A/N: *hangs head in shame* What's it been, almost three months? Yipe. I'm so sorry guys. I have literally had NO inspiration for writing at all, and no motivation. If I still have readers, I owe y'all BIG TIME and I hope this chapter makes up for it. I'll be updating Lost and Found as soon as I can as well.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you may recognize.
John's POV:
You know how all couples say their wedding night was the most romantic night of their lives? Yeah, ours was too. Except ours didn't exactly follow the usual 'wedding night' traditions.
In other words, we didn't have sex all night.
What we did do was drink a lot of champagne in bed, laying in each other's arms and talking until we fell asleep, suits still on and everything. So our 'marriage' wasn't consummated, but we meant for it to happen like that. We wanted that sort of thing to wait until we were in Paris and in a hotel where the walls were slightly thicker than they were here, according to our other bandmates. Actually, that whole scheme was more Paul's idea, him being the more romantically inclined of the two of us. But I went along with it because it would make him happy and I'd already become the happiest man on earth when Paul said yes.
'Course, I wasn't going to outright tell him that—I still needed to keep at least part of my bad boy reputation going.
The next morning, I woke up with a yawn, trying not to disturb Paul because he was still sleeping in my arms. Paul was adorable when he slept. His mouth opened slightly, showing off his two front teeth, his long lashes fluttered against his cheeks when he dreamed, and his hair quickly ended up in a tousled mess, sticking up in every direction. There were nights when sleep would dance just out of my reach, which happens to be the time when one tends to notice such things.
I wanted to let him sleep longer because he looked so comfortable, but we'd miss our plane if I did that. Sighing, I stroked his hair out of his face and kissed his cheek softly. The band of gold on my left ring finger caught my eye and I grinned briefly. "Paul... Wake up luv, we've got a plane to catch."
He mumbled incoherently, blinking hazily up at me and scrunching his nose up. "Now?" he whined. "'M comfortable."
I chuckled, leaning my forehead against his. "Unless you want to miss the plane, yes. Though I wouldn't mind laying in bed with you all day..." I trailed off, winking and rolling out of bed, stretching and hearing the muscles in my shoulders pop.
"Are you deliberately trying to make it less appealing to get out of bed?" he sent a pout in my direction, shuffling in the direction of the shower, yawning so widely his eyes watered.
"Damn, McCartney, you read me too easily," I joked, searching the hotel room for my things so I could pack them up. Our flight left in two hours and while it was a short flight, I was eager to get to Paris.
"It's my job, darlin'," he drawled lazily from inside the bathroom. I chuckled, running my thumb over the ring on my finger.
"Oh really?" I decided to rib him a little, "and here was me thinking you had a very different job..." I purposefully trailed off meaningfully, holding back a laugh. We might've been musicians, but we all excelled in both well and poorly concealed innuendo.
I could practically hear him blush. "Oi!" his voice squeaked with embarrassment.
"Calm yourself, I'm only teasin'," I said. Locating my missing sock, I wondered how on earth it had ended up behind the couch in the room. Sometimes, I swore my socks had legs. I always found them in the strangest of places.
I heard the shower start in response. Chuckling and shaking my head, I finished packing my things into my suitcase and left out a change of clothes and my shampoo. My shaving kit was already in the bathroom.
Once we were both showered and shaved, we picked up our suitcases and made our way to George and Ringo's room. "Oh shit, wait," I muttered, setting my case down.
"What?" Paul asked, his hand resting on the small of my back for an instant. I felt a warm shiver run through my body like an electrical shock. Bloody hell, the plane ride better be pretty damn short... "Did you forget something in the room?"
I sighed, hating what I had to say next. "No, but we've still got our rings on... Here, I'll put them in the little pocket in my suitcase." With regret, I tugged the gold band off my left ring finger and held out my hand for Paul's. He pulled it off and stared at it for a bit, watching it catch the light in his palm.
"Wish we didn't have to do this," he mumbled, dropping it into my hand, his fingertips lingering on my skin for just an instant longer than necessary.
"Christ, me too, Paul," I murmured, longing to take him into my arms and never let go. "It's just not fair. But I guess that's just how it is, yeah?"
"It shouldn't have to be," he said stubbornly and there were not words in any written or spoken language to express how right I thought he was.
"I know," my heart felt heavy, but then I thought of something to dissipate the tension at least a little. "But I think I'll be able to make it up to you later." My tone adopted the purring growl I knew Paul found just about irresistible.
His eyebrows took a hike toward his hairline and I knew I achieved what I'd set out to do. He always raised his eyebrows when he was seconds away from tackling me and snogging me like there was no tomorrow. So maybe it had worked a little too well. Oops. "Oh, will you now?"
"I think so," I took a small risk and leaned in so my mouth just barely grazed his ear. Now I knew I had to stop or I was going to pin him up against the wall and hell with whoever happened to come past. Was this how all newlywed couples felt? My wedding to Cyn was too fast to feel much of anything. And if it was, how do they all stand it?
I gently tucked the rings into my suitcase and zipped it up again with the greatest care. We resumed our trek to the other room. I was expecting a bit of teasing and inquiring as to how our night had gone, but I was entirely unprepared for people springing out of bloody nowhere in the room and flinging rice every which way. It pinged against my skin like hail. A lot of hail.
"What the fuck?" we yelped, diving under the coffee table and covering our heads. There was rice all over the room. I assumed Brian had gone out for something or this would never have happened.
"You throw rice on newlyweds," Ringo pointed out like he was stating the obvious. I poked my head out from under the table.
"Yeah, you gently toss it," I retorted. "Not bloody chuck it at them! You just about put me eye out!" I shook the rice out of my hair and brushed a few pieces out of Paul's. He caught my hand and kissed my fingers. I grinned at him.
George opened his mouth to say something, but Brian came back into the room before he could get the words out. Rice crunched under his foot and he glanced around, taking in all the little white grains everywhere, the scattered luggage, and finally Paul and I under the table. He looked like he was going to chew us out big time, but changed his mind at the last minute and settled for putting a hand over his eyes and letting loose with a long-suffering sigh. "You lot are bonkers," he muttered into his palm to no one in particular.
"A truer statement was never spoken, let's get this cleaned up, shall we?" Paul squeezed my hand and got out from under the table, righting the luggage, kicking halfheartedly at the rice, and abandoning it. There was too much. We left an anonymous note to housekeeping to apologize.
On the plane, I swear George and Ringo were trying to separate us. Paul sat down next to the window, knowing I hated being reminded I was on a plane and suddenly George was sitting next to him. I tapped his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. If Paul was sitting in a seat, I had an automatic claim on the one next to it. "Rings doesn't want to sit next to me. He thinks I take up too much space."
Ringo nodded in agreement. "He does." Seeing my scowl, he added, "it's only an hour and a half flight." Over George's shoulder, Paul shrugged at me. He nodded at the seat next to Ringo.
I sighed, making sure my displeasure was clearly known, taking up as much space as I could. If they were going to make my flight uncomfortable, the least I could do was return the favor. Yes, I was feeling terribly immature that day.
"Paaauuulll," I whined across the isle.
He chuckled, turning his head to look at me. "Yeah, love?"
"'M bored," I drawled. Which I was, plane rides bored me incredibly unless there was a wonderfully sexy bassist sitting next to me.
He rolled his eyes in a playful way, pulling his notebook out, scribbling something down and passing it across to me. I read his loopy, messy handwriting. We'll be there soon and then I'll have you all to myself for a whole week. Try not to whinge so much, yeah? I love you, you git.
I held down a laugh with difficulty, feeling my stomach do acrobatics. How did Paul manage to have such a profound effect on me all the time? Digging a pen out of my carry-on luggage, I penned a reply. Me, whinge? Me? I do not whinge! You have no idea how badly I want to be in Paris already. I have a much-anticipated appointment with you and a bed. Though it may end up being the floor if we don't get there soon. Love you the mostest ever, full stop.
I grinned as I passed it over, knowing it would make him blush. Paul blushing was so funny to watch; it started at the base of his collar and slowly worked upward until it hit the tops of his cheekbones and ears. It was like someone was slowly filling him with red coloring. I watched the process happen as his eyes roamed over the paper. Gotcha, McCartney, I mouthed at him when he gave me a look.
With a sigh that pretty much meant touché in Paul-speak, his pen flew across the paper to reply to my cheeky little note. I snatched it out of his hand as soon as he was done. John, you're hopeless. Truly and properly hopeless. But don't ever try to change that, okay? And I am not going to dignify that with a response. You know I love you the most. P.S., 'mostest' isn't a word.
The smug, lovable little bugger.
At the hotel I had to jam the hand not holding my suitcase into my pocket to keep from grabbing Paul's hand. My toes wiggled impatiently in my shoes. Brian was having a heated conversation with the desk clerk. I caught a snatch of their conversation.
"What do you mean, the rooms aren't ready yet?" said Brian agitatedly, his hand gestures growing larger by the second. This was a sure sign he was annoyed. My eyes tried their hardest to pop out of their sockets.
"I'm sorry, Monsieur, but there was an unforeseen delay," the desk clerk said, twisting his hands around until I was sure they were never going to come apart. "You may leave your luggage here and explore the city of Paris—" Brian's arm practically came unattached with the force of him flapping his hand at the man.
"I'm not sure if you noticed, but these are the Beatles," he hissed, tapping the desk so hard I think all of us were shock that his finger didn't go through the wood. "They cannot just go out and 'explore the city of Paris', unless of course you'd like to pay the hospital bills they incur because of their over zealous fans."
The other man swallowed heavily, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Well, we've got an empty conference room they could stay in until their rooms are ready..." he trailed off.
As we made our way to the room, I shared a horrified look with Paul. We'd been to Paris before and nothing they did was ever fast. It was around noon at that moment and it could easily be six o'clock before the rooms were deemed ready for us. "Oh God," I whispered in Paul's ear as we sat down in the mercifully comfortable chairs.
He glanced up to make sure the clerk was gone before he stole a quick, soft kiss. "I know," he murmured.
I actually ended up falling asleep after eating some of the food Brian brought for us for about five hours. Travel exhausted me and I hadn't gotten that much sleep the night before thanks to too much adrenaline. My head slumped down on Paul's shoulder and I enjoyed a couple hours of blissful, peaceful sleep.
I woke up to the sensation of Paul nudging my arm gently. He grinned when I blinked blearily at him. "Don't sleep too long, or you'll be up all night," he smirked.
My lips curled up in a grin to match his. "I intended to stay up pretty late anyway." George and Ringo chimed in with a chorus of eeewww's. We flipped them off in a seemingly planned fashion.
"Eppy's brought some dinner if you lovebirds are hungry," Ringo jested in good humor, getting up and eyeing the food hungrily. George had already started tucking in, his plate piled haphazardly. I shook my head with a chuckle. Looked like he wasn't going to grow out of the 'hollow leg' thing any time soon.
Paul and I both ate slowly, wasting time. I glanced out the window, seeing a tiny glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. A sigh escaped my lips. We were in the most romantic city in the world and trapped in a bloody conference room. On our honeymoon. Thinking on it though, maybe this was a way of learning that good things come to those who wait...
Finally, around my predicted six o'clock, a man with a tiny, well-groomed mustache popped his head around the door. "The hotel apologizes profusely for the delay, messieurs. Your rooms are ready now and I can lead you to them if you'd like. Your luggage has already been placed in the proper rooms." His nose practically touched the ground with the way he bowed. I had to remind myself not to leap out of my seat. Just a few more minutes, Johnny boy, I reminded myself firmly.
Paul shared a fraction of a look with me and spoke up. "We can take the keys and find them ourselves, if that's all right with you." His most charming expression was present on his face, but I could tell by the way his fingers kept tugging on the sleeve of his shirt that he was as eager to get to the room as I was.
The man hesitated briefly. "Well, I suppose that would be fine..." he trailed off uncertainly. In the time it took him to say that, the four of us snatched the keys out of his hands and bolt for the elevators with shouted thank you's. I think he probably stood there for a good minute scratching his head and wondering what exactly had just happened.
George distributed the keys in the elevator. "Paul and John... You're in room 403 and Rings and I are in 450. Same floor, but on opposite sides."
I swear, that was the slowest elevator in the world. In truth, it probably took thirty seconds to get to the fourth floor but it felt more like a lifetime. Right before the door opened, Ringo gave us a big, cheeky wink, wiggling his eyebrows. Paul's did a little dance of their own. "Oh please, don't act like we'll be the only ones doing anything. What d'you reckon John, I think they'll be shagging in ten minutes," he grinned.
I decided to play along, stroking my chin pensively. "I'd give 'em five."
They turned bright shades of pink and stood as far away from each other as they could as they went down the hallway. "Don't like the taste of your own medicine, fellas?" we called after them, chuckling.
At the room, I unlocked the door, opened it, and turned to Paul. He shook his head at me. "There is no way you're carrying me over the threshold, John Lennon."
I made a puppy dog face at him. "Why not?" I asked.
"Because I don't want to feel any more like the woman in the relationship than I already do," he said firmly, accidentally betraying a slight feeling of insecurity. I had no idea he felt like that and it made me cringe a bit.
"I like you as a man in this relationship, thanks very much," I told him, nudging his shoulder with my own. He turned and gave me a little smile of thanks. Pushing the door open, I took a low bow and gestured for him to go in. A hand ruffled my hair vigorously as he entered the room. "Git," I called after him, stepping in and going to work on my shoes. They were just enough too tight to make my feet complain loudly.
"You love me anyway," Paul replied. I looked up to see him standing in front of the big window that had a perfect view of the Eiffel Tower. It could have been a painting with the sun going down and painting the sky vibrant shades of reds, oranges, and purples.
Quietly, I snuck up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist tightly, resting my chin on his shoulder. "Like what you see?" I asked.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating low in his chest. "Yeah, but I like this view even more." Turning in my arms, he linked his arms around my neck and kissed me softly.
"Come to think of it, so do I," I said, trailing a line of kisses down his neck, stopping at his collarbone. He gave a sigh of satisfaction, tilting his head back so his neck was closer to my lips. "Hey, don't do that," I joked, pulling him closer than would seem physically possible.
"Why not?" Paul asked, hooking his ankle around mine.
I let my hands come up from the small of his back to entangle in his silky hair. "Can't reach your lips, that's why not."
He brought his head forward so his lips crushed against mine passionately. My eyelids fluttered shut as I kissed him back with all the passion I could muster. When it seemed we'd both run out of breath, he pulled away. "Better?" he inquired breathily, the color high in his cheeks and absolutely no rhyme or reason to the order of his hair.
I felt a chuckle issue from deep in my throat. "Much," I grinned lazily, pulling him into bed with me so his head rested on my chest. I stroked a hand almost absentmindedly through his hair.
For a moment, our passion halted. We lay there, just listening to the beating of the each other's hearts. They beat in tandem, just as they should. Two hearts that, by all modern laws, should not have been joined. Should never have beat for each other.
And yet they did.
Funny, how that happens.
Several minutes later, the moment of peaceful silence was broken by Paul stretching up to capture my lips in a kiss that seemed to be trying to fit an eternity of love into mere moments. The intensity was quickly escalated and the removal of all pesky, in-the-way clothing was done in short order.
The rest of our honeymoon was spent in a similar fashion, as you might imagine.
They say love can be like a soap bubble. It's beautiful, colorful, wonderful, and oh so delicate. Even if no false move is made, the bubble must burst at some point. I think I deluded myself into thinking we were in an indestructible bubble. There was no way it would ever come to an end, we loved each other too much.
It would not be until four years later that I realized how wrong I was.
A/N: What, did you think I was gonna make this a happy ending? *evil smirk* I've started on the next chapter already, so you won't have to wait this long next time. And yes, this story is slowly but surely drawing to a close. :'(
Review? :)