Fic: My Sweetest Downfall (Part 3)
Title: My Sweetest Downfall 3/3
Author: Lizzy!
Pairing: John/Paul with a teeny tiny bit of George/Ringo
Rating: I'd say PG-13 to R
Warnings: Language, a little sex, general debauchery
Timeframe: Young Beatles to 1963-ish
Summary: John was the loveliest problem Paul ever had.
Author Notes: Last part! Thank you all for the lovely comments, I'm still kind of new to writing this stuff and you have no idea how encouraging it is to see that people like reading it. At the end I've included the lyrics to the song that inspired this story. If you haven't listened to it yet, you totally should. Anyway, love you all, hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: Look, I do this for fun. Sick, twisted fun, yes, but still just fun. I know nothing, own no one, this shit didn't happen.
“Ohhh, get me out of here.”
Paul mumbled to himself under his breath. He’d sort of been looking forward to this gala at the Embassy, but now all he wanted was to be somewhere, anywhere else.
“Jesus, take me with you.”
Paul jumped as George somehow appeared beside him.
“Bloody hell George, don’t do that to me,” he said, exasperation infecting his voice.
“Soft party,” George grumbled. “I don’t fancy these southerners much. That posh-looking old bat over there just made a snotty comment ‘bout me hair.”
Paul snorted. Everywhere else, they were treated like royalty, but these high-society Londoners seemed intent on putting the four boys from Liverpool in their place.
“Don’t go too hard on the ol’ thing, prolly hasn’t had a proper shag in twenty years,” Paul snickered.
George let out a burst of giggles. Paul smirked mischievously.
“George?”
“Yeah?” George giggled.
“Mental image.”
George suddenly stopped laughing. “Ugh! Paul! See, I was happy, then you made me picture it! That’s just what I need in my head, thanks.”
It was Paul’s turn to laugh. “Your welcome, Georgie. Now go away, yer buggin’ me.”
George scowled. With mock misery, he replied “Fine then. I’ll go talk to Ringo. He understands me. He loves me, unlike some people.”
Paul raised an eyebrow. “By some people, you of course mean me. And to that I say, he certainly does love you unlike I do. I’ve heard just how much he loves you. Very clearly. Almost every night.”
George blushed deeply, slinking away to go find the aforementioned drummer.
So, Paul was in a bit of a snippy mood. So what? It was from being around all these posh assholes. What the hell did they have to be so smug about? Most of them had just had a rich uncle or some shit, right? Hell, at least Paul worked for his money.
He eyed the crowd for John. He was really the only person he wanted to talk to right now. Only John could make a stuffy event like this tolerable in any way. The promise of sharing a bed with him later wasn’t quite enough to get Paul through the evening.
He saw John stuck in what appeared to be a miserable conversation with a fat, middle-aged man who seemed to fancy himself quite a lot. John was nodding politely and looked as though he might die of boredom right there in the middle of the room.
Paul smiled. It was time to go for a rescue mission.
“Johnny, there you are,” he said pleasantly. “Been looking for you.”
John made no attempt to hide the relief on his face.
The man John had been half-listening to looked at Paul and gave a fake smile. He extended a pudgy hand and introduced himself.
“Lord Gerald H. Fawkes. You are?”
Paul saw John’s face contort with a look of annoyance. Paul plastered on his Public Relations face and replied.
“Paul McCartney. Nice to meet you.”
The man frowned. “Funny, the name doesn’t ring a bell.” John choked on his drink. Paul patted him firmly on the back, half because he was coughing, half as a warning.
“That’s… Well, I’m afraid I haven’t any recollection of hearing yours either.”
The man looked deeply offended. “You haven’t? Well I’m-“
“Oh no, Paul, Ringo’s found the brandy,” John interrupted.
“What?” Paul looked across the room, pretending that this was a terrible emergency that required their immediate attention. “Oh bollocks. You’ll have to excuse us, this could get embarrassing if we don’t do something. It was nice meeting you.”
The two hurried away, not glancing back to see the look of fury and disgust on Lord Gerald H. Fawkes’ face.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” John sighed, grabbing Paul’s arm gratefully. “I’m almost certain he was the most boring person in the world,” he said with a look of horrified wonder on his face.
Paul laughed. See, now he was enjoying himself. “Don’t worry, you can thank me properly later,” he said suggestively.
John’s eyes burned with interest. “What’d yeh have in mind?”
“That’s for me to know and you to obsess over for the rest of the evening.” Paul teased.
John shivered almost imperceptibly. Paul allowed himself a tiny grin. He loved teasing John this way. John seemed tough to most people, but Paul had figured out how to turn him from a brilliant, untouchable rock ‘n roll hero to a quivering, desperate puddle of need. There was nothing Paul enjoyed more.
Not to say John couldn’t do the same to Paul. It was all a matter of who started it, really. Paul tried to control his thoughts, but it was in vain. When did his trousers get so tight?
God, he wanted out of this damn gala.
~*~
“Jesus Christ.”
John gasped for breath, collapsing into the plush mattress.
“Yeah,” Paul whispered, barely able to speak. God, he loved this feeling. Complete inability to breathe normally, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, capacity to think clearly totally annihilated due to post-orgasmic haze - it was an incredible sensation.
He turned his head to look at John’s face. He always snuck a quick peek at John at times like these. He was beautiful, as usual. His hair was severely mussed and his breath was still heavier than normal. His skin was kissed by the city light floating through their hotel window. His eyes were closed, lids fluttering delicately, his lips parted just slightly. Paul couldn’t make this a quick peek, he had to stare. He had to drink him in. Take a mental note of this picture of complete perfection. He wondered if John ever looked at him the way he looked at John. He hoped so.
He reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of John’s face. John opened his eyes and turned to face him. Paul felt a swell of unsullied affection for him, his crooked teeth and sleepy eyes, his vulnerable soul.
“Johnny.”
“Paulie.”
Two short words, so much said.
“We pissed off that boring prick at the party.”
Paul laughed out loud. Leave it to John to bring that up now.
“Yeah.”
“Fuck ‘im.”
“Thanks, but I just fucked you.”
John grinned and punched him in the arm.
Paul laughed again. “Come here,” he whispered.
John slid over and let Paul pull him in close. He kissed Paul a few times before burying his face into his neck.
“I probably got you in trouble tonight,” John giggled, as though the thought was amusing to him.
“Yeah, well, yeh been doing that since… July sixth, 1957.”
John looked at him. “You remember what day it was?”
“Yeah. Ridiculous, I know.”
“No, no…” John looked sheepish. “So do I, I didn’t think… I dunno, I thought it was kind of soft, remembering something like that.”
They both chuckled.
John played with a lock of Paul’s inky hair. “’Course, yer right, though… I do get yeh in trouble a lot…”
Paul sighed contentedly. “Iss’ okay… I love yeh, so it’s okay.”
He could almost feel the quiet euphoria spreading through John’s body. He loved that. Nothing pleased John more than the words “I love you.”
“I love you too,” He mumbled sleepily.
It would always be okay, Paul reasoned. He was sure that there was absolutely nothing in the world that could ever stop him from loving John. As he began to follow him to sleep, he mused that John was the loveliest problem he had ever had. He was his sweetest downfall.
~*~*~*~*~
You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first, I loved you first
Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth
I have to go, I have to go
Your hair was long, when we first met
Samson went back to bed, not much hair left on his head
Ate a slice of wonder bread
And went right back to bed
And the history books forgot about us
And the Bible didn’t mention us
And the Bible didn’t mention us
Not even once
You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first, I loved you first
Beneath the stars came falling on our hats
But they’re just old light, they’re just old light
Your hair was long, when we first met
Samson came to my bed, told me that my hair was red
Told me I was beautiful, came into my bed
I cut his hair myself one night
A pair of dull scissors in the yellow light
And he told me that I’d done all right
And kissed me ‘till the morning light, the morning light
And he kissed me ‘till the morning light
Samson went back to bed, not much hair left on his head
He ate a slice of wonder bread and went right back to bed
Oh we couldn’t bring the columns down
We couldn’t destroy a single one
And the history books forgot about us
And the Bible didn’t mention us
Not even once
You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first.
~ “Samson,” By Regina Spektor
Author: Lizzy!
Pairing: John/Paul with a teeny tiny bit of George/Ringo
Rating: I'd say PG-13 to R
Warnings: Language, a little sex, general debauchery
Timeframe: Young Beatles to 1963-ish
Summary: John was the loveliest problem Paul ever had.
Author Notes: Last part! Thank you all for the lovely comments, I'm still kind of new to writing this stuff and you have no idea how encouraging it is to see that people like reading it. At the end I've included the lyrics to the song that inspired this story. If you haven't listened to it yet, you totally should. Anyway, love you all, hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: Look, I do this for fun. Sick, twisted fun, yes, but still just fun. I know nothing, own no one, this shit didn't happen.
“Ohhh, get me out of here.”
Paul mumbled to himself under his breath. He’d sort of been looking forward to this gala at the Embassy, but now all he wanted was to be somewhere, anywhere else.
“Jesus, take me with you.”
Paul jumped as George somehow appeared beside him.
“Bloody hell George, don’t do that to me,” he said, exasperation infecting his voice.
“Soft party,” George grumbled. “I don’t fancy these southerners much. That posh-looking old bat over there just made a snotty comment ‘bout me hair.”
Paul snorted. Everywhere else, they were treated like royalty, but these high-society Londoners seemed intent on putting the four boys from Liverpool in their place.
“Don’t go too hard on the ol’ thing, prolly hasn’t had a proper shag in twenty years,” Paul snickered.
George let out a burst of giggles. Paul smirked mischievously.
“George?”
“Yeah?” George giggled.
“Mental image.”
George suddenly stopped laughing. “Ugh! Paul! See, I was happy, then you made me picture it! That’s just what I need in my head, thanks.”
It was Paul’s turn to laugh. “Your welcome, Georgie. Now go away, yer buggin’ me.”
George scowled. With mock misery, he replied “Fine then. I’ll go talk to Ringo. He understands me. He loves me, unlike some people.”
Paul raised an eyebrow. “By some people, you of course mean me. And to that I say, he certainly does love you unlike I do. I’ve heard just how much he loves you. Very clearly. Almost every night.”
George blushed deeply, slinking away to go find the aforementioned drummer.
So, Paul was in a bit of a snippy mood. So what? It was from being around all these posh assholes. What the hell did they have to be so smug about? Most of them had just had a rich uncle or some shit, right? Hell, at least Paul worked for his money.
He eyed the crowd for John. He was really the only person he wanted to talk to right now. Only John could make a stuffy event like this tolerable in any way. The promise of sharing a bed with him later wasn’t quite enough to get Paul through the evening.
He saw John stuck in what appeared to be a miserable conversation with a fat, middle-aged man who seemed to fancy himself quite a lot. John was nodding politely and looked as though he might die of boredom right there in the middle of the room.
Paul smiled. It was time to go for a rescue mission.
“Johnny, there you are,” he said pleasantly. “Been looking for you.”
John made no attempt to hide the relief on his face.
The man John had been half-listening to looked at Paul and gave a fake smile. He extended a pudgy hand and introduced himself.
“Lord Gerald H. Fawkes. You are?”
Paul saw John’s face contort with a look of annoyance. Paul plastered on his Public Relations face and replied.
“Paul McCartney. Nice to meet you.”
The man frowned. “Funny, the name doesn’t ring a bell.” John choked on his drink. Paul patted him firmly on the back, half because he was coughing, half as a warning.
“That’s… Well, I’m afraid I haven’t any recollection of hearing yours either.”
The man looked deeply offended. “You haven’t? Well I’m-“
“Oh no, Paul, Ringo’s found the brandy,” John interrupted.
“What?” Paul looked across the room, pretending that this was a terrible emergency that required their immediate attention. “Oh bollocks. You’ll have to excuse us, this could get embarrassing if we don’t do something. It was nice meeting you.”
The two hurried away, not glancing back to see the look of fury and disgust on Lord Gerald H. Fawkes’ face.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” John sighed, grabbing Paul’s arm gratefully. “I’m almost certain he was the most boring person in the world,” he said with a look of horrified wonder on his face.
Paul laughed. See, now he was enjoying himself. “Don’t worry, you can thank me properly later,” he said suggestively.
John’s eyes burned with interest. “What’d yeh have in mind?”
“That’s for me to know and you to obsess over for the rest of the evening.” Paul teased.
John shivered almost imperceptibly. Paul allowed himself a tiny grin. He loved teasing John this way. John seemed tough to most people, but Paul had figured out how to turn him from a brilliant, untouchable rock ‘n roll hero to a quivering, desperate puddle of need. There was nothing Paul enjoyed more.
Not to say John couldn’t do the same to Paul. It was all a matter of who started it, really. Paul tried to control his thoughts, but it was in vain. When did his trousers get so tight?
God, he wanted out of this damn gala.
~*~
“Jesus Christ.”
John gasped for breath, collapsing into the plush mattress.
“Yeah,” Paul whispered, barely able to speak. God, he loved this feeling. Complete inability to breathe normally, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, capacity to think clearly totally annihilated due to post-orgasmic haze - it was an incredible sensation.
He turned his head to look at John’s face. He always snuck a quick peek at John at times like these. He was beautiful, as usual. His hair was severely mussed and his breath was still heavier than normal. His skin was kissed by the city light floating through their hotel window. His eyes were closed, lids fluttering delicately, his lips parted just slightly. Paul couldn’t make this a quick peek, he had to stare. He had to drink him in. Take a mental note of this picture of complete perfection. He wondered if John ever looked at him the way he looked at John. He hoped so.
He reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of John’s face. John opened his eyes and turned to face him. Paul felt a swell of unsullied affection for him, his crooked teeth and sleepy eyes, his vulnerable soul.
“Johnny.”
“Paulie.”
Two short words, so much said.
“We pissed off that boring prick at the party.”
Paul laughed out loud. Leave it to John to bring that up now.
“Yeah.”
“Fuck ‘im.”
“Thanks, but I just fucked you.”
John grinned and punched him in the arm.
Paul laughed again. “Come here,” he whispered.
John slid over and let Paul pull him in close. He kissed Paul a few times before burying his face into his neck.
“I probably got you in trouble tonight,” John giggled, as though the thought was amusing to him.
“Yeah, well, yeh been doing that since… July sixth, 1957.”
John looked at him. “You remember what day it was?”
“Yeah. Ridiculous, I know.”
“No, no…” John looked sheepish. “So do I, I didn’t think… I dunno, I thought it was kind of soft, remembering something like that.”
They both chuckled.
John played with a lock of Paul’s inky hair. “’Course, yer right, though… I do get yeh in trouble a lot…”
Paul sighed contentedly. “Iss’ okay… I love yeh, so it’s okay.”
He could almost feel the quiet euphoria spreading through John’s body. He loved that. Nothing pleased John more than the words “I love you.”
“I love you too,” He mumbled sleepily.
It would always be okay, Paul reasoned. He was sure that there was absolutely nothing in the world that could ever stop him from loving John. As he began to follow him to sleep, he mused that John was the loveliest problem he had ever had. He was his sweetest downfall.
~*~*~*~*~
You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first, I loved you first
Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth
I have to go, I have to go
Your hair was long, when we first met
Samson went back to bed, not much hair left on his head
Ate a slice of wonder bread
And went right back to bed
And the history books forgot about us
And the Bible didn’t mention us
And the Bible didn’t mention us
Not even once
You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first, I loved you first
Beneath the stars came falling on our hats
But they’re just old light, they’re just old light
Your hair was long, when we first met
Samson came to my bed, told me that my hair was red
Told me I was beautiful, came into my bed
I cut his hair myself one night
A pair of dull scissors in the yellow light
And he told me that I’d done all right
And kissed me ‘till the morning light, the morning light
And he kissed me ‘till the morning light
Samson went back to bed, not much hair left on his head
He ate a slice of wonder bread and went right back to bed
Oh we couldn’t bring the columns down
We couldn’t destroy a single one
And the history books forgot about us
And the Bible didn’t mention us
Not even once
You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first.
~ “Samson,” By Regina Spektor