How to Change the World Part 1 (2/2)
Author: glomerdian
Rating: R?
Warnings: homophobia and language and what not
Summary: "The reporter sat there in shock, watching as Paul took another drag of his cigarette. The 'cute Beatle', Paul McCartney, was a f---ing queer!"
After two performances at the Palais des Sports, the group returned to their hotel and lingered in the room for a while. John took a short kip on one of the couches, while Paul and George had a chat about something he couldn’t remember. Paul wasn’t sure what Ringo was doing, but it was getting somewhat late. A few minutes afterwards, Brain came into their room followed by a very beautiful French woman. Paul only noticed how her auburn hair was similar to John’s, except John’s was much more beautiful, of course.
“George, Paul, this is Françoise Hardy. She’s a popular singer here in France. She came here to meet you all.”
George seemed to already be “intrigued” by the visitor, but was as humble as always.
“Hello, miss. George Harrison.” George said, taking her hand.
Brain noticed that the other two Beatles were missing and asked, “Paul, where’s the other two?”
“John’s having a kip, and I think Ringo might be using the toilet, last I saw…”
Ringo walked in seconds later. “What are you doing here Brian?”
Brain gestured towards Ms. Hardy who was having a conversation with George. “This is Ms. Françoise Hardy, Ringo.”
“Ahh.” Ringo said, walking nonchalantly over to the young woman. “I’m Ringo, the drummer. Nice to meet you, madame.”
The French woman gave an elegant smile, which seemed to have effect on half the people in the room. “Yes, I know you. Pleased to meet you Mr. Starr.” Her voice was as soft and elegant as you’d expect it to be, with a thick French accent to compliment it.
Brian then looked over to Paul, asking him in quiet. “Can you go get John for me, please?”
“Yeah, sure.” Paul replied, leaving to find John’s room. The door was let slightly open, he could hear the snores of John coming from the room. The young man chuckled to himself, and gave a light sigh as he opened to door. John was sprawled on his bed, arms and legs spread wide open. For a few minutes, Paul couldn’t help but watch John in his state of bliss, his chest gradually rising and lowering. He really did look quite beautiful, anyone could admit that. Then something odd happened.
Instead of the sound of snores, he heard John whimper something, he couldn’t quite hear. Paul scooted closer to John’s bed.
“Paul, please,” John said in his sleep. Rapidly Paul’s heart began to beat in an unhealthy pace. John was dreaming about Paul! A small smile crept on his lips, he was now on his knees looking at the bed next to him.
“Paul, just… come closer,” John said once again.
Heat came onto Paul’s cheeks, his face probably some awkward shade of scarlet. What was John dreaming about?!
“Oh, Paul, please. Right there.” John’s face was directly in front of Paul’s now. His brain was not even able to comprehend what was going on. What in the hell was going on?
“Oh god, touch me righ-“
“JOHN! JOHN! WAKE UP!” Paul panicked.
John’s eyes flashed open, his own face flushed as he saw Paul’s face… right after a dream like that.
“Er-Hi,” was all John could muster.
“Brian wants us downstairs, he wants you to meet some French bird.”
For some reason (yeah some reason) Paul’s eyes looked down at John’s crotch. He was surprised to see it was… hard, all after having a dream about Paul. Oh God, he had to leave right now.
“Okay, Macca. Tell him to give me a few minutes alright?” Oh.
“Uh… Okay.” Paul said, before leaving the room as quickly as possible. Talk about awkward encounters. After closing the door, he pressed his ears against it because, well he couldn’t help himself. He heard John’s voice huff, puff, and moan. He knew exactly what he was doing, and Paul knew if he listened any longer, he’d have that problem himself. To avoid any… unwanted guests in his pants, he left back to where the rest of their group had been.
He was met with the ambiance of conversation and walked over quickly to Brian, who was also conversing with the other people in the room.
“John will be out in a few minutes.”
Brian wondered why Paul looked so flushed, but ignored it and simply said, “Alright.”
Paul managed to immerse himself into the conversation George and Ringo were having with Françoise. Soon after some meaningless chat, John arrived in the room, his hair roughly tossed in all directions. Paul couldn’t quite meet John’s eye.
Brian was a bit disappointed that John didn’t use those few minutes to look a bit presentable, god knew what he used them for.
“Well ‘ello there, miss,” John said walking over to Françoise in a flirtatious fashion, “I’m John, John Lennon. And you are?” Everytime John used that tone, whoever it was, Paul’s knees would go weak. Just the idea of a flirtatious smooth talking Lennon always made him turn to mush.
Ms. Hardy laughed at John’s approach and held out her hand to shake. John took it with a fresh smile.
“My name is Françoise Hardy. I know who you are. It is pleasure to meet you.” She said, reciprocating the tone and laughing along with John. “Perhaps you and your friends would like to come to the Castel nightclub with me? Have you ever been?”
Brian answered for the rest of them with a professional smile. “We’ve never been there before. I’m sure they’d love to come along. Right boys?”
Different answers of “Yeah”, “sure” and “Okay” filled the room, all of the Beatles anxious to get some time to enjoy nightlife.
“Alright, you boys get into something presentable,” Brian gave a quick glance at John, “And we’ll meet back here in a few minutes.”
“Yes, sir!” John jokingly said, saluting to Brian. Paul giggled, leaning against the wall.
Maybe Paul would get to relax tonight.
~~*~~
The Castel nightclub was bustling with life. The drinks were exquisite, the walls were covered in an elegant brown and the floors in an eye-opening red. The seats were comfortable, the women were gorgeous, though Paul didn’t really care too much for that part. Music echoed through the lively walls of the club. Everyone in the club had a smile on their face except for Paul. He sat alone at the table his group claimed only to stare at his drink. Really, there wasn’t much he could do. None of the women were interesting to him, the music didn’t appeal much to him, what was he supposed to do? He leaned on his hand, propped up by his elbow taking another sip of his drink. At least the alcohol was pretty good.
John was across the room dancing with some drunk woman, probably his take out for tonight. He looked like he was having the time of his life, but then John excused himself. Paul sat up straighter when John began making his way over to Paul’s table. He looked a little concerned, and hey, maybe he should be.
. John sat across from him, and looked into Paul’s eyes for a few seconds before speaking. There was too much commotion, it just sounded like gibberish.
“What?” Paul said.
John spoke louder, but it was to no avail.
“What??!!” Paul yelled again.
John groaned grabbing Paul’s wrist, forcing him to stand up. He dragged the younger man across the dance floor, leading him eventually to the lou. Once they were in a more quiet place, Paul questioned John’s motives.
“John, what the hell do you want?”
The comment made John more frustrated than he already was. “I’m concerned about you, you twat! All you do nowadays is mope around! Are you sick or something?! What’s wrong with you??”
Paul didn’t look John straight in the eye. “Nothing.”
“Fucking liar.” John started to walk closer, eventually backing Paul into the edge of the sink.
“John, what-”
“You know Paul, I remember when we could laugh real easy. Or when I could talk to you without you acting all fucking strange. I miss it Paul, I want it back. What did I do? Tell me, please.”
John’s eyes started to water, but only a little. He grabbed Paul’s upper arm tightly, grasping for dear life. He searched for Paul’s eyes, and once he met them, Paul once again felt the fast pace of his heart similar to the pace that one Paris night. He looked at John’s wet eyes, his pupils large again, still wondering what it meant.
Paul painfully pushed John off him gently, and turned around leaning over the sink. He rubbed his hands over his eyes in distress, and John backed away taking light steps.
“John…” Paul began carefully, “If I told you, I know you’d hate me. You’d think I was disgusting.”
It physically hurt for John to hear those words. What made Paul feel so worthless and undeserving?
Paul moved further from where John was standing and began to pace furiously. Just in case of unwanted visitors, he walked past the stalls back to the entrance of the bathroom, and locked the door.
“Paul, what…”
Paul leaned against the door for a few seconds before walking to John. The younger man clasped on to John’s blazer, at this point only looking at the floor. He felt John’s breath become harsher and ragged. Paul’s hands began to back John against the white marble walls. The only sound they could hear was the baseline of the music outside and the sound of their breath. Paul looked up from the floor, and met John’s eyes again. He saw the other man’s thin lips were slightly parted, and he let his eyes linger on the softness of those lips. He wondered what it would be like, maybe it would be as soft as a feather. Would it taste like alcohol? Maybe John would feel a bit more rough. Paul looked up and realized John was looking at his parted lips as well.
Was John thinking the same thoughts? Was he just as desperate? Paul’s tongue slowly caressed his own plump lips, he began to lean in closer, his hands resting on John’s chest. Slowly his hands began to graze their way onto John’s neck. His skin was like a silky fabric. John’s eyes looked back at Paul’s own. Both heads began to lean forward, their heads tilted. Paul could feel John’s lips as they began to graze his own. Soon their lips were fully connected, at first stationary then moving in a slow rhythm. Paul leaned more into the kiss as he pushed John closer against the wall. He pressed himself against John’s figure. All of Paul’s raw passion, all his love he poured into John. Their lips connected perfectly together and their heads moving in all different directions. John’s tongue poked his way into Paul’s mouth, exploring all the nooks and crannies. Their tongues intertwined in a beautiful dance, both parties moaning and forgetting to breathe.
Eventually the tangle of lips came to a halt and both men separated when they heard a knock on the sealed door.
“Quelqu'un est-il là-dedans?”
Both men stared at eachother, letting one another panic for just a moment before the younger one began to depart from the older man’s arms. Slowly walking away from his older counterpart, not taking his eyes off him, Paul said something in desperation.
“Uh… Oui, une seconde!”
After the snog they just had in the damn restroom, John still stood dumbfounded when Paul unlocked the door to let the man walk in. A few seconds later, the young man standing at the door, signaled for John to get the hell out of the bathroom. This odd interaction was noticed by the man who only walked in to wash his hands.
“Right.” John mumbled, quickly pacing out of the toilet, walking back into the club’s atmosphere. Noise levels made John quite irritated, as he was still so very confused from the encounter he just had. Now it was just him and Paul walking away from the bleedin’ bathroom, not exactly sure where their destination was suppose to be.
Oh fuck.
Through the confusion and unsettling struts of the two bandmates, none of them could stop thinking about what had just happened in the restroom. Yet, John decided to disregard that thought, going up to several people and beginning conversations. Paul hovered behind like a helicopter, dazed and confused, but still giving some input while conversing with other people. None of them knew how they finally did make it through the night and early hours of the morning. Before either of them knew, they had woken up in their own beds at the hotel.
Paul sat up from the pile of bed sheets, and for a while he marveled how at this moment he was at peace.
And for three seconds, Paul sat in silent bliss. Now he began to remember the events prior to this moment, recalling the sensation of John’s lips against his, his body pressed up against him, everything hot and needy. He lifted his hands to his eyes, rubbing them out of frustration. Last night was something he thoroughly enjoyed, but only in the moment. Sure, he was ecstatic that John felt the same for Paul, or at least that they got to experience something new, but this had dire consequences. What if they did continue this love affair, if you could call it that? They’d have to live in shame and secrecy for the rest of their lives. There would be no coming out, there would be no justice for either of them. He knew from the moment in his teen years that he realized he didn’t fancy women, that he was some sick pervert that this was the life he was destined to lead. John was a straight as an arrow; he didn’t want to put someone who was normal in this situation just to satisfy his own needs. No, no this was hopeless. If the world knew that one of the most famous men alive were a homosexual, he didn’t know what would happen. Really, he didn’t want to know.
Or did he?
“Paul, are you in there?” he heard John speak as he knocked on the door.
John was sort of the last person he wanted to see right now. Maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to room with John instead of Ringo or George.
“Ya-yeah, I’ll be out in just a second!”
Good, at least today was a free day. They’d all have time to wander around in Paris for a day, sightseeing and whatever normal people do.
The person other side of the door spoke up again. “Right. We have an overall free day, but we have an interview later at night with some bloody radio or somethin’.”
Oh shit, Paul had forgotten about that interview with that Chris Denning git or whatever. What a drag. They should make the most of their day while they still have it.
“R-right, all be out in a second.”
“Also, don’t be late for breakfast, Macca.”
Once he sensed John had left, he proceeded to take a shit, because he really needed to take a shit. Though the shit was quite lovely, he took that moment to wonder why John sounded so calm and collective. Paul didn’t think he’d be able to be so normal around John especially after the events of last night, so why is John so seemingly fine?
He did his daily routine, washing up, dressing in something nice. Hopefully the grey suit he wore would be sufficient for a somewhat easy day. Well, easy as a day in the Beatles’ life could be.
Oh well, good enough.
His mood was becoming more despondent, it wasn’t unexpected, he usually felt that way these days. Pining over your best mate for years didn’t make him very jolly. He hoped maybe today they could see some nice things to take his mind off the ever present storm of emotions in his mind.
Opening the door, he met John reading some newspaper in their hotel seat, his full concentration on his reading material.
“S-so, you said something about Breakfeast?”
Black was slimming on John’s body, Paul knew John had some insecurities about his weight, but to him, John’s body was elegant. Perfect even. He thought the dark suit he wore with the dark blue shirt under his blazer was fitting. Then John spoke, looking up from his papers. The smile John flashed killed Paul. Such a small interaction made Paul act pathetic.
“Yeah, Bri wanted us to go to some café around here. He said he’d come to get us in around 10 minutes.”
How to kill ten minutes.
“Alright.”
Paul still stood at the doorway, biting his lip unknowing what to do. Maybe he should sit down, do something that won’t make him look like an idiot. How was John so calm not to even mention anything from last night? How come he just continued looking at the bleedin newspaper, knowing that he fondled another man yesterday?
Fuck it, he just walked over to the chair across from John, sitting in silence, but his nervous actions spoke louder than words. John looked up from his paper, Paul wondered where in the hell he got a paper that wasn’t in French.
“You okay, mate? You seem a bit off.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t seem like nothing.” John closed the paper fully, laying it on his lap and crossing his legs. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Okay, no. I’m not alright. But how the fuck are you so calm?! I would think that you would at least mention something!” Paul put his hands on the armrests of the chairs, grasping it with a tight and furious grip.
“What are you talking about?”
“Last night you daft sod,” Paul lowered his voice, “In the lou.”
At first John was fully leant forward, but relaxed back into his chair at Paul’s words. He raised a large scruffy eyebrow.
“What are you on about?”
Was John trying to forget it? Did he not care? Did he truly not remember?
“You don’t remember?”
“Fuck mate, I was so damn pissed last night I didn’t know right from left.” John laughed casually, resting his head on his hand. Suddenly, there was a look of concern on the man’s face. “Shit, did I do something bad?”
Maybe it wasn’t a bad thing John didn’t remember. In fact, it was a relief. I mean, how could John ever reciprocate what Paul felt! He was mad! Hahahaha!
“Nevermind, actually,” Paul laughed nervously, “I think, I was just as pissed as you were.” For a moment, he believed he was, but not even his mind could make up how beautiful and soft John’s lips were.
John chuckled, and went back to reading his newspaper, speaking as he did. “Well, Brian’s comin’ in real soon. Should be any second before-”
Paul was relieved when he heard the knock on the door.
~~*~~
The rest of their day in Paris was truly uneventful, for the Beatles. For the most part, they didn’t have much freedom to go around town by themselves, and he should have guessed as much. Still, they had their breakfast (lunch really) on the terrace of one of those classic Paris cafes. They had a walk through Paris Park, the fresh air was a step up from being in places with large crowds all day. This one photographer who had done photos of them before decided to have a photo session while they were at the park. They sped through the interview, and a day later, they were playing in front of three thousand people, and the next day they were traveling to Milan.
And then the tour went by in a blur.
December came; their popularity grew, as if that was possible. The day after Christmas, Paul was riding his Moped cycle with his friend, Tara. For a while, he started to look at the moon, because, well, it reminded him of when he and John sat at the fountain. He turned tolooked back at the pavement again, realizing what he was about to do.
Ah, too bad - I'm going to smack that pavement with my face!
For a moment he thought he would die, the accident wasn’t very serious, but he really truly thought he would die for a moment, as if it were some inevitable thing that would come any second. It was almost as if he expected death so much, he wanted it to happen. The thought terrified him. But when he stood up, he and his friend Tara walked to his cousin Bett’s house.
All he could muster was, “Don't worry, Bett, but I've had a bit of an accident.”
At first she laughed, but Paul looked like he’d just been in a boxing ring with Mike Tyson.
“Holy!” Bett then called a doctor friend she had, and when he came around the corner he stitched Paul up. No anesthetic or anything. They just sat in Bett’s house stitching up Paul’s lip. The thread accidently came out of said lip, but Paul just sat there and took it. It was like he was emotionally numb, and everything else was static.
“Oh, the thread's just come out - I'll have to do it again!” the doctor did it over again, but Paul didn’t care.
He realized that if he had such a strong desire to let go, maybe he had nothing to lose