial fifth Beatle, who seemed more worked-up than before the concert.
“Do you know how difficult it’s going to be to recover from your little speech?” Brian demanded, earlier anger resurfacing as he spoke.
“Mate, to be perfectly honest, the only thing I know right now is that I’m really bloody tired and that a kip would be a very good idea,” the bespectacled man informed their manager with a lack of his usual flair.
“You swore in front of fifty thousand people! Americans no less! We don’t need them to give their mothers more of a reason to dislike you and forbid their children from listening to you. We certainly get enough flak from your haircuts!”
“They love our hair,” John shot back dismissively.
“It is all they seem to talk about,” Ringo put forward.
“The press is going to have an absolute field day,” Brian groaned, now feeling more weary with the entire situation, as well as knowing that though unloading his wrath on John, although satisfying, accomplished nothing towards solving the problem.
“John, I want you to write an apology note ASAP, as in tonight. That way when someone attacks we’ll already have our defense prepared.”
John opened his mouth but didn’t have a chance to speak.
“Actually, I’ll have someone draft a speech for you clearly outlining what you are to say. Perhaps I should write some possible responses for you in case we have to hold a press conference to apologize,” Brian spoke aloud to himself thoughtfully.
“I can answer for myself you know,” John was feeling a tad bit annoyed.
“You’ve just clarified to me that you probably shouldn’t be near a microphone for the rest of your career except to sing,” The other man snapped.
John looked vaguely cross, but felt far too tired to have a proper row with their manager.
Despite the fact Paul repeated over and over to himself that it wasn’t a big deal and that he couldn’t do anything about it, he couldn’t help but feel dread worming and spreading into worry and anxiety. Though he’d accepted what he’d said earlier when he made the slip initially, he still had harbored a small amount of hope that everyone would forget about what he’d said. Clearly, he had underestimated John. Not had he decided that the words were cool, he had also announced them to thousands of fans, making Paul’s seemingly insignificant butterfly, turn into a gigantic nest full of them.
Paul would have to be more careful in the future, John’s attention was too keen to let anything pass by; the next slip could prove fatal.
“That was quite a stellar show you guys.”
Paul moaned miserably before his brain caught up with the voice.
In a flash he had wrapped his arms around a very surprised looking Mal Evans.
“Oi, what’s gotten into Paul?” Mal Evans asked, feeling confused at the sudden display of affection.
“-Police officers fired repeatedly-“
Their longtime friend and roadie, the ever reliable Mal had been with them and dealt with so much of their shit through the years. Yet never once did he complain, even when he was slighted on pay and advancement. Paul would certainly make sure he would get his dues. Also, if it was within his powers, he’d avert Mal’s premature death.
“They haven’t been- You know,” Neil suggested making motions of someone taking a hit, before Paul trapped him in his embrace.
Neil had lived a long full life, though it was marred by continuous lawsuits and court cases. In the end, lung cancer would claim yet another victim from Paul’s life. He had lasted so long. Paul reveled in their extensive history, going way back to their school-days. Maybe if they caught the cancer faster, things would end different.
There was so much he needed to do. . .
“Yes they have, though it really ought to have worn off by now,” Brian finished with a contemplative tone.
“Really Paul? I thought we’d gotten past this,” John said in a tired manner.
“Shut up John.”
It was plain to everyone he was smiling though.
“If you two had been here, you’d have seen him be like this. Where were you hiding all day?” George asked the duo.
“Where do you think? Setting everything up for the concert, and then making sure everyone’s getting it taken down properly. Though now we’ll be cleaning up after you lot at the hotel and securing everything so it’s ready to go to Canada later tonight,” Neil informed them.
“Tonight? We haven’t even had a chance to rest since the gig,” Ringo said mournfully.
“You can sleep on the train,” Brian said shortly, before he got a good look at the dull and unhappy expression on his boy’s faces.
“Oh come now, it won’t be so bad. We’ve done much worse,” He reminded them.
“Was that supposed to make us feel better?” George asked, eyes outlined in black-bags of weariness.
“Look, we just have to finish off the month and then we can all take a break, you two will write some music and we’ll reconvene sometime in October.” Brian’s promise was sugar to them.
The thought more or less boosted their morale, though many of them were wondering if they would last out the month.
“Okay, so the minute we get to the hotel, I want you all to shower and change into one of your spare suits,” Brian ordered, back in manager-mode.
“Why? I don’t know if you’ve ever tried, but sleeping in a suit is uncomfortable,” Ringo let their manager know, though his attempt at humor wasn’t enough to save them from the inevitable.
“We just have to make it through the after-party and then it’ll be straight to the train station I promise you.”
The entire group let out groans.
“But I don’t want to be all charming-like.” George bemoaned their fate.
“It won’t be a long party, I assure you,” Their manager reminded them.
“Well, how much time will we have exactly?” John queried suggestively, licking his lips as he did so.
Brian just sighed.
“A few minutes ought to be enough for you John,” Paul quipped, ducking when John moved half-heartedly to cuff him.
“There will be enough time enough for any activities you want to pursue, but please show a little self-restraint and only bring one girl each back to the hotel; I will not be dealing with a zoo full of girls before we have to leave,” He said firmly.
“How many does he think we need?” George remarked quietly to his bandmates as Brian moved away from the boys and engaged the two roadies in a serious conversation.
“How many do you suppose would fit in the hotel?” Ringo replied making the others laugh.
“Enough to fill the Albert Hall, that’s for sure,” Paul smiled; enjoying the double joke before he belatedly realized no one got the flip-side of it except him. They still chuckled, taking it at face value.
Paul laughed along hollowly, feeling a pang of loneliness.
*
The large open room was dimly lit. Small, charming giggles decorated the air as girls tried to make themselves seem the most agreeable and best overall of the small flock that had congregated at the after-party. They were eager, and ever so willing as they batted their eyelashes and made sure their skirts were appropriately revealingly short. Ringo had already reeled in a short, fiery red-head and had disappeared up to their floor. John was chatting up a brunette that had absolute stars in her eyes at John’s attention.
Of course, Paul was excited about the girls, but he found his eyes wandering to the furnishings. The mod art around the room caught his eye and he studied it, trying to commit it to memory. He had to stop himself from chuckling when he saw the retro style furniture, with its burnt gold hue. Everything was just so sixties. He didn’t think he missed very much, but the sight of it evoked such nostalgia that it made him smile.
God he was old.
Paul wondered if anyone around him had a single clue for the brimming future that awaited them. Everything was entirely different. The cars, the buildings, the economy, the clothes- just everything. Even the music business had been transformed by social networking and digital mixing. He didn’t even think CDs were even imagined yet, let alone mp3 files and Ipods. It almost made Paul’s head spin as he tried to grasp how things had jumped from this point to 2013. Hell, he’d witnessed it and he still had no clue!
So much would happen between now and then. So many inventions, so many amazing people, and so many wars. That thought made Paul pause. He probably had the power to avert some really terrible things . . .
Paul almost felt like the most selfish creature on earth. He’d been given a chance to go back in time, and instead of using it to avert disasters, he was using it to change the future of his band and save a few of his friend’s lives. He probably should be using his power for the good of mankind. Though many would make the case that helping avert the deaths of John Lennon and George Harrison was a truly humanitarian act, he knew that he could really change many awful events that affected billions of people.
The power and the knowledge he had made him feel almost giddy. Inwardly he shuddered though.
If he chose to change events that were far above his head, he’d be playing with fire. Sure maybe some things would be stopped, and maybe he could really help some people out, but there was always the very likely chance that things would go worse, despite Paul’s knowledge. He really didn’t think he had the capacity to change things that were so big, nor bear the weight of the world’s fate. Had he been younger and more reckless and sure of himself, he probably would have taken the chance.
With so many years under his belt, he knew better.
Which is why he decided to try and stick to changing things in his own little sphere, doing his best not to alter the future too badly.
He wasn’t doing so hot with that at the moment considering his little gaff that John had ever-so-kindly shared with about fifty-thousand people.
Paul was trying his best though, and that had to count for something, right?
“ . . .to which I said- Paul?”
Paul returned to the present and felt a slight flush creep up his cheek. He’d forgotten about the little circle he was in, more interested in the furniture. There were about four people standing around, two birds, some bloke and Brian, who was quirking a brow curiously. Paul hastily responded.
“Sorry, what were you saying?”
Brian pursed his lips, but the bright-eyed blond bird next to him giggled into her hand. Paul shot her a mildly heated look, knowing well the effect it would have. Predictably, she blushed and looked down at her pumps, trying not to look too pleased at the attention. It was evident that she was totally inexperienced with dealing with celebrities. He clucked his tongue. He’d have to see what he could do about that.
“I was saying there should be a new album out sometime . . .” Brian continued on, informing the other man who seemed very engaged with the conversation.
Paul leaned over and whispered the blonde.
“Fancy getting a drink?” He invited her, and maybe it was the accent but she looked entirely enraptured.
“Oh yeah,” She agreed, her American tone ringing quite pleasantly in his ears.
“What’s your name?” He asked as they made their way to the open bar.
“I’m Pamela Hansen,” She then looked at him and twittered a little. “I don’t need to ask you your name though.”
“I suppose not,” Paul returned with a short laugh.
He scanned over the gathering, noticing that George was chatting up the bird with glasses. On the other hand, he noticed John was just stepping off the lift with a pleased expression and an after-sex ciggie hanging from his mouth.
Paul shook his head wryly.
He wasn’t really exaggerating when he said that a few minutes would do for John to finish. The matter had less to do with the bespectacled man’s stamina, and more to do with the fact that he enjoyed quick, messy fucks. The less John knew about whomever he was screwing, the more he tended to like them. So to ensure maximum benefit it was always a little race with himself to see how quickly he could get into their knickers while learning as little as possible without them. He recalled many occasions where John had wrangled a bird, trapping her against the walls backstage of a performance right before they were supposed to get on to slip her one. John had no qualms about a quick knee-trembler. Paul, on the other hand, had higher standards for how one went about this sort of thing.
It was kind of funny, because while he was probably the most sexually active of the Beatles, he probably took the most time to actually get to the sex. Usually he would take the bird out to dinner, listen as she talked about her life, and make sure she had a very nice time before he’d lead things to the bedroom. He tried his best to make sure that whoever he was taking out had a really nice time.
Of course all of this was while he had been dating, and then engaged, the red-haired actress Jane Asher.
Between John and him, he wasn’t sure who the worst cheater was. Paul made his cheating a fully formed event, and John just screwed as quick and with as little personal interaction as he could.
They were both pretty bad, he admitted to himself.
Being able to look back, he did feel guilty about what he did to Jane, but at the same time this was such a regular part of their lifestyle, to not screw would be even odder still. He really did have to figure out what he would do with Jane when they returned to England.
Until then though . . .
“What’ll you have luv?” He asked, knowing that the last word would affect her horribly. Really, Americans could be silly sometimes. She glowed in response, though an unsure look took over her face.
“Oh I dunno, why don’t you choose?”
Paul smirked at her coy behavior.
“She’ll have a brandy Alexander, and I’ll have a gin and tonic,” he informed the barman who was mixing cute little green apple martinis.
When the drinks were made, he passed the glass over to her. She seemed nervous and she looked into the glass with a little trepidation. He frowned slightly. It wasn’t like he’d done anything to it or anything. Taking a tentative sip, a smile spread across her face. He knew he’d chosen well when he picked the sweet brandy. After taking a few more drinks she seemed much more at ease, a light buzz settling around her.
When she was in such a state as this, it was easy for Paul to pry the little details of her life out of her. He enjoyed learning about the girls, and he knew that they loved being listened to. Once he got her started, the floodgates opened and she started laying everything about her life on the table. He heard about her mother, who liked to gossip about everything with the other ladies in the neighborhood, about her best friend, Carol, who more often wasn’t her friend as they shared little spats and about her dog, Alexander who was messy and slobbered horribly, but she loved him all the same.
He made little comments of interest and understanding at the right time, letting her words wash over him. Paul took pleasure from the connections he made with people. The more he learned about the birds, the more he was able to care and have a fuck that meant a bit more to both parties than just a nameless one-night stand.
Paul always had to be careful, because while he enjoyed making that small relationship with them, he also didn’t want to lead them on that much either. Yet he just didn’t know how to have sex without making love to the other human being beneath him. In part it had to do with the sex, (probably a large part) but it was also about the way he felt to connected to others. He yearned for that closeness.
When he noticed Brian checking his watch from the corner of his eye he knew he had to take action now or lose the chance.
“Would you like to see our room?” He invited her the moment a gap appeared in her speech.
She blinked once or twice before a slow smile made its way across her face and she nodded. He led her to the lift. Once they were safely in, he tucked her under his arm and she looked up at him in adoration.
Leaning down, because she was fairly shorter than he was, he kissed her gently on the lips, waiting for her to respond. Pamela returned the gesture slowly, before instigating a little of it herself. Grabbing the back of her neck, he angled her neck so he had better access to her plush lips. She tasted of sweet brandy.
Paul smiled into the kiss. She was young and pretty and she fit very well in his arms. He knew that this evening would end well. The doors pinged open and he led her teasingly to his room. She looked around a little amazed at the surroundings, despite the fact it was barren except for a jacket he’d hung over his chair and his suitcase that was already packed. Still, she trailed her hand over the threads on the chair before she looked back at him with a half-grin on her face.
“C’mere luv,” He gestured, his voice a little huskier. The American looked shy, but she moved to the bed and crawled on top, joining him.
Paul was really enjoying her demure behavior. The way she looked so vulnerable just made him want to ravish her then and there. He settled for stealing her breath as he captured her mouth again. She made pitiful little sounds into his mouth that were high-pitched and needy. Straddling his midsection, Pamela panted and moaned wantonly. Paul carefully moved his hands lower on her, resting them high on her lovely thighs.
Suddenly she withdrew from their lip-lock, giving him a half-lidded look that had him grinning at what was to come.
Pamela bit her lip unsurely before she whispered into his ear, tickling it slightly.
“Be gentle; it’s my first time.” Pamela looked pretty embarrassed by the confession, but that just made Paul’s blood burn even more and he felt it rush to a certain organ that was making itself more and more known.
“I will,” he promised her, capturing her lips hungrily. She responded hotly, moaning into his mouth.
A little slither of curiosity found its way to his mind and he couldn’t help but ask when the kiss broke.
“How old are you anyways?”
He froze at her dear-in-the-headlights look.
“Uh, nineteen.”
Fuck.
It was too late for her. He’d already caught her tell-tale hesitation. Paul had raised too many children for him not to be extremely attuned to lies by this point.
“Don’t lie to me; how old are you really?” He winced at how much he sounded like an authoritative parent in that moment. It totally clashed with his current body. His stern tone worked though.
“Sixteen,” She admitted begrudgingly.
Paul couldn’t stop the shocked and dismayed look on his face. No way. He thought she was nineteen or eighteen at the least. Unfortunately he hadn’t thought much about the age of his chosen target for the night until right now. The truth made him hesitate more than a little. He honestly didn’t know if he could lay someone that young. Gradually he began to realize all of her coy behaviors were actually ones of inexperience and not of teasing. Of course, she was underage, she had no clue what kind of drink to order and that’s why she’d asked him, and also why she’d been so tentative in accepting it.
He felt really stupid right now.
Everything became crystal clear and he faced a moral dilemma.
He’d certainly had sex with girls underage when he was twenty-three, but he was actually seventy-two! Not that anyone would ever know that fact, but he really didn’t feel right taking someone so young. Then again, in body he was twenty-three again. That wasn’t too much of a leap to sixteen. He’d certainly married women with a much larger gap than that . . .
The difference though, was that they had both been adults.
He groaned in disappointment.
Paul couldn’t deflower someone as young as sixteen. It just wouldn’t be right.
Feeling frantic and unwanted, Pamela crashed her lips against his, trying to remind him of her and her budding sexuality.
He broke away quickly.
“Luv, I’m sorry, but I don’t feel right having sex with someone as young as you.” He tried to let her down gently, but it just made her look more desperate to please.
She grinded her hips into his, brushing the length of his hardness as she did. Paul shut his eyes as he barely bit back a moan. Capturing one of his hands she dragged it below her blouse and onto her breast. He felt like he was going to explode. Pamela seemed hell bent on undoing him if it was the last thing she did. It took all of his years of self-control to stop himself from throwing reason to the wind and embracing his body’s urgings. She was hot and needy and very, very supple as he learned as he felt her under the shirt.
His eyes flew open and widened when he felt her unzipping his pants and he reflexively tossed her off of him and onto the other side of the bed in a state of panic. He rolled off the bed frantically.
That had been a close one. He was breathing very deep trying to calm down his racing blood. Glancing over at Pamela, she was on the edge of tears, looking very upset. Guilt settled in when he realized he had quite literally tossed her to the side. Exhaling heavily, he felt the awkwardness settle in. Honestly, he didn’t think in all of his years he’d ever been in a situation like this in his entire life. How to proceed was a complete mystery to him.
Paul hovered uncertainly for a few moments as he watched her hiccup helplessly on the bed. He didn’t mean to make her cry!
Cautiously, he sat on the edge of the bed, waiting to see what she would do. Once he ascertained that she wouldn’t be making another move on him, (he really didn’t think he could withstand another one,) Paul scooted closer to her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“I kn-know I’m young, b-but I promise I’ll be as good as I c-can at it,” Her chest was heaving. The fact of being rejected by her biggest idol made her feel like a horrible failure. Pamela wanted to do anything to prove that she was something special. She’d felt so honored when he’d approached her, out of all the other girls, and decided to pick her up. After he’d been so kind and patient as listened to her talk, and bought her the delicious drink, she’d ruined it all and disappointed him!
“Please, don’t cry.” Even as he spoke that, fat tears started falling down her face.
“I’m sorry I-I’m so young,” She blubbered.
“Shhh, shh, it’s not your fault,” He started rubbing her back, trying to sooth her.
“Yes it i-is,” She countered emotionally, “I’m not attractive e-enough and my boobs are small and m-my teeth are weird and-“
“No, no, you’re beautiful, you really are,” Paul was as reassuring as he could be, but she shook her head and fell into another wave of tears.
“Look at me luv,” Paul asked softly. She shook her head violently. Grasping her tiny chin in his palm, he gently forced her head to face his own. She’d shut her eyes rebelliously though.
“Look at me, please?”
It was the last word that really made her turn her watery eyes towards him.
“Out of all the other girls, I picked you. You were the prettiest girl in the room, I promise.” He looked as earnestly as he could into her eyes, and she flushed a hopeful expression slowly flowing onto her face. “It’s just that I want you to have your first time with someone special.” He had figured that perhaps telling her she was too young wasn’t the best path to take and decided to try an alternative avenue.
“You are special though! You’re the most special person in the world!” Her eyes burned with conviction and he cringed inwardly. No one seemed to quite realize he was the same as any other bloke with a few slight differences.
“I’m not, really. Don’t you want to have your first time with a boy you really love? A boy you really know? I have to leave in a few hours and there’s a chance we’ll never see each other again,” He disliked having to point out the awkward fact. It was usually better to pretend that little truth didn’t exist.
“But I want to share it with you,” She tried once more, quietly.
“I know, but there is someone way better than me out there waiting for you, I promise.”
“Do you really think so?” She sniffed. He nodded along eagerly, trying to encourage this train of thought.
“Alright . . .” She seemed disappointed, but more at peace with the truth.
Paul exhaled in relief. Watching her wipe away a few tears, he felt comforted. He hated seeing women cry.
“Well I should probably get back to the party,” She spoke after an interminable length of time, still a little shaky from the emotional rollercoaster. There was embarrassment in her tone, as though she felt ridiculous for her earlier behaviors and Paul frowned. He didn’t want her leaving like that. No matter what happened, a main goal of his was to make sure every lady he took out left happy. He had grown to care about her, maybe more paternally than she wanted, but still.
“I’m really sorry about how this night ended. Is there any way I can make it up to you?” He asked without really thinking of the consequences. After the words left his mouth he realized that it might’ve been a mistake. Who knew what kind of ridiculous and impossible thing a sixteen-year old would think up.
She gave him a small smile, excitement building up in her eyes now.
“Well, I guess if you gave me something of yours that would be enough. Just something so I can remember you by,” she spoke slightly hesitatingly, and avoided making direct eye-contact.
His concerns were unfounded, and he found himself warmed by her innocence. In that moment he knew he made the right choice in stopping.
Thinking quickly he tried to do a little mental inventory of items he had. Honestly, he didn’t recall all the things he would’ve brought on tour and he didn’t want to disappoint her. He spotted a bit of navy blue from the corner of his eye and he mulled it over thoughtfully. Deciding it would do, he quickly drew it up and wrapped it around her shoulders.
She tugged the jacket of his suit against her with a barely concealed enthusiasm. Pamela inhaled deeply, relishing his scent. It was a little surprising that he’d given her something like this, but she enjoyed that it was oddly personal.
“Thank you,” She beamed up at him, insecurity and embarrassment lost in the moment of her joy.
“No, thank you,” He returned the gesture. She turned to leave. Her hand hesitated on the knob and she looked back at him one last time.
“Please, take care of yourself,” He said seriously and she giggled.
“You sound like my father.”
Paul didn’t quite know how to feel about that one, but he did know that he really needed to work on managing his behavior better. God. He really was awfully paternal wasn’t he?
The look on his face made her laugh again. Pamela shot him one last grateful smile before she disappeared behind the door, clutching the jacket close to her as she did.
Paul exhaled heavily and let his head fall against the pillow helplessly. He’d done good today, he knew that. While he felt all warm and fuzzy inside, he was also getting a case of blue-balls and he groaned.
Why did being responsible mean he had to be sexually frustrated? Jesus, they’d been so close. She’d teased him almost to the edge. He knew if it went on just a little longer . . .
He pictured the way she’d straddled him and the delicious little noises she’d made. His hand was back below her shirt and-
A series of quick knocks resounded on his door and he puffed out a breath, settling on the fact he’d have to deal with the feelings of frustration for the moment.
God he wanted a cigarette. That thought certainly didn’t help his mood at all either.
“Come in.” He couldn’t keep the annoyance he felt out of his tone. Ringo and John both filed in. The satisfied expressions on their faces just made him feel even more exasperated.
“Hello,” Ringo greeted merrily.
“Hi.” He replied shortly.
“Oh dear, did something go wrong with Paulie?” John asked with a grin as he noticed his friend’s unhappy state.
“She didn’t have anything did she?” Ringo wondered, his brow furrowing.
“No. Things didn’t pan out the way I wanted them to,” he told them flatly.
“What happened?” John was more than a little bit curious.
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” he avoided the question.
“Could you get it up? I’ve heard sometimes that happens to blokes-“ Ringo informed his friend, in what was supposed to be a reassuring manner.
Paul just groaned again.
“I think Paul’s got the opposite problem,” John pointed out with glee.
“Shut-up you!” Paul threw his pillow at his co-writer. The wily man dodged easily, the shit-eating grin still on his face. For whatever the reason, the fact that Paul hadn’t gotten any was the funniest thing to the older man.
“Boys, it’s time to leave,” Mal informed them as he poked his head into the room. He did a double take at the scene; taking in Paul’s defeated expression and John’s entirely overjoyed one.
“What’s wrong with McCartney?”
“Our little Macca got rejected,” John informed him, grin still firmly planted on his face.
“I did not get rejected,” he returned brusquely.
“Then what happened?” John pried again and Paul shot him a mild glare.
“I told you, it’s none of your business!”
“Oh, dear, she didn’t have something, did she?” Mal asked in genuine concern, making John laugh aloud and Paul bury his head in the pillow again.
“Paul, I saw some bird leaving with your jacket, she didn’t nick it did she?” George asked as he came into the room totally ignorant to the mood.
“What did I tell you about letting them near your wallet Macca?” John chastised mockingly.
“She didn’t steal it,” He said, not explaining any further, choosing instead to let the exhaustion overtake his body.
It had been more than a long day. He wanted nothing more than to sleep and forget the stress.
“What are all you doing? We’ve got a train to catch!” Brian made them jump into action as he called from the hallway.
“Coming Mimi!” John called back facetiously.
It was a wonder they got things done at all, Paul thought.
*
**
Ta-Da!
I don't know why but the thought of Paul dealing with this made me laugh so hard. As Beakers summed it up, "Paternal Paul with a throbber."
Ahh, so mean.
Also, one last warning. The first year Paul gets back he's going to be dealing with a lot of problems as he adjusts. The Mclennon comes later . . . I promise. Anyways, next chapter should be out in a few days!
Until the McLennon comes, here's a little something to tide you over. . . .
"Just a Kiss," by Membrillita
Happy Valentines~
Next chapters are HERE
Leave a comment to let me know you read!