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30th September 1961
Paul woke up and rubbed his tired eyes, to the sound of the phone ringing downstairs. He ran his hand through the messy raven mop on top of his head and slumped downstairs to answer it.
“Hello?” He yawned wearily.
“Oi McCartney! It’s about time. I rang you three times, ya git!”
“Oh hey John, what do you want?”
“Ya wouldn’t believe it! I just got a hundred quid of me family In Scotland, for me birthday.”
“Yeah... and? Did you really just ring me up to say this?”
“...and I was planning to take you to Spain macca, for me birthday.”
“Me???? Spain!?”
“Today...”
“Today?!? We have a gig tonight, we can’t just go...how are we even going to get there??”
“Hitchhike?? Come on macca! Just me, you and the sunny spain. We can run away together!”
“But the band....”
“Fuck the band! It’s a week or so alright, it won’t matter to them!”
“But John, why me.... why not stu, or George, or Pete?”
“Because I want to spend my special birthday with you Paul... you mean more to me than any of those fuckers. Even Stu.”
“I don’t know whether I should take that as a compliment....”
“Please macca...It me 21st!”
“Alright then.... “ Paul sighed defeatedly. “I’ll see you in an hour...and should I tell the boys?”
“Nahhh fuck ‘em. None of their business anyway. And don’t forget to bring a bowler hat, helps us to get a lift. But wear yer leathers, just in case we see some chicks.”
Paul walked over to John’s house at half 10 and knocked on his door. He stepped out with a guitar on his back, a briefcase in his right hand and a cigarette in his mouth. John scraped his gelled brunette hair back, to tidy it up and followed Paul down the driveway.
“John!” Cried his aunt Mimi, stopping him in his tracks and holding something black in her hands. “Glasses! You won’t even make it down the road without getting hit by a car if you forgot them.”
“Aye cheers.” He rolled his eyes as he snatched them out of her hands and put them on. John jogged down the driveway to catch up with Paul, who was waiting on the other side of the gate and as soon as he got 10 feet away from the house, he took his glasses off and stuffed them in the pocket of his black leather jacket. John suggested they walked towards Liverpool airport as it was busy there and had more chance of getting a lift. When they arrived, they stood in the rainy and cold climate of Liverpool to wait for a potential chauffeur. Luckily, a lorry pulled up beside them not long after.
“Alright mate, can ye give us a lift?” John asked, attempting to be polite by taking off his bowler hat and bowing. Paul, stood behind him, trying so hard not to laugh at the fool that his best friend was making of himself.
“Yeah sure, where ya guys off to?”
“Spain.” Paul said quietly.
“Yer bloody mad! I can’t give yer a lift to Spain. Yer right next to an airport, why don’t ya try the airlines?”
“I can’t afford it mate.” Shrugged John.
“Alright, I can give ya a lift as far as Birmingham. I hope that helps ya lads.”
“Yeah that’s gear cheers mate.”
Paul and John threw their luggage into the lorry and got in. When they got to Birmingham, another man gave them a lift to Southampton, a whole 997 miles closer to their destination. The man was a nice old brummie fella, who let the boys sing and play guitar in the back of the Morris minor, even joining in on the songs that he knew. He mentioned that he was planning to drive around Europe as he wanted to get away from England.
“Sorry boys, I’d love to drive you there, but I have family in Paris, I was planning on visiting them first.”
“I understand. How will we get across the channel?”
The man laughed.
“I didn’t say I was dropping you off here you idiots! You will never get any closer otherwise! Look, I’ll drop you off in Paris. Maybe you could get the train from there.”
“Oh yeah that will be awesome thanks.”
When they got to Paris, They were very tired and it was getting dark. So they decided to stay in Paris for the night. They looked around for a hotel to stay in as there was no point in exploring Paris in the dark.
“Uhhh hello? Hotel?? Hotel... nearby???” Paul asked a very confused french man, while John was attempting to flirt with a pretty, blonde woman sat outside a cafe. The woman then got up, hit John around the head with her bag and ran off, not even paying for her coffee.
“Je ne parle pas anglais!!!” He screamed back at Paul, leaving them to search for somewhere to stay for the night, on their own. Paul was getting agitated, his briefcase and guitar weighing him down.
“John? Paul?” A voice called out across the road. They looked to see their old friend Jürgen, who had hair like a mod. “What are you doing here?”
“Ayyy Jürgen! We are on holiday...well not yet... we are hitchhiking to Spain and decided to stay here for the night.”
“I know a little hotel down the road. I’m good friends with the manager, maybe he could get you a room?”
“Oh thank god, I’m shattered!” Sighed Paul in relief that he wouldn’t be sleeping on the streets tonight. The three walked to a little hotel down the road. Jürgen asked the manager if there was a room free for his friends in fluent french. He said that there wasn’t any free, but because it was late and the boys had spent the day travelling, he would let the boys stay in a spare room in the loft.
“Enjoy your stay!” He cried, handing them the room key.
“Ah finally a bed! Maybe we should stay here for a whi-“ Paul entered the room and froze to see a toilet and wash basin in the middle of the room. Then his eyes wandered to the corner of the room, where there was one single bed and his stomach dropped. He nervously looked over at John, who was clearly unbothered by the situation. John immediately ran over to the bed and flopped onto it, leaving Paul with no choice but to sleep of the couch. He threw the briefcase onto the sofa, rested his guitar against it and sighed as he sat down. John, who was laying on the bed, was staring at Paul, feeling somewhat hurt and upset by the fact that Paul wasn’t willing to share the bed with him, even if they topped and tailed.
“Pauuulll.” John groaned at him, his head leant back against the headboard. “Are you coming to bedddd?” Paul felt a strange and new feeling inside his stomach from those words, something he would have felt when he was around Dot. He blamed it on homesickness and dismissed it.
“John, I’m not sharing a single bed with you. That’s queer!” But some part of him wondered what John’s arms would feel like around him, all snuggled up in the tiny bed, the feeling of those soft looking lips on his.... he shook himself out of his thoughts before they got any more sinful. “I’m not queer!!!” He reassured John... but also himself.
“Paul.. yer will never get to sleep on that sofa...it looks so fucking uncomfortable.”
“Fine... just don’t think any queer thoughts will you?”
“Can’t promise that hun...” Paul’s mind wandered back to what John would taste and feel like... he felt a tiny bit of excitement and his stomach fluttered as he approached the bed... and his tight drainpipes suddenly felt a bit tighter. He awkwardly pulled the sheets down and got in bed next to John. Then he felt his soft and pale arms wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. Paul tried to get his hands between them to pull John off of him because he was uncomfortable and wanted to get as far as he could away from John right now, but partly because he didn’t want John to notice what was going on down below, so John could mock him, call him ‘queer’, tell all of the boys when they got back and never speak to him again. He really didn’t want to lose John because of this...
“Paulie, snuggles.” He said softly, pulling Paul into a tighter hug. Paul gave in and put his arms around John loosely. Not even a minute later, John was peacefully sleeping. However Paul was really not. His mind was going places that it never should be and he couldn’t rest with his shameful and achingly hard member. John’s breath tickled his neck, making this situation even worse.
“John...”
John’s sleepy eyes slowly opened.
“Huh?”
“I can’t sleep, John...”
“Awwww does little Paulie want his daddy to kiss him goodnight and read him a bedtime story?” John joked patronisingly.
“No! Fuck off John, I’m not 5!!!” Paul punched his arm, making John laugh, throw off the sheets and pin him down on the bed.
“Oh you wanna fight Paul...huh.” He joked.
“Bring it on you git!” Paul laughed.
John’s eyes wandered down his body as he kneeled above Paul, then stopped... and widened in horror. Paul stopped laughing, realised what he was staring at and gulped.
“Shit John! I’m sorry it isn’t my fault... I was thinking of Brigette y’know... happens to the best of us!” His cheeks flushed in embarrassment, wanting to get away from John right now, more than ever.
“Don’t lie to me, McCartney....”
“John.... I can explain...”
“Oh James...There’s no need to explain....”
Paul felt tears running down his cheeks. John had never called him James before.
“John I’m sorry!! Just please!! Don’t tell the boys.... or me dad or brother!!! Just keep this between us yeah? It was an accid-“
Paul was shushed by John’s soft lips planted on his. The feeling of his lips didn’t last long as John pulled back in panic.
“Oh god Paul... I’m sorry I shouldn’t have done that....”
“No it’s fine... it’s what I wanted anyway.”
“Me too... for a while now... but Paul, are you sure you want this?” John asked, realising the consequences of this, the effects it would have on the band, the boys’ families, their girlfriends, the fans....
“Yes...” Paul whispered softly. “So much....” and then they realised none of that mattered right now. The only thing that mattered was them and the blossoming love between them. John smiled widely as he sealed the gap between his and Paul’s lips, Paul kissed back this time, slowly and tenderly, appreciating the moment while it lasted. John flipped over so he was laying on his back, dragging Paul on top of him. Their lips reconnected, this time more messy and passionately, the kiss full of need and desire for each other. John pulled off Paul’s white t-shirt and drainpipes, exploring his perfect body with his skilful hands. His hands then settled at his waist as Paul welcomed his tongue into his mouth. After a few minutes, Paul pulled away, to admire his lover, lips red and swollen, brown eyes full of love gazing up at him. John was the one to break the silence.
“How long, my darling...” John asked with a soft voice, caressing Paul’s chubby cheeks.
“Well... y’know.. it’s been about a year now..”
“And you didn’t say anything.”
“I didn’t think you would have wanted this... y’know, being all tough and masculine and that.... what about you??”
“Since the 6th of July 1957, Paul...”
“The day we met!?!”
“What can I say luv, I was attracted to that pretty face of yours... oh and your guitar playing of course.”
“Oh Johnny....I love you.....”
“I love you too baby...” John reached up to give Paul a small peck. “now let’s take care of this situation here....” He said with a smirk...