Why Don't You Stay; We've Got Tonight II (Paul McCartney x Starr!Female!Reader NSFW)
Find Part One Here
A/N: Y'all asked, y'all shall receive. Thank you all again for the support; I love writing for every single one of you.
I would like to also personally thank my Brainstorming Buddy/ Editor @strawb3rri-le. the last three or four fics I've posted, including this one, would not have been possible had it not been for you, so I thank you from the literal bottom of my heart for being the Lennon to my McCartney in this writing journey. Here's to many more wonderful stories to come! <3
Summary: You and Paul get intimate after agreeing to be there for one another.
This is also inspired by Bob Seger's We've Got Tonight, so be sure to listen to that for your own listening/ reading pleasure!
WARNINGS: SMUT, please don't interact if you're under the age of 18, I'll call your mom. Fluffy unprotected sex (Wrap it before you Tap it amirite?) ANGST; this fic gets SAD midway through, mentions of cheating/ exes being stupid, but there is fluff in the end which makes it all better. Swearing is a given, maybe a few typos.
This one is rated 18+ or R, so tread with caution ONLY if you're of age please, I cannot stress that enough!!!
"Are you sure about this?"
"Yes. Are you?"
"I really am."
"Then there's nothing to worry about."
Paul was watching you from what little light was flooding through the window of his room. He could have asked you that question a hundred more times; but he just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.
He opened his mouth to inquire yet again, but you stepped towards him, lips connecting with his to ease his worries. You felt his tension melt away slowly, hands drifting down to hold your waist as you placed one hand on his chest, the other resting on his shoulder.
You pulled away slightly to glance at his sweater, and Paul watched you intensely as your hand slid down the fabric painfully slow, your fingers dipping into every clothed muscle on his torso until they were toying with the hem at his hips.
"... This should go," you suggested in a hushed tone, and after a moment of letting the recommendation settle in both of your minds, Paul let go of you, pulling it up and off him with your help, and the sweater fell to the carpet with a soft thud.
When your hand returned to his chest, now bare, you examined just how toned he was. You had no clue someone of Paul's stature could be hiding such a body under simple knit sweaters and turtlenecks; but it was a pleasant surprise.
As your palm drifted around his skin, feeling the light hairs on his chest, his own fingers couldn't help but drag along the uppermost edge of your own pyjama top. His gentle touch left a trail of goosebumps on you, his eyes following his fingers as his hand slowed to a stop above your heart.
"And, perhaps this, as well...?" Paul asked rather innocently, eyes flitting back up to meet your own gaze. You nodded a little, watching as he ran his tongue against his bottom lip. "Lift up."
You raised your arms for him, and felt your top slide up and off you, his fingers grazing your sides gently as he removed it from your body. Paul held it in his hands for a moment, eyes drifting down a little to look at the sight before him. The top fell to the floor, along with his discarded sweater, and you both stared at each other for a moment.
Paul's eyelids lowered and he sighed at you, hands reaching out to hold you again. He cupped you at the base of your ribs, his thumbs drawing nonsensical patterns on the skin under your breasts as he closed the gap between you again. As your lips pressed together, Paul slowly walked you back to the edge of his bed, where you lowered yourself to sit when you felt the mattress against the back of your legs.
He dropped to his knees in front of you, finally pulling away to look at you again. His hands moved up carefully to cup your breasts, and you shut your eyes. He gauged your reaction to his touch, and feeling his thumbs run gently over your nipples made your head drop back. You whined a little, that familiar, yet longing feeling you hadn't experienced in a while was making itself known deep within you.
His hot breath was fanning against your skin, and Paul asked you in the most delicate tone, a simple, yet effective, "May I?" And all you could do was nod to him.
You whined again when Paul's lips made contact with your breast, his left hand kneading the other carefully as his right squeezed your side in affection. You slid your hands up through his hair, and you felt him moan against your left nipple as his other hand rolled your right one between his fingers.
You both had to try your best to keep on the quieter side since it was so late; and no one else should have known what you two were doing. Unfortunately, Paul's... handiwork... wasn't anything to be quiet about.
"Paul," you choked out, tilting your head up a little, and he removed his mouth from your nipple to look you right in the eyes.
"You like that?"
"Yes," you nodded your head rather frantically, spurring him to get right back to work, but switching sides, lips and tongue teasing your right breast as your left now gained the attention of his fingers.
Your knees fell away from one another as you tilted your head back again, breath ragged as Paul worked his magic. You felt his hand slide down your waist to drag along the band on your pyjama bottoms, but he was in no rush to tell you to take them off.
His hand actually continued to slide down to your thigh, and he squeezed you gently as you felt his tongue swirl around your nipple, and you rolled your hips against his body on reflex, choking out another whine as you tugged at his hair a little harder. He smiled with a pleasant hum before pulling his mouth away from your body.
You huffed at the cool air hitting your wet breasts, but he placed another warm kiss on your lips, one of his hands holding the back of your neck, and your discomfort faded away almost instantly. His other hand was still on your thigh, but slowly trailing back up to the waistband on your pyjama bottoms.
Paul deepened the kiss just for a moment as his finger hooked into the band. When you both separated again, he rested his forehead against yours, heavy eyes opening to look at you.
"Isn't it about time these go, too?" There was something so carnal about his words, yet they still held an abundant amount of respect for you, and your comfort; and, dear God, it turned you on so badly.
You didn't even respond to his question. You just removed your hands from his hair so you could support yourself from the mattress from your elbows, raising your hips off the bed a little so he could pull the rest of the clothes off your body. You watched as Paul did just that, your bottoms relinquished to the pile of clothes building off to the side, your legs not so spread apart anymore.
It looked as if he were in a trance, hands on your thighs as he examined your nude body in fascination. You watched him watch you, still propped up on your elbows, and you felt almost embarrassed under his gaze until he mumbled, fingers kneading into the tense muscles on your legs, "perfect. Absolutely perfect."
You blushed as he tenderly spread your legs open, unhurriedly, and he groaned at the sight of just how wet you were for him.
"Oh, Darling..."
Your face felt so hot, especially when you watched him lick those damned lips of his again.
"I want to taste you, you look so damn sweet." His thumbs continued to massage between your thighs, and you could feel yourself getting even wetter. You felt like you needed to return the favour.
"I... Did you want me to--"
"No," Paul interrupted lightly with a simple shake of his head. It was like he read your mind. "Keep moaning, keep pulling my hair. Those beautiful noises you're making have me feeling the best kind of way right now."
Every word he said contributed to enhancing the pit of arousal you were feeling within, and you were almost speechless. No one had ever spoken to you that way before, not even your ex, the one with whom you felt you shared your most intimate moments with. But after what had already happened in that room, between you and Paul, comparing them was out of the question.
You could feel his breath against your heat, your blood pumping loud in your ears.
"Paul, please..." you whispered, but he just stared at you, fingers still rubbing your thighs.
"Please what, Lovely?" You knew he was doing this on purpose, especially when he rested his head down onto your left leg to give you those alluring puppy-dog eyes.
"I can't give you what you want if you don't tell me what it is you need."
Your mouth formed a few shapes without you making a sound. You sighed, breath shaky as you gathered enough composure to groan, "I need your mouth. Please."
"Where?" Paul asked innocently. You were secretly loving the way he was teasing you, but on the other hand, you were beginning to feel desperate for his touch. His left hand reached up towards you, and a single finger rested against the skin between your breasts.
"Here?" He questioned softly, dark eyes watching you as you shook your head. He dragged his finger so painfully slow down your body, stopping at your abdomen to ask again.
"What about here?"
"Please," you were begging him at this point, but Paul continued to take his time, drawing his finger lower, and lower, until he was just above your folds.
"Just little lower," you pleaded to him desperately, and when you finally felt him pull his hand away to hold your thighs apart, you knew he was done playing games with you.
He gave you one more sultry look before dropping his head between your legs, tongue gently lapping away at your arousal, and you cried out his name. He opened his eyes to watch you react from his place as he continued rolling his tongue against you at an even pace.
You lowered your back to the bed, legs instinctively trying to squeeze together at the feeling of Paul's sweet mouth where you needed him most, but he continued to hold a firm grip on your thighs to keep them in place.
His beard scratched at your legs a little, but in the best kind of way. His nose bumped against your clit and your hands found their way back into his mess of locks again, tugging and driving him closer to you. He moaned against you, the vibrations shooting a chill up through your body.
He pulled away a little, mouth shining with your arousal, and his eyelashes lowered over his eyes as he mumbled, "Oh, my dear, you taste better than I ever dreamed you would."
Your heart was pounding against your ribcage, the idea of such a beautiful man dreaming about being between your legs and tasting you, and wanting this had you feeling some kind of way.
"Please, don't stop," you whined gently, and he responded with a quiet laugh.
"Oh, my sweet girl, I'm nowhere near being done with you yet. Don't you worry."
A mix of relief and lust rushed your emotions, and Paul's eyes continued to watch you as he let go of your right leg, hand coming up to his face before putting his middle finger in his mouth.
You stared in anticipation as he pulled his saliva-covered finger out from between his lips before plunging it right into you, and you cried out again, tears of pleasure welling in your eyes as you pushed your hips up against his hand.
It was Paul's turn to stare, and you felt him curl his finger inside of you before adding another and repeating the beckoning motion again, free hand pressing your hip down to keep you from moving so much.
"You okay, Lovely?" He asked in a low tone, watching as your body twitched and writhed with everything he did.
"Yes, keep going, Paulie," you whimpered, encouraging his hand to quicken before he dipped back down, lips wrapping around your nub, and all you could see were stars. Your hips rocked up again, and Paul released your waist a little to let you squirm around.
"Paulie, I'm gonna..." you stumbled over your words as you felt your orgasm nearing quickly, your hands balled into tight fists in his hair still. One more finger curl was all he had to do before you released all over them with a cry. You mumbled nonsensical speech as Paul pulled back a little and admired his achievement, your arousal dripping down his hand as he let you ride it out.
"That's it, do whatever makes you feel good, my angel." His praise was addicting, your eyes rolled back as you revelled in this state of euphoria. It wasn't long before your hips fell back onto the bed, and you sighed out when Paul removed his fingers from you.
You took a moment to fixate your gaze on him. His pupils were blown, staring at you in the face with his lips parted. You relieved some of the tightness in your fists so you weren't gripping his hair so hard, mumbling a whispered apology for being so harsh with that.
Paul responded to you, not with words, but by stalking up your body slowly, silently, as a predator would to its prey; and he pressed a kiss to your mouth, tongue pushing its way past your teeth so you could taste yourself.
You groaned, sitting up slowly as to not break the kiss. You reached down towards the belt wrapped around his hips, undoing it blindly and pulling it from the loops of his jeans. You needed him, and he was strained so tightly in those trousers, you knew it couldn't have been comfortable for him. You parted from the kiss, but keeping the distance close between you two.
"Are you positive you don't want me going down on you?" Your question seemed as innocent as if could have been, and Paul just smiled a little with another head shake.
"Baby girl, as long as you're getting off, so am I."
You hummed at his response. You hoped he wouldn't quit with the pet names. Your eyes glanced down to the jeans you were in the middle of taking care of, and Paul was already popping the button off them.
His eyes trailed back up to your face before he put his palm innocently over your heart, pushing you down onto your back again.
"Just lean back and relax, my sweet thing. You just stay there and look pretty while I take care of you. Make you feel good."
You watched him from your lying position as he moved to stand by the foot of the bed, dropping his jeans to the floor after wiping his hands off on them before he turned back to you. His stare didn't seem all that possessive and dark anymore like it had been during foreplay.
He was looking at you with a type of sincerity that brought warmth to your soul.
You were under a spell, unable to disengage from his stare, even when he climbed back onto the bed, and spread your legs apart again. He briefly looked away from you to position his cock properly, and you watched the concentration on his face morph into mild enjoyment as he circled the head around your pussy teasingly.
Your eyebrows furrowed as your legs crossed around his waist, and he looked up at you through his eyelashes. Those perfect pink lips of his parted, and he whispered to you with one more squeeze to your thigh, "are you ready?"
Your hands reached out for him, fingers clasping together at the back of his neck as you nodded your head. "I need you, Paul, Please."
"Don't worry, my Love. I'll give you exactly what you need."
And with an unhurried push of his hips, he was inside of you, and the most beautiful sound escaped his lips, in limbo between a moan and a whine, and the look on his face was blissful, eyes shut and mouth hanging open at the feeling of you.
You let out a deep, concentrated, pleasing sigh. It hadn't been forever since you last had sex, but it was definitely long enough. The stretch from his member filled you up in the greatest way; and Paul took it real slow for you.
"Fuck, you're so wet. So tight," he mumbled under his breath, exhaling deeply with every roll of his hips. His eyes drifted back open to watch your face, lowering his brow and whispering to you, "my Love, you promise to tell me if I'm ever hurting you?"
Your face flushed red at his words, and you nodded a little.
"Yes, Paulie. Absolutely." Your quiet response was uttered though little moans, a hint of emotion laced in your voice.
You were partial to that specific nickname. You felt you maybe liked it too much, but there was no denying that responding to it felt so right, and Paul, you felt, seemed to think regarding you that way was okay, as well. It made you feel like you were actually wanted, and you'd be lying if you didn't say you hadn't felt that way in a very long time.
Paul leaned down, arms on either side of your head as he kissed your lips, and you kissed back, fingers unclasping so you could once again run your nails along his scalp and through his hair. He groaned at the attention, rocking a little deeper now, and you pulled away from the kiss to whine at Paul's actions.
You arched your back as his movements sped up, and you could hear his breaths quickening as he settled on a steady pace. One of his hands slid in under your back to hold you closer, and he dropped his head into the crook of your neck.
He started placing kisses along the side of your throat, and then on your collarbone. "You have no idea... fuck... how long I've waited for you." He mumbled those words against your skin, and your conscience shot right awake from its besotted trance as you hyper-focussed on his words.
"I have been dreaming about this for so many nights... for so many years..."
You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Sure, you'd known Paul for a while, but never in your life did you think he was even remotely attracted to you, let alone actively fantasize about the very moment you were both experiencing.
Your chest burned, intensely aware that as soon as this night was over, this feeling of togetherness, intimacy, and affection was going to die out like a candle flame, and you were going to be alone all over again. Your eyes were glassy with tears as you tried to draw Paul closer, opting to remove your fingers from his hair to wrap your arms around his body.
You began to push your hips back against Paul's, recieving a pleased hum from him. Your hands rubbed tenderly over the hot skin on his back as he continued to pour his heart out to you, breaking yours more with every word that left his mouth.
"My sweet Love; to think I've wanted you for so long... and now I have you. I'm the luckiest fucking guy in the world."
"Paul," you whimpered, head resting up against his shoulder as tears streamed down your cheeks from your eyes. You weren't entirely sure what came over you, but before you could even think, you were whispering to him, "please don't leave me."
"Never. My Love, I'll always be right here." His response was so effortless, and quick, and your ears seemed to be ringing again. He put his other hand at the back of your head, pulling you in closer as your bodies continued to rock together.
You could feel another orgasm nearing, and Paul must have known from the sounds coming from your mouth. He pulled his arm out from under your back to reach between the both of you, thumb toying with your clit as you cried out again, hips jerking harder and quicker against him, his own pace stuttering as he could feel the walls of your heat contracting against him.
"I-- I'm gonna..." you choked, and Paul rubbed between your legs even faster.
"Come undone, my Love," he encouraged weakly as he tried his best to keep going for you. You dropped your head back against the pillows and you cried out as another orgasm rushed you, more tears falling down your cheeks, as you returned to that feeling of ecstasy you were in only minutes before.
Paul leaned up, forehead and chest shining with sweat as he continued to pound into you, long hair matted against his skin as his pace fell apart, shuttering as he pulled out of you and came all over your stomach.
His head fell back, eyes falling shut as he called out your name, cum leaking out of him and all over you, but you were far from caring. His breaths were heavy as he gasped for air, and after a moment of allowing the both of you to come down from the high, he slumped back onto his arms, head rolling to the side so he could open his eyes and look at the mess he made of you.
"Oh, Love, I'm sorry about all that. Let me just..." Paul took another deep breath before rolling himself off the bed, wandering on wobbly legs towards the connected bathroom. You could hear the faucet running for a moment as you stared directly up at the ceiling, beginning to wake your body up with a little wiggle your toes.
That was, without any doubt, the best sex you'd had in your life. And as Paul returned to you, two damp cloths in-hand, you figured the intimacy was over; that you'd clean yourself up and be kicked out of the room.
But when he took a seat at the foot of the bed again, and he reached up to your tummy to wipe his ejaculation off your skin, you found yourself falling into another daze.
The cloth was warm, and Paul took his time sliding it over you to clean you up, not a single word coming from his mouth. When he felt he cleaned your stomach well enough, he reached for the other cloth, wiping the sweat gingerly off your neck, and chest.
Every move was calculated, and even when he moved to wipe up the mess between your legs, he was careful of how sensitive you were, free hand caressing your thigh while he remained largely focused on cleaning you up.
You felt the assault of tears burning your eyes again as you watched Paul tend to you, and when he looked up to your face and realized your expression, his own fell to one of worry.
"... you okay?"
You nodded your head weakly, that was until you felt him squeeze your leg again. Your bottom lip began to tremble, and your hands came up to your face as you sobbed into your palms.
"Hey, hey, Darling, what's the matter?"
Paul even sounded worried, climbing up the mattress to be closer to you. You curled up into a little ball on your side, and Paul put his hand on your arm, rubbing it up and down to comfort you.
"I... I..." you didn't want to tell Paul necessarily what you were feeling, because then that would have meant telling him you enjoyed him a little too much. More than you thought was maybe appropriate.
"Please talk to me, tell me what I can do to make this all better," he begged, and you took a while to respond to him.
"Hold me," you whimpered, and Paul, without another second passing, swept you up in his arms, cradling you as you sat in his naked lap. His right arm circled your back as his left coaxed your head onto his shoulder before he began stroking your hair.
Your arms lazily circled around him as you cried into his shoulder, and Paul pressed his lips into a line, tears of his own threatening to fall.
"Did I hurt you? Did I do something wrong, Love?"
"Please don't think that," you choked back. "You did everything so right. And that's the problem."
Paul's eyebrows, which were knit together in frustration and confusion, began to relax at the realization of your words. You both knew you were going to have to elaborate a little more at one point, but Paul didn't pry. He just continued to stroke your hair and rock you, soothing you of your negative emotions.
You pulled your head away from the crook of his neck eventually, and you looked Paul in his sweet, doe eyes. "You're so kind. Too kind," you sniffled. "Half of me wants to actually listen to the words you said, but it hurts too much. After what he did to me..."
You thought back to your ex for a moment. That slimy, cheating bastard.
"I can't even pretend to believe someone would love me like that again, because he stripped me of all that trust."
Paul seemed a little hurt at your words, taking a moment to decide what he was going to say next.
"... You don't have to believe it now, but I know everything I said to you was the truth."
"Everything. Even when you asked me not to leave. I can't be certain you were being serious about that, but I want you to know that I'm serious. I won't leave you if you don't want me to."
You felt your bottom lip quiver again, and he pulled his hand from the back of your head to cup your face.
"But how can I be so sure?" Your question was barely above a whisper, and Paul held you tighter, and closer.
You couldn't help but tilt your head into his touch as your red eyes drifted closed. He placed a kiss on your temple, mumbling into your skin, "please believe me when I say I did have some doubts about all of this. But having you here, in my arms right now... I have never felt so sure about anything in my life. I'm never going to let anything happen to you ever again."
"You've occupied a special place in my heart for a long while, now. If anything were to try and hurt you, and I'm there to protect you, I'd be doing everything in my power to keep you safe."
You could feel Paul turn your head towards him, and you opened your eyes.
"I know our last relationships didn't end well. I know we're still hurting from the past... But you make me so happy. Like I have something worth living for, and can think about the future without wanting to look back at the pain I'm wanting to desperately leave behind."
You had more emotions stirring in your heart again, but they were ones that made you feel fuzzy inside.
"... Would it be so wrong of me to tell you I feel the same way about you?" You asked him carefully. You couldn't believe how poetic he could be just talking to you. He had all the right words to say at any given time.
"Absolutely not," he replied easily, one of the corners of his mouth twitching at the relief that the feeling was, in fact, mutual.
You reached up to cup his face, thumb drifting against his beard as he leaned in to kiss your mouth. And you let him. It wasn't to initiate anything, only to project affection unto you.
He pulled away after a moment, breathing a quiet "Please, Darling, stay with me, tonight."
You smiled sadly at his request, but you shook your head a little. "What about Rich? He's gonna find out everything." That was another nail in the coffin, Paul decided, he needed to pry out.
"Well, he's just going to have to deal with the fact that I need you," he responded matter-of-factly, and your heart ached at that.
"I don't think you have any idea just how long I've restrained myself from talking to you, let alone flirt or try anything with you. I used to care so much about what Ringo thought, but all that matters now is you."
Paul removed his hand from your cheek to caress yours holding his own face. He pulled your hand off so he could kiss your fingertips, smiling just a little to try and encourage one on your own face.
"It's just us now. No one else. Okay, my Love?"
All you could seem to do was nod your head, but that appeared to be enough for him. He gave you one more peck and a little hand squeeze before sighing. "Let's splash some water on your face and get us ready for bed, hm? I don't know about you, but the last ten minutes have been an absolute workout for me."
You blushed a little when Paul sent a wink your way, but you shifted off his lap and stood up, as did he. He took your hand in his again and guided you to the bathroom, and as you wet your face with the water under the faucet, he tossed the damp face cloths in the laundry bin next to the toilet.
His attention was back on you, and he tucked your hair back behind your ear, placing a kiss under your earlobe. You smiled a little at the gesture as you watched him through the mirror, turning the faucet off and dabbing your face dry with the towel on the counter. Paul settled another kiss at the crook of your neck, and then one on your shoulder.
"You feel any better?" He asked lowly, his words vibrating against your skin. You held back a chuckle by biting your bottom lip, setting the towel back down next to the sink.
"A little, yeah."
"As long as the answer isn't no, I can live with that." He smiled at your reflection, arms wrapping around your body as he kissed your shoulder one more time. You placed your hands overtop his, which were planted on your hips.
"C'mon, now," he whispered, one of his hands unraveling rom your body to drift to the small of your back and leading you back out into the bedroom. He left you briefly to pop the window open a little, and you climbed in under the covers, him following suit just a few seconds after.
You rolled to your side to look at Paul, and he did the same, propping up on his elbow and dropping his head in his hand, other arm reaching out so he could cup your face again. He looked so happy, having you so close to him. It was such a contrast to how you found him earlier that night, and the difference made you feel rather glad you were still awake at such a late hour.
"Thank you for everything tonight," he offered gently. "The drinks we shared, the dancing, the intimacy, for letting me confess everything to you, for staying... thank you for being you."
"Aww, why can't I say anything that romantic and poetic to you?" You whined a little, and Paul laughed gently, his hand drifting down to squeeze your arm lovingly.
"Y'know, there will be so much time in the future for you to woo me."
"If I can learn to be as quick on my feet as you, perhaps," you argued back playfully, shifting forward a little so you could curl up into Paul's chest. His hand dropped to your spine so he could pull you in a little closer, thumb rubbing gently against your skin.
"You'll get there, Lovely. Sweet dreams." You hummed a little as your eyes fell shut, the feeling of Paul's thumb caressing you, and the sound of the trees rustling in the wind outside, as well as the rise and fall of Paul's chest had you lulling to sleep in no time. He, on the other hand, remained awake for a long while, holding you close to him as if it were his only purpose in life.
He wasn't worried about anything anymore; not even about whether Ringo would find out about the both of you before either of you planned... Despite leaving the evidence of two alcohol glasses still sitting pretty on the coffee table in the den for him to find first thing that next morning.
Paul eventually fell asleep as well, arms enveloping you from the cool night air seeping in from the window leading outside. His heart was feeling fuller than it ever had before, and it was all because of you.
______________________________________
A/A/N: I hope this lived up to your expectations, I haven't written anything NSFW in YEARS, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Don't forget to like and comment, I love reading the comments on these :')
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𐙚 summary ; paul needs to unwind after the sessions. you offer your thighs.
𐙚 note ; you know what you're doing to me with these… teeth sunk in my knuckle writing this one! keep making me suffer, alright? xoxo
The sky was dark with London rot. Damp. Bone-cold through coat seams, wet up the backs of thighs, that winter kind of chill that makes breath fog and leather squeak. Paul had just slammed the passenger door of his car, red and rattling and smelling like an ashtray some days, cologne and lemon rinds on others. Today, it smelled like sweat and music. You were already in the driver’s seat, for some reason, hands curled around a chipped thermos of tea you’d brought for him, legs stretched out, boots braced against the gearstick.
He was in his white shirt under a wool coat, loose, two buttons open even in the cold. He wiped at his jaw with a wrist, then leaned over, breath catching.
“God, y’don’t know what today was like.”
You knew.
“You said yesterday was hell.”
“Yesterday,” he muttered, fingers sliding up the inside of your knee, “was nothin’. Today John nearly threw a bloody amp. Didn’t even say goodbye.”
“Mm,” you said, pretending not to react to the way his knuckles were climbing now. Slower, firmer. “So this is your therapy?”
Paul smiled. His voice dragged like a cigarette burn: “You are.”
You didn’t say anything yet. You knew better. You just passed the thermos over without a word. He took it gratefully, curling one hand around it like it was a lifeline, the other settling on his thigh, thumb twitching rhythmically.
He took a sip, hissed when it burned, then did it again anyway. His eyes closed. “Mmm. That’s real tea. That’s salvation.”
You smiled, leaning your head back against the seat.
“George left early,” Paul muttered. “Didn’t even stay through the playback. Mal had to chase Ringo round the car park for a cigarette break that never happened. I think John said all of four words the whole afternoon, two of which were ‘fuckin' hell’ and ‘shit.’”
You made a low sound. “That’s three.”
He cracked a grin despite himself, eyes still shut. “Smart.”
Then silence again. His hand drifted from the thermos and back to your knee, his palm splaying flat against the fabric of your trousers. Just rested there, warm. Heavy. You didn’t move. You weren’t cold anymore.
“I keep thinkin’ I’ll walk in and it’ll just be music,” he said eventually. “Y’know? Not a fuckin’ war. Dunno where it went sideways.”
You hummed, low and sympathetic. “Sounds like you need a new coping mechanism.”
He turned his head to look at you. Eyes rimmed with exhaustion, but that glint there. That fire that didn’t go out, even under pressure. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“What’ve y’got in mind then?” His voice dropped a little, just the edge of mischief cutting through.
You glanced out at the frost-edged windows, the muffled hush of London beyond the glass. The night was quiet. Your breath still made clouds in the air. And his hand was moving now, inching just a little higher.
He leaned in close, nose brushing your cheekbone, voice curling like smoke.
“Tell me.”
You smirked a little, hips tilting forward, just enough that his palm pressed a little firmer between your thighs.
“Figured we’d find a better use for that backseat.”
He twitched, subtle at first… a breath hitching in his chest, fingers reflexively clenching like a tremor ran down his spine. His eyes dropped, fixated where your thighs parted slightly under his hand, and his voice didn’t come immediately. Instead, he just looked at you. Looked at you like he was trying to memorize the moment before it spiraled out of control
His hand moved slow, careful. A palm dragging up the inside of your thigh, calloused heat through the thin fabric. He moved with deliberation, tracing the seam, knuckles grazing where you were already warm. The pressure wasn’t much, just enough to tease, to keep you barely there and wanting more. He was watching your face now, mouth parted, eyes locked on how your lips parted at the friction.
“You feelin’ that?” he murmured. The accent thicker, low and curling like smoke from a match just struck.
You leaned back against the seat, legs parting more in invitation than answer. He didn’t need to be told twice. His hand disappeared beneath the waistband of your pants, sliding up and over until his fingers met the soaked fabric of your underwear. He paused.
“Oh wow,” he breathed, the words a reverent curse, thumb dragging a lazy stroke over your center. “You’re already-yeah, that’s somethin’, love.”
He pressed the heel of his hand into your mound, grinding down as his middle finger trailed the slick outline, teasing through the fabric with maddening care. He worked you slowly, rhythm shallow, languid, like he had all night to play and no intention of rushing the crescendo. You gasped, hips canting, and he smirked.
And then his hand slipped beneath the waistband. Warm fingers met hotter skin. He groaned, loud, primal, like it gutted him to feel how wet you already were. A groan that caught in his chest, all gravel and hunger. He tugged the fabric to the side with a single-minded urgency that almost made you laugh.
Almost.
Then his fingers were inside you.
Thick, knuckle-deep, one after the other, working in slow circles that made you squirm against the faux leather seat. He watched your mouth as you moaned, biting it in reflex. His pupils were blown wide, almost black.
“Keep makin’ that noise,” he muttered, pushing deeper, curling inside you until your knees knocked. “I’ll never write a ballad again. Jus’ that noise.”
You could feel your heartbeat in your ears, your clit, your lungs. He kept working you like he was tuning a bass, thumb brushing just barely where you needed it and then pulling away again, sadistic.
“Paul,” you gasped, grabbing his wrist, but he didn’t stop. Only twisted his hand deeper.
He pulled back suddenly, fingers soaked in your slick. You whimpered at the loss, thighs twitching. He brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them, two at once, slow and grateful like the taste saved him. The sight of it made your whole body clench, needy.
“Driver’s seat,” he said suddenly, hoarse. “Get in the back.”
You clambered out into the bitter night on shaky legs, icy air biting bare skin. The cars metal squealed as the door slammed. He was already in the backseat, manspread like a fucking prince, white shirt sticking to his chest in patches. His trousers were already undone, the soft weight of his cock resting heavy in his palm. He looked like sin. He looked like the second coming. He crooked a finger.
You climbed in.
Your knees pressed into the seat, trousers shoved down past your thighs, your hands braced. His mouth found the inside of your leg like a starving man. Kissed the skin high and hot until you bucked toward him. When he finally dragged your underwear off, he buried his face between your legs with no ceremony.
You were panting already, your hands buried in his curls, knees quaking. He ate you like his life depended on it, but not fast. Not frantic. No, Paul was methodical, wicked, loving in the most obscene way, like he was crafting a melody with the tip of his tongue, note by wet, slow note. Every lick was deliberate, drawn-out, his mouth open just wide enough to sink into the warmth of you and stay there, breathing you in like he couldn’t get enough, tongue dragging through your folds, then retreating, then circling again. You could feel the shape of his lips when he kissed you down there. Tender. Greedy.
His nose pressed to you, soft scratch of his beard catching where you were most sensitive, and he groaned as he moved, like the taste was anchoring him, saving him from everything he'd left behind in that studio. You swore you felt him smile against you, just the corner of his mouth lifting, when your hips jerked up to chase his tongue. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His hands kept you spread open and still, one arm looped under your thigh, the other bracing your pelvis flat against the seat so he could keep you exactly where he wanted. Where he needed you.
“Mmphh... look at you,” he murmured once, voice thick and muffled against your cunt, barely lifting his mouth before diving back in again. He licked in long, slow strokes, tongue flat, then pointed, then fluttering at just the right spot that made your thighs tremble. He could tell. Of course he could tell. He adjusted instantly, lips wrapping around your clit, sucking with a rhythm that built and built and built.
Your breath hitched with each pass. His tongue made slow, rhythmic laps over your clit, then slid lower, dipping between you, then back again, working you open, coaxing every twitch, every whimper from your body until you were squirming.
“Shh,” he whispered, lifting his head only enough to speak, his chin slick, mouth swollen, voice husky with lust. “Let me. Stay still, love.”
And you did.
You melted under him, spine arched against the cold seatback, one hand tangled in his curls, the other gripping the window rim. The glass was fogged now, your breath painting it opaque in sharp exhales. He moaned into you, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through your whole body, and you let out something between a sob and a curse. His mouth moved with more purpose now, tongue flicking fast and then slowing, like he was teasing you with the brink. Your orgasm built slowly, painfully, a hot, humming pressure that kept cresting and dipping.
When it hit, it stole your breath.
Your thighs clamped tight around his head, and he growled into you, never stopping, never letting up as you came against his mouth, moaning high and breathless and raw. He eased you through it, slow drags of his tongue now, soft kisses, lips wet and reverent as your body trembled. But he didn’t pull back. Didn’t pause. He just kept tasting you, kept licking like he hadn’t gotten his fill.
You gasped, fingers twitching against his scalp. “Paul, fuck, I-I need a second-“
He pulled his mouth back at last, lips parted, chin slick, eyes half-lidded like he’d been drugged, drunk on you. He kissed the inside of your thigh, then again, higher, then looked up, those eyes, warm and spent and stupidly proud.
“Christ, look at you,” he whispered. “Can’t believe I get to do that to you.”
You could barely breathe.
He grinned, crooked and sweet, and thumbed your inner thigh where it was still twitching. The movement was light, casual, like he was playing with you, admiring the way your muscles quivered even after everything. You were still flushed, breath coming in short gasps, your whole body sensitive and open, soaked in the sticky proof of just how thoroughly he’d ruined you.
“Come here,” he murmured, tapping his thigh with his palm.
You crawled into his lap, knees on either side of his hips, fingers clumsy as they pushed your trousers down lower, enough to free you completely. You were trembling, not from the cold anymore. You wrapped your fingers around his cock without even thinking, he hissed through his teeth, head tipping back to thud against the glass behind him.
“Yeah. Just like that.”
You guided the tip through your slick folds, lined him up, and eased down. Slow. Careful. You both groaned at once, the stretch sharp, hot, perfect. His hands gripped your hips, jaw clenched, and he buried his face in your neck as you took him inch by inch.
“So warm. Jesus. You’re takin’ it so slow, are you tryin’ to kill me?” he rasped, voice shredded.
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
You bottomed out with a gasp, the position forcing him so deep you swore you could feel him in your ribs. He moaned low in your throat, open-mouthed and breathless, as your walls clenched around him, fluttering from the overstimulation.
You rocked gently, body still soft from the high he’d already given you, your thighs spread wide to accommodate the angle, your hands braced on his chest. He let you set the pace at first, just watching you with dark, heavy-lidded eyes as you rode him. Each roll of your hips dragged his cock through your slick walls, the sound of it obscene in the cramped car, loud and sticky and real.
His hands snapped up to your waist, fingers digging in, and he fucked up into you, hard.
You cried out, spine arching, as he set a rhythm that was brutal and needy. The car rocked with each thrust, springs squealing, windows fogged completely now. Sweat beaded on your skin again despite the cold, your breath hitching every time his cock slammed deep and angled right into the spot that made your vision blur.
“You’re unreal,” he groaned, jaw tight as he held you down and pounded up into you. “Ridin’ me like that. Fuckin’ perfect. Can’t get enough of you, fuck, never could.”
You whined, hands scrabbling for purchase on his coat, forehead pressed to his.
“C’mon, love,” he whispered, voice shaking. “Gimme one more. Just one more. Can feel you twitchin’. Let go for me. I want it.”
Your body was already begging to come again, pleasure curling tight and electric in your belly. His cock filled you so perfectly, each stroke dragging against your walls with friction that made your legs quake. His thumb slid down to your clit, rubbing fast circles, and that was it.
You shattered, again, body spasming in his lap, a broken moan tumbling from your lips as your orgasm ripped through you. He cursed when you clenched around him, hips jerking, and suddenly his thrusts went messy, frantic.
“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna-”
You were still coming when he came too, hot and thick and endless, spilling deep inside you with a low, guttural growl that vibrated in your chest. He thrust through it, riding it out with his arms around you, panting hard into your neck. You felt every twitch of him inside you, every pulse.
The car was still rocking slightly.
The windows were fully steamed, the air thick and reeking of sex. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. His arms stayed around your back, his lips brushing lazily at your throat.
Then-
Knock knock knock.
You froze.
So did Paul. The air in the car went taut, humid with breath and sex and tension. Your body was still trembling in his lap, raw and twitching from the orgasm that hadn’t quite let you go yet. His cock was still inside you, softening but sticky, and your limbs weren’t moving. Couldn’t. Your head slumped forward into the crook of his neck, too boneless, too spent to register anything except the sharp spike of panic lighting up your skin.
Another knock. Harder this time. A muffled voice came through the fogged glass.
“Paul? Y’in there?”
...
“Jesus Christ,” Paul hissed under his breath, eyes going wide with horror. “It’s Ringo.”
You didn’t even react. Couldn’t lift your head. Your cheek was stuck to the sweaty warmth of his collarbone, legs still bracketing his hips, slick dripping slowly from where you were joined, obscene and heavy in the air between you. Paul swore again, harsher, under his breath, then suddenly moved fast, his hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you gently, shifting your spent body to the bench beside him. You whimpered at the slide, the fullness leaving you, his come spilling from you onto the seat with a wet little shhlp that made him wince.
“Shh, shh, I’ve got you,” he murmured, more to himself than you, really, his voice barely audible over the frantic scuffling in the back. He reached behind the seat with one arm, shoving aside a pile of jackets, vinyl sleeves, a crumpled scarf, and came up with an old wool blanket, navy blue and pilled from years of being kicked around under his gear.
He threw it over both of you, yanking it high to cover your lower half, and himself. Tucked it under your legs, pulled it up to your hips, then leaned across and yanked the hem of your coat down too, so nothing was visible. No bare skin, no flushed inner thighs, no mess between them. His hands were shaking.
Another knock.
“Paul,” Ringo called again, a little louder now. “Y’dead in there, or just sulking?”
Paul rolled the window down two inches. Just enough to speak. A blast of cold air hit the inside of the car like a slap. Your breath fogged instantly. You flinched under the blanket, still barely able to keep your eyes open.
“Ringo,” Paul said, too casual. Too late. His voice cracked on the second syllable. “What’re you doin’?”
“Could ask you the same,” Ringo’s voice came back, amused. “Didn’t think you were still here. Was about to nick your fags.”
Paul cleared his throat. “Yeah, no, I was, uh, just restin’.”
“Restin’.” The shape of his smirk was audible. “Alone?”
And then, nothing. Or maybe not nothing, but certainly nothing that mattered. The rest of their conversation, which seemed important, faded into background, like rain on a roof you weren’t under. The car felt warmer, smaller, more private than ever. Your ears buzzed with blood and the aftermath of too much feeling, your thighs sticky under the blanket, heartbeat a slow throb between them.
Paul’s hand slid slightly higher again, tracing the warm curve where your legs met. He was still talking to Ringo, but it might as well have been underwater. Distant. Unimportant.
The blanket had slipped a little. His palm stayed, heat soaking into your thigh, fingers idly stroking like he didn’t want to stop touching you, like he didn’t know how. You stayed slumped against him, breath low, every part of you soft, pliant.
His chest rose and fell beneath your cheek. His voice faded entirely.
You weren’t listening anymore.
After a bit,
“Y’still with me, love?”
You made a noise. Barely audible.
He grinned. Crooked. Rueful. “Better hold me tighter, then. ‘Cause I’ve got about ten minutes before someone else comes knockin’.”
You blinked, tongue too heavy to speak. He sighed, pulled the blanket up higher around your shoulders, then kissed your hair.
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