A/N: Yup, I was right! This is a new chappie to FF! :)
John's POV
Paul's illness had gone on far longer than mine had, halting our productivity in the studio entirely and confining us to the house. Now he was finally almost back to the normal Paul everyone knew. I had something that I wanted to ask him, and it frustrated me that I was so nervous about it. Why couldn't I just do it?
So far, we'd managed to keep our newfound feelings for each other a secret from Ringo and George. There were times when I suspected that they knew, but they were so few and far in between that I was sure that it was just me being paranoid.
"Hey, Paul?" I asked casually.
"Yeah, John?" he replied, coming over to me from where he was sitting on the couch reading. I discreetly tapped the palm of his hand, our signal for, I want to talk to you about something that I don't want the others to hear.
"I think I've got another song idea," I said, which was somewhat true. There was a bit of a song tumbling about in my head, but it wasn't at the stage where I wanted to show it to even Paul yet.
"Okay, we can go up to my room," Paul said, trotting up the stairs with me close behind him. Once we arrived in his room, I shut the door carefully and turned back to Paul. His hazel eyes glowed softly. I ran my fingers gently across his cheek and pulled him close to me by the waist until our bodies were flush against each other.
"I'm glad you're feeling better," I murmured in his ear. He laughed quietly and played with the hair at the nape of my neck, his calloused fingers feathering across my skin.
"Is this in the best interest of the band, or for your own selfish benefit?" he questioned, planting tiny kisses on my ear. I took his face in my hands so that our noses were just barely touching.
"Well, it's been a little annoying to not be able to go to the studio, but I'm a selfish bloke, what can I say?" I whispered, pressing my lips against his and kissing him gently. "I haven't been able to do this for days." My lips moved down his jaw and his neck. "Or this, or this, or this."
Paul chuckled, his hands moving down so that they massaged my shoulders tantalizingly. "You, John Lennon, are shameless," he kissed my cheek. "It's a good thing I like you." He brought my face back up to his and kissed me hard. I responded instantly, wrapping my arms around his waist and kissing back with enthusiasm. I loved kissing Paul; his kisses were playful, yet intense, and his lips seemed to fit the contours of mine perfectly. His arms came up around my neck and his fingers worked themselves through my hair, massaging my scalp in a way that made me go crazy.
We backed up several steps and ended up falling onto the bed, still kissing and still entwined. My fingertips brushed against the top few buttons of his shirt, aching to unbutton them and feel the smooth, alabaster skin that lay beneath the thin fabric.
"John," Paul moaned, stopping my fingers.
"What?" I breathed, pulling away a bit to gaze down at him. His normally immaculate hair was ruffled and messy, his clothes were rumpled, there was a blush high in his cheeks, and his breathing was ragged.
"You wanted to ask me something, and I'm going to forget that you wanted to if this goes on much longer," he said. I rolled to the side so that we were still embracing, but in a less distracting manner.
"Spoilsport," I pouted. "I was just wondering, um, if you'd, er, like to go to Blackpool for lunch and maybe go to the carnival after?" Well, John. That was smooth. I was stuttering like a teenager!
"Well, um, er," he teased me, tracing a line down the bridge of my nose with his finger. "I think that'd be fun, John. Might I ask the occasion?"
"We haven't celebrated the fact that you're no longer puking every five minutes," I suggested.
"Why John, are you asking me on a date?" he gasped in mock-theatricality. "Oh, be still my beating heart!" He fanned his face with an impish smirk.
"Sod off, you're making this harder than it needs to be!" I growled, tickling his neck. He immediately ducked his chin to make it hard to get to. I started tickling his sides. He squirmed under my grasp, laughing.
"All right Johnny, I'm sorry for teasing you, now stoppit!" He gasped through his laughter. "You're gonna kill me!"
"Ooh, death by tickling, how positively awful," I quipped, grinning. "But I accept your apology, no matter how hard it was to decipher." I kissed his cheek gently.
"You haven't answered, y'know," I pointed out as he snuggled into me, his face in the hollow where my neck and shoulder met. I wrapped my arms around his torso, breathing in the scent that was easily defined as Paul. A mix of cigarettes, shampoo, cologne, and aftershave always lingered about him in an intoxicating combination.
"Let me see here," he tapped his chin and made a pensive expression and continued doing so until I attacked his face with kisses.
"You won't leave this room until I get an answer," I informed him in between kisses.
"The answer is yes, you big goon!" He managed to say through his giggling. I stopped my deluge of kisses and got up from the bed, looking at my rumpled up clothes. Paul seemed to notice his own mussed state and turned a bright shade of red.
"I'm thinking we're going to have to change before we go downstairs again," I noted the way my pants were wrinkled like I'd slept in them. I walked into my room to change into a shirt and pair of pants that looked similar enough to fool George and Ringo.
Being the don't-think-things-through person that I was, I barged right into Paul's room without knocking and found only half dressed. And the half that had clothes on it was the upper half. I whirled around with my hands over my eyes for more his sake than mine, a hot blush turning my face and ears an impressive shade of crimson. "Christ, I'm sorry Paul," I muttered, wanting to die on the spot. Paul made no comment until he was dressed.
"S'okay," he waved it off, slightly pink in the face. "Should've locked the door." We stood in his room awkwardly until I cleared my throat.
"We should probably get moving if we want to get to Blackpool, yeah?" Paul nodded, combing his fingers through his hair to make sure there weren't any hairs out of place at all. I laughed at his meticulousness.
Paul's POV
We went back downstairs and, surprise surprise, George was digging through the refrigerator in search of lunch. "Hi, Geo," I greeted him. He pulled his head out of the refrigerator and greeted me.
"Hey, Paul," he said, pulling some leftovers from the night before out of the fridge. "D'you guys want some?" John shook his head.
"Thanks for the offer, but I think we'll decline, Georgie," said John. "We're going to the studio to meet with George M. to fine tune some of the songs we did the last time we were in the studio," he lied smoothly.
"Oh, okay then," George said, his attention focused on putting some food on a plate.
We scampered out the door and made for the nearest bus station. "Leaving for Blackpool!" a driver shouted.
"Wait, wait!" we sprinted in the direction of the bus. It stopped to let us on. We paid our fare and scouted out a pair of seats. I found some near the back and we sat down.
John reached for my hand, but I pulled it away. "John, don't," I whispered into his ear.
He looked hurt. "Why not?" he asked.
I gestured around to the other people on the bus. "D'you think they'd be okay with us doing that?" I asked.
"Point taken," John sighed in frustration. We had a fabulous time in Blackpool, eating fish and chips until our belts needed to be loosened and cursing discreetly at the rigged games that ate our money.
"Damn it, I almost got that teddy bear!" John huffed, crossing his arms like a child. I laughed and paid for another round.
"My turn," I said, picking up the tennis ball and eyeing up the bowling pins that I needed to knock over.
"Paul..." John sang. I looked over at him and he crossed his eyes comically at me and puffed out his cheeks.
"Piss off you, you're wrecking my concentration!" I squinted at the pins and tossed the ball with a silent prayer flying behind it. Nine of the pins instantly collapsed, but the tenth one wavered, wavered... and then fell. I cheered, doing a little dance as I accepted the teddy bear from the carnival worker who gave me a funny look.
It was starting to get dark. "John, I think we should probably go back," I said, looking at the stars that were starting to wink down at us.
"Probably, but I wanna ride the ferris wheel at least once," John stated, dragging me by the forearm over to the ride. Due to the late hour, the line was short and it didn't take long to get on.
As soon as the ride was going up, John casually draped an arm across the seat behind me and I cuddled up next to him, taking his free hand in mine and examining it.
"John?" I asked, looking at the profile of his face. He turned and planted a soft kiss on my lips. Ordinarily, I would have protested against this public display of affection, but the ride was stopped and we were on the top so no one could see us.
"Yeah?" he replied, rubbing my back with the hand that was across the seat.
"How long do you think we'll, y'know, last?" I wondered.
"As long as we live," he promised, kissing me slowly. The ride started moving again and we pulled away from each other.
"But John... what about Cyn and Julian?" I asked, a sense of panic rising up in me. "And Jane?"
"Don't worry. We'll think about that later," he reassured me.
On the bus ride back, I kept dozing off against the window. "Paul," John shook my shoulder. "We're back, wake up."
"Mmph? I wasn't sleeping!" I protested. He gave me a look. "Well, I wasn't! I was just... resting my eyes!"
John rolled his eyes and poked my arm. "Sure you were. C'mon, Ringo and George are bound to be wondering where we are." We walked home at a fast pace, hoping to avoid any and all fans and reporters. Once, John thought he heard the snap of a camera when we were nearly holding hands, but when we looked around there was no one to be found.
"You're a little late, aren't you?" Ringo asked when we finally came through the door. John innocently shrugged.
"George M. had some stuff that he wanted done tonight and didn't want to put it off any longer, and it took a little more time than expected," I explained.
"Alright, then," George said, yawning and heading upstairs. "I'm bloody exhausted, g'night all." Ringo soon followed suit. We waited until they were safely upstairs before we said goodnight.
"Goodnight, Paul," John whispered, kissing me tenderly. "See you tomorrow." I kissed him back and headed upstairs where I promptly fell into bed after putting my pajamas on and was asleep within seconds. When I got up the next morning, John was sitting at the table, staring at the newspaper with a mortified expression on his face.
"What is it?" I asked, a feeling of suspicion gnawing at my stomach. He turned a pale and scared face to me.
"Remember how I thought I heard a camera last night, but then we decided it was nothing?" He spread the newspaper in front of me and my vision tunneled until all I could see was the grainy photograph and the headline screaming at me:
JOHN LENNON AND PAUL MCCARTNEY... LOVERS?
A/N: Bum bum BBUUUUUUMMMMM!
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