#Paul McCartney backside

[waveofahand]

On Paul “going commando”

There are a number of photographs of Paul McCartney that prove not only did the boy like his inseams high and tight but that he also went without drawers quite a lot. Possibly, this is because he wore his pants so tight there was no room for them, but I’ve often thought, well, that’s not terribly sanitary or thoughtful to the wardrobe people. Still. It really does look to me like the only time he dependably wore underwear was when filming movies. Probably was forced to. 

I’m going to share several pics that bear out my thinking but this one first. Because it surprised me. This is 1965, as they were getting into their suits for the Shea Stadium concert. One of the Beatles must held up a camera -- knowing Paul’s proclivities -- and dared him to disrobe for it. Paul seems to dare them right back. “Go ahead, take the pic, I dare ya!” A game of chicken, so to speak.

At first glance, one thinks he’s unzipped and showing off his tighty whitey. But... on closer inspection, one sees that... oh... something has been WHITED OUT in that picture! You can confirm it because part of his middle fingertip is also under the white. 

Just look UNDER the white smears (which are NOT fabric, but drawn in). You can see the human flesh beneath. 

And there you have it. Whoever dared him, got the full frontal treatment. Paul McCartney clearly had no insecurities about his manhood. A few more “commando” shots where we see no indication of a brief line -- or that there was room for underpants: 

The jury is out o this one. There MIGHT be a faint pantyline... maybe.

Jury is also out on this one. I think he’s commando. Thoughts? 

FINALLY! A CLEAR PANTY LINE! And it looks like they needed to add a side panel to fit it! 

Ridiculous, beautiful, nasty commando boy. I know people call him “the most baby of all times” (and I think that’s probably right) but some others call him a “slut” and... well... I’m going to just say he’s a man comfortable in his own skin, probably promiscuous, who liked to get himself teased a little with his own frictions throughout the day.  One more for posterity. Or... posteriority! 

[elafranco2024]

Just a post to lust over Paul McCartney's glorious big bum.

McGorgeous.🍑🍑🍑

Glorious Paulie.❤️

[thestarsarecool]

hey! i was wondering what your thoughts are on that convo overheard at apple of john repeatedly asking paul if he was mad at him and if paul hates him? i think paul replies by saying he’s proud of him then john ends off by saying maybe i won’t split. idk that whole exchange is super intriguing but also im like lost, what were they talking about. why would john think paul hates him? im confused.

Here is the excerpt from Christopher Sandford's McCartney bio:

On or around 20 May, John invited Yoko up to his home studio, obligingly equipped by Paul, recorded a sound collage they called Unfinished Music No. 1: Two Virgins (the front cover showing them full frontal; the back, their backsides), then, as dawn broke, fell into bed. Paul loathed both the photo and the album, but heroically kept his cool during a long meeting at EMI, in which Lennon announced he was 'splitting.' 'Do you hate me?' John asked him repeatedly. 'I'm crazy, you know.' 'No, I don't hate you.' McCartney spoke with his face partly averted from Lennon's rapt gaze. 'Aren't you pissed at me now, Paul? Not even a little bit?' 'I'm very proud of you.' John eased off. 'Maybe I won't split.'

My main thought about this quote is I don't know how much I can trust it to be true at all! I imagine Sandford got this from one of the interviews he conducted, but there's no way someone remembered their words verbatim. Maybe someone said something along the lines of "Paul was pissed about Two Virgins and John kept goading him about it, but Paul refused to take the bait" or something and Sandford extrapolated. The talk about "splitting" seems especially made up by someone recollecting. I can imagine someone saying "John was thinking of splitting so he pulled crazy stunts like Two Virgins." That would just be their own interpretation, but Sandford could have used it to create this conversation. The dialogue seems definitely contrived to me. Maybe if I can find Sandford's email I'll ask him lol.

All this being said, the main thing that interests me here is the "Do you hate me?" bit. It reminds me of that bit from the lunchroom tapes where John says "like when we were in Mendips, like I said 'do you like me?' or whatever it is. I've always played that one." It's like John is testing Paul, giving him reason to leave so that he can have the comfort of his refusal. This seems in character for someone with crazy abandonment issues. So, to your question, I don't think John genuinely was thinking that Paul hates him and is asking if it's true. I think he did something that he knew Paul would dislike and is goading him, maybe trying to give himself an excuse to be pissed off at Paul.

Again, though, take this quote with a grain of salt. I'll let you all know if I find Sandford's email.

[paulmccartneyofficial]

Hello! How do you know that John was intent on Paul's opinion of Two Virgins? Are there accounts of it? If so what are the sources? Thanks! Would love to know. This is pretty interesting.

Hello!!! I totally forgot to answer this OOPS

Here is an excerpt from Christopher Sandford's McCartney:

On or around 20 May, John invited Yoko up to his home studio, obligingly equipped by Paul, recorded a sound collage they called Unfinished Music No. 1: Two Virgins (the front cover showing them full frontal; the back, their backsides), then, as dawn broke, fell into bed. Paul loathed both the photo and the album, but heroically kept his cool during a long meeting at EMI, in which Lennon announced he was 'splitting'. 'Do you hate me?' John asked him repeatedly. 'I'm crazy, you know.' 'No, I don't hate you.' McCartney spoke with his face partly averted from Lennon's rapt gaze. 'Aren't you pissed at me now, Paul? Not even a little bit?' 'I'm very proud of you.' John eased off. 'Maybe I won't split.'

I mean... it definitely has less to do with Paul's opinion of the album itself and more of his opinion of John after doing something like it. Paul, clearly, could sense this which is why he kept his cool about the album, despite the fact that he really did hate it–he just didn't hate John for it. Frustrated with him? Likely.

What I'm really interested in is John's reaction to his own album... like he decided to make it, he decided to go through with it, he knew Paul was going to see it and react to it, and still freaked out about it at him. Very interesting. It's giving off strong "I just did something I know my parents are going to be extremely disappointed in me for so I'll start the drama before they can start it with me" vibes. But that's just my take LOL

[warren-lauren]

1985!Brian May x wife!reader SMUT

Warnings: swearing, oral f-receiving, unprotected sex, public sex (photo not mine, credit to owner)

Brian looked, there was no other word for it, delicious. You couldn't take your eyes off him as he stood talking to someone for an interview for some magazine or something, you didn't care. All you cared about was how gorgeous your husband looked.

Brian must have been paying the young lad who was interviewing him even less attention than you were because his gaze kept drifting over to where you were leaning against the wall. His playful smirk filled you with excitement.

You began making your way towards Brian as he wrapped things up with the interview and then began to make his way towards you. You grinned up at him as he met you halfway, reaching up with both of his hands to cup your face as he pressed a soft and loving kiss to your lips. Your hands fisted at his shirt, pulling him closer to you as you opened your mouth and let Brian's tongue enter.

After a moment you pulled back from Brian needing to breath. You smiled softly up at him. "Hi."

"Hi," Brian grinned as he stepped back, taking a hold of your hand. "You okay, love?" He asked, interviewing your fingers as the two of you began to walk.

You hummed, "I'm fine, Bri," You huddled in closer to him. "How are you feeling?" You smiled up at him.

He nodded, "Okay. Still nervous."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "You've got nothing to worry about, Bri." You moved in front of him. You smiled up at him as you began to run your hands up the front of him. "You were born to do this, and you bloody well know it." You leaned up and kissed him. "But that's not what I meant." You grinned up at him.

Brian chuckled softly. "And what did you mean, love?" He asked as he slipped his hands around your waist.

You giggled. "I meant, do you still feel old?"

"Oh," Brian smiled down at you as he leaned in closer to you, "You mean after you so kindly fucked me senseless this morning, and gave me a lovely blow job on the ride over." He smirked at you. You nodded giggling, toying with his open shirt. "Well, it did certainly make me feel like we were back in college again." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at you making you grin.

"But do you feel old still?"

Brian breathed in deeply as he looked up from your eyes and looked around the busy backstage area of what was Live Aid. "I mean, compared to some of them, we are old, love."

You let out a soft sigh, looking over your shoulder. "Not as old as Paul McCartney." You smiled up at Brian cheekily making him chuckle.

"Still," He let out a soft sigh. "It's been a while since we've played together in front of a crowd. We might not be compatible any-"

You covered Brian's mouth with your hand. "Still nothing, Bri. So what if your older, than when you guys first got together. That's what happens, I'm afraid, you grow up. But that's all you are, older, and not old. And besides, I for one can't wait for you to get old. I think you'll look hot with grey hair." You winked teasingly at him as you tugged at his hair lightly.

"Ha, if it lasts that long." He chuckled.

You nodded, "Oh, it will." You smiled up at him as you pushed up onto your tip toes. "And I'll still grab and tug at it when your between my legs." You whispered.

Brian let out a low growl, his large hands tightening around your waist. "You little minx." He gave a light swat to your backside. "C'mon," He grabbed a hold of your hand and lead you away from the hustle and bustle of backstage.

You bit your bottom lip as an excited giggle left your mouth. You had to work hard to keep up with Brian's long strides but the excitement was enough energy to keep you going.

"In here," Brian pulled you into an empty hallway that was full of empty equipment boxes. He backed you up against a wall that was blocked from view like a predator on the prowl. Brian licked his lips, staring down at you as he reached up and caged you in with his hands on either side of your head. "Remember how we used to always sneak off before I went on stage in college?" Brian grinned down at you.

You moaned softly and placed your hand over Brian's hard cock. "Or when I'd come and visit you on tour," You bit your bottom lip, "You used to love me sucking your cock, late at night at the back of the tour bus." You teased, lightly stroking your fingers over his cock.

Brian rolled his hips into your hand with a soft grunt. "And I loved," He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against your neck, "Still love, to taste your sweet pussy." He growled against your ear before he crashed his lips against yours in a hungry kiss.

"This way!" Someone called out as they passed the entrance to the hallway, causing Brian to cautiously pull back from you so he could listen out for them coming closer to your hiding spot.

He put his finger to his lips, "You'll have to be quiet, love." He sent you a wink before he sank to his knees in front of you.

Your breath caught throat as Brian pushed the skirt you were wear up your thighs, pressing soft kisses to your exposed skin. He took a hold of your left leg behind the knee and put it over his shoulder, groaning lowly as he exposed your bare pussy to him. Brian looked up at you with lust all over his face as he licked his lips. He leaned in, running the tip of his tongue up your already wet pussy.

You let out a deep moan, your eyes falling shut as your head fell back against the wall. Brian immediately pulled back causing you to whine.

"I said, be quiet, love." He warned.

You nodded, "Sorry, Bri."

Brian hummed before he bent down and began to lick at your pussy again. You bit into your bottom lip hard as your hands laid on the back of Brian's head, your fingers tangling in his curls as he worked you easily with his mouth.

His tongue flicked over your clit before he licked your slit a few times before the tip dipped inside of you.

"Oh, Bri," You groaned quietly as Brian sucked on your clit. His left hand held your leg in place, his fingers digging into your thigh. "Oh, fuck, baby." Your toes were curling as Brian's tongue slipped inside you, over and over. "Please, Brian, I'm go-"

"Shh," Brian licked his lips as he pulled back from you and stood up letting go of your leg momentarily as he undid his pants, pulling his hard cock out.

You licked your lips as you watched him take a hold of his cock. "Can I suck your cock, Brian?" You whined.

Brian smirked down at you as he stroked his hard cock, bending down to pick up your leg. He shook his head as he leaned into you and lightly brushed his lips against yours. "Not this time, sweet girl," Brian whispered.

You moaned softly, desperate to taste Brian's cock. It soon disappeared as Brian slowly pushed  his thick cock inside of you. You began to let out a deep moan as he filled you. Brian quickly covered your mouth with his hand, just like he'd done so many times over the years.

"Shh, you have to be quiet, love." Brian grunted against your cheek as he withdrew his hips.

Your hands screwed his shirt tightly as Brian fucked you, hard and fast into the wall. You moaned into his hand as he kissed your neck before lightly sinking his teeth into your neck.

You gasped into his hand when the sound of footsteps nearing where you were hiding distracted you for a millisecond. Brian stopped as he shushed you before he carried on slipping his cock back inside you at a much slower pace but equally as hard.

Brian quickly removed his hand and crashed his lips against yours, swallowing your moans as your pussy clenched around his cock.

Not too long after the footsteps disappeared, none the wiser with what you and Brian were doing together.

"Fuck," Brian panted against the top of your head with a smile.

You kissed Brian's sweaty throat, savouring the taste of him as you wrapped your arms tighter around him. "God," You smiled at him. "Now tell me you feel old."

Brian chuckled pulling back from you so he could cup your face. "I don't know, we might need to squeeze a few more shags in before I go on." He grinned cheekily before he pressed his lips against yours.

[sweetlilpaulie]

Between The Lines.

Request for Paul X Reader. 

Paul X Reader (librarian)

Caution: Language

Enjoy, my cuties.

~~~

It was a sunny day outside. 

Shame, you had to work. You supposed however, putting books away wasn’t the worst thing to be doing at the moment. There was a big window you could look out of anyways.

You returned to your stack of books on the cart, To Kill A Mockingbird placed on the top. 

“Tee-tee-tee...” you scanned the rows, searching for it’s place.

“Ah, there ya go!” 

You continued your job, not hearing the entrance to the library open. 

“Paul, when was the last time you actually read an entire book?”

“Shh, this is a library. Don’t want to get into trouble.” Paul put a finger to his lips. John rolled his eyes at it.

“I know why you’re here. Don’t know why you dragged me along.”

“I’m givin’ ya the opportunity to find a good book! Where else would ya want to be, with this haven of outpouring knowledge!”

“Oh, brother...” John muttered, hiding himself in the mystery section.

When, Paul could see that John had found a spot to engulf himself in, he straightened out his tie, gave his hair a quick brush, and checked his breath, which he grimaced at the cigarette smell.

I hope she likes Marlboros. 

He quickly found where you were setting copies of Shakespeare’s works. You bent down to pick up a book you had dropped, and Paul unashamedly, watched your backside as you bent down to grab it. Once, you had picked it up, he slyly slid into adjacent isle. 

He pushed some books to the side, and peeked through the hole, watching you scan the rows, and fit the novels into their place. Why he felt the need to spy, he wasn’t sure.

Just waiting for the opportune moment, he supposed. 

You started pulling your cart to the next row of bookshelves, which in he happened to be hiding behind. 

Quickly, he grabbed a copy of the Oxford Encyclopedia, and turned to a random page, burning a hole through it by how intently he stared at it.

Is it...?

You  at him, trying your best to be discreet, and resolved it was him. Your heart beat a little faster. Trying to keep your cool, you ignored the man, and continued to put books in their places. 

Little did you know, the man continued to steal quick glances your way, admiring the way your hair fell on your shoulders, and the way your curves shaped the dress you were wearing very nicely. 

You soon knew you would have to put volumes on the top shelf, and tried to do your best, by tiptoeing. Sadly, the odds didn’t seem in your favor, and you were about to grab your stool. But, suddenly you heard a voice behind you.

“Here, allow me.”

You could feel his breath on your back, and his hand gently urged the book into his grasp.

He put the book back in it’s place.

“There ya go, love.”

“Thanks.” you blushed. “‘Fraid, I still have six more of them.” you pointed to your cart.

Sighing dramatically, he grabbed the other ones, and put them alongside the first.

“Y’know you don’t have to do that..” you smiled. “I am the librarian after all, it’s kinda me job.”

“Oh, hush. Love to help.”

You both looked at each other for what seemed like hours. Then you finally cleared your throat.

“Uhm, well I guess I should let you get back to your...”

You glanced down at the Encyclopedia in his hands.

“...Encyclopedia?” you raised an eyebrow.

Now, it was his turn to blush.

“Alright, ya got me. If I’m bein’ honest, I didn’t come ‘ere to read.”

“Well, why did you come then?”

“I...wanted to see you.”

“Me?” you grinned at this. “Well, ain’t that sweet.”

“What can I say? I have a thing for intellectual women.”

“This intellectual women’s name is (y/n).” you introduced, shaking his hand. “And of course I know who you are Paul McCartney.”

“Well...” he started, but you quickly interrupted.

“I’m good on Friday. Say 3:00 at the coffee shop?” you couldn’t believe the confidence that you mustered through your words. 

“How could I say no? Make it 2:30. Sooner, the better.” he winked, and walked off, a slight spring in his step.

You grinned, watching him leave, book in hand.

God, I love my job.

~~~

Yayy! I’ve been dying to write this one! Short and sweet. I hope you will enjoy! 

L.M.

[paulvibe]

The Assistant (Paul McCartney x Reader) Pt. 8

A/N: here it is darlings <3 ps. sorry if the formatting is wacky. I'm uploading off of mobile instead of my desktop :|

Words: 4.1k (howdy hey)

Warnings: smut n swears

The Next Morning 

The thirty minutes you've been awake had been rough, already. After you and Paul left the studio yesterday, your mind hadn't been able to shut off. You’d stayed up too late tossing and turning, your mind racing about the recent events. Then, right at six, your alarm rang; preventing you from receiving more sleep. Paul was planning on telling Linda today, just as promised. He’d asked you to tag along, but you didn't know how to respond. Though, you know for sure you don't want to be there when Linda receives the news. Plus, you didn't know if Paul is going to mention the fact you're carrying his baby, and you didn't want to be in harm's way if anything was to happen. Not that Linda would do anything.

The baby moved and sat awkwardly, causing you to lose your thought and adjust your position in bed. You gazed out the window noting how the morning sky was starting to gain light; but still remained a deep navy shade. You turned your attention back to your bump and gently rest your hands on it; rubbing slowly. Five months. It was crazy to think you were already halfway through your pregnancy. You hadn’t scheduled an appointment to check the baby’s gender yet. Paul would most likely want to be at the appointment as well, which meant you needed to check both of your schedules. 

Your home phone ringing startled you, and you quickly glanced at the clock. 6:47. You groaned and climbed out of bed, putting on your slippers, then walked to the living room to answer the phone.

“Hello?” You spoke, shivering in the cool temperature of the apartment.

“Morning darling.”  Paul’s soft voice sounded.

“Paul, it’s not even seven.” You spoke, a yawn nearly cutting off your sentence.

“I know, love, I-” He cut himself off, clearing his throat. 

“Paul?” You asked, raising your brow as he went silent. Your apartment was still dark, save for the kitchen stove light-- that you always left on. 

“Can I come over?” The man finally spoke.

“Honey, I don't know...” You sighed, gently running your fingers across your bump, “I didn't get any sleep last night, I feel quite queasy-”

“I’m coming over.” He abruptly spoke, cutting you off, followed by the phone line going dead. He hung up. You huffed, putting the receiver back onto the dock with an abrupt slam.

------

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before three soft knocks sounded at your front door. You stood up slowly-- making sure you weren’t exposed wearing your nightie-- and made your way to the entrance of your home, opening the door slowly. Paul stood behind the door, looking handsome; even at seven in the morning. His dark hair had fallen in front of his eyes, which he hastily pushed away with his hand. He wore black slacks with a rainbow-esque knitted vest and plain white button up underneath; and of course, black loafers. 

“I brought you these.” He smiled softly, pushing passed you and into the apartment. He held out a little bouquet of wildflowers, picked from his garden no doubt. You blushed, grabbing them from his hand and smelling them. The overwhelming scent of the wildflowers gave you an instant headache- damn pregnancy.

“They’re lovely.” You said softly, holding them as far from your nose as possible, and turning around to put them in a container. Paul followed behind you and watched as you carefully grabbed a vase, filled it with water and placed the flowers inside. His gaze ran up your body, reminiscing your bare legs, and the little peak of underwear he got to see whenever you raised your arms slightly. He then stopped at your baby bump, feeling a sense of pride rush through his person-- proud of what he’d done; even if it was an… accident.  His eyes lastly scanned your face, seeing the bags that sat under your own. He admired the gentle curve of your jaw and cheeks, sculpting you so gorgeously-- at least in his mind. His little grin grew in size, seeing the front strands of your hair tucked neatly into two curlers, as well. 

“Thank you, again. They’re beautiful.” You spoke again, setting the vase in a spot you’d see it frequently. A shiver took over your body as the coolness of your apartment finally caught up with you. 

“Is your heater on, love? You must be freezing.” Paul commented, noticing your chills. He quickly walked to the thermostat and brought the small radiator to life, hoping to heat the apartment. His eyes surveyed your home. The sun still hadn’t risen but it was bright outside; and from that morning light, your apartment was slightly illuminated adding to the kitchen light. 

“Oh, thank you.” You spoke softly, watching as Paul turned on the thermostat. 

“Where’s your robe, darling?” He then asked walking towards your bedroom. Without you even having time to answer, he called that he’d found it, and then proceeded to walk back to the kitchen carrying your fleece lined robe. Your gaze softened, and you felt a warm feeling cover your body, watching as Paul stride towards you holding up your robe. You let him assist you with putting on the article, though you could easily do it yourself. You gestured if he’d like a cup of tea and he nodded yes, sitting at your small kitchen table.

“So, why’re you here?” You questioned him, filling your kettle with fresh water and placing it on the stove.

“(Y/N), I’ve been up all night... Linda was by my side, but I couldn’t get you out of my mind.” Paul spoke. Butterflies erupted in your stomach, giving your nerves a buzz. 

“How come?” You urged him to continue, turning to face him now. He adjusted in the chair before going on.

“I’m just excited.” He murmured, a look of admiration displayed across his face. 

“About what?” You asked with a minor giggle, walking over to the man until you stood right in front of him. He quietly spread his legs, urging you to stand between them. 

“About this.” He spoke softly, placing his large calloused hands over your robe-covered belly. You giggled again, out of shyness, and bit the inside of your cheek, placing your arms around his shoulders. He tenderly caressed your belly, occasionally leaning in to kiss the top of your bump. 

“I’m twenty weeks, which means we can find out the gender.” You spoke, looking down at the raven haired man. He looked up from you belly, moving his hands to your hips. 

“Do you want to?” He asked, eyes burning into your own. 

“I think so.” You shrugged, now moving your hands to your belly. The little baby hasn't kicked yet, even though it’s in the right time frame to start those movements. You were secretly hoping Paul’s presence would have triggered the baby somehow-- even if it was merely his voice. 

“Darling, if that’s what you wish, then I’d love to be there.” His voice exited his throat with such a softness, it made you feel safe. His arms wrapped firmly around your bum and he rested his head on your belly. You moved one of your hands and gently began raking your fingers through his hair. You two remained in that position for a few minutes before he released his hold and stood up. You always forget how much more tall Paul was compared to you-- a good seven to eight inches. You looked up into his eyes, admiring them in the early morning glow. They were dark, as he was facing away from the light and his lashes hung heavy on his lids as his hair fell around his face, framing it. You couldn't help but glance between his eyes and lips; Paul doing the same motion with you. You two leaned in closer until hot breath could be felt on both of your faces. Paul quickly closed the gap, kissing you fiercely; his grip tightened as his hands grabbed your waist. He pulled you as flush as your bodies could be. 

His hands roamed your backside, occasionally stopping at your bum and squeezing it softly. You moaned each time, but only so gently would you allow it to escape as. Paul’s lips left your own and traveled down the side of your neck, giving you chills down your spine and arms. He lovingly left small love bite before kissing his way back to your lips. Your hands meandered up his chest and up to his hair, gently tugging occasionally. His breaths began to get more staggered and you could feel his arousal start to press onto you. You slowly slunk your hand down his body and palmed his bulge, earning a satisfied noise from his throat. He then stopped kissing you, pulling only a few inches away.

“Are you sure this is safe?” He murmured, eyes glancing down at your bump with his brows furrowed

“Yes, baby, it’s safe.” You answered, giggling slightly. You appreciated his concern, the way he went about it was just adorable. You moved your hands to rest on the sides of his face, your fingers combing through the beard hair on his cheeks. You gingerly pulled his face down to meet your own and kissed him fiercely. His hands wasted no time meeting your figure and adventuring across your curves. You two continued to make out while one of your hands once again sunk down to palm him through his pants. His hips leaned into your grasp, causing a deviant smile to cross your lips for a moment. 

“Bedroom?” Paul asked in between kisses. You shook your head feverishly.

“No, too far. Couch.” Paul nodded at your words and swiftly picked you up bridal style. You wrapped your arms around his neck before realizing the kettle was still on the stove. 

“Oh- the kettle.” You spoke, pointing in the direction of the stove. Paul turned around, taking you back into the kitchen. You quickly turned the fire off, followed by the bass player carrying you to the couch, laying you on your back. He then untied the string of your robe, kissing any exposed skin he saw in the process. Once your robe had been successfully opened, the man knelt down, gently spreading your legs open. You felt your cheeks gain heat, hiding your face in the neck of your nightie. 

“Gorgeous.” Paul murmured, his hands quick to roll up your nightgown and rest it above your baby bump. He then caressed your belly for a few moments before his calloused fingers met the hem of your underwear. You felt yourself throb, knowing his touch was so close. Paul looked at you through his lashes before hooking his fingers into the band and pulling the garment down off of your bare legs. He tossed the article aside before his eyes met the sight of your naked heat. He scoot himself closer, opening your legs wider to get better access. You could feel his beard begin to tickle the inside of your thighs before a very soft kiss to your pussy lips gathered your attention. Your hands flew to Paul’s hair, a gasp of pleasure already escaping your mouth. 

“So eager darling. You’re soaked.” His voice came out husky as one of his fingers ran up your heat in between your lips; finishing with a hit to your clit. You jumped at the sudden sensation, another moan leaving your throat. Paul took the noise as an invitation and spread your lips with his fingers. You felt his beard begin to scrape the inside of your thighs before the sensation of his tongue licking up your pussy took over. You shuddered, raising your legs in the air and grabbing a fistful of Paul’s hair. Paul slowly inserted a finger and you tightened at the wonderful feeling; another voice of pleasure exiting your throat. His other hand found its way up your nightie and grabbed your right breast, his fingers beginning to tweak your nipple; resulting in more pleasure filled feelings to erupt throughout your body. 

Paul's finger began doing the ‘come here’ movement while he sucked on your clit, and you nearly lost it, pulling his head away from your pussy. He chuckled, kissing the inside of your thighs as his finger still fucked you slowly. He allowed you some time to regain your senses before going back down, licking in figure 8 patterns. Your legs wrapped around his head a few times, shakily, as the sensation was almost unbearable. Your vocal cords were beginning to feel harsh with the constant moans Paul was causing you to express. You could feel the familiar warmth start to fill your belly and you once again pulled the bass player away, breathing heavily. 

“I want you in me when I finish.” You murmured, your gaze staring down Paul’s. He nodded and stood up, undoing his belt buckle hastily. You bit your lip, fixing your nightgown so your breasts were exposed to him. His eyes scanned your body hungrily as he finished taking off his pants, leaving him in underwear and his shirts. He found a comfortable position on the couch, allowing you to remain on your back to not stress your belly in any harmful way, before lining himself up with your entrance. His thumb rubbed over your clit a few times as he began to insert himself, soft moans leaving his throat. You felt yourself adjust to his size-- having not slept with anyone since the last time you two did-- enjoying the pleasure it brought. Paul continued to rub your clit until he was fully in you, then he began to thrust slowly. You yelped in pleasure, throwing your head back on the couch as the bass players thrusts gained momentum. 

“You feel so good.” You managed, moving your head so you could see the man. His hair had begun sticking to his forehead from sweat and his mouth was slightly ajar as he focused down on where your sexes meet, his thumb once again rubbing your clit. Your hands found their way to your breasts as you began playing with your nipples adding to the pleasure. Paul leaned down over your stomach and started to kiss you, deepening his thrusts with the new angle. He stared delightfully as your boobs bounced at his motions, as though he was mesmerized. 

“Want me to cum in you, darling?” He asked, his eyes looking at you intensely. You nodded feverishly, one of your hands grabbing his bicep. You felt the heat gather in your stomach and dug your nails into his skin. The man took it as a sign and began going faster, thus going deeper. You moaned in pleasure, throwing your head back as your orgasm took over. Paul's thrusts began to stutter as he too finished deep inside of you. 

The two of you sat still, only breathing heavily as you recovered from the pleasure filled morning. Now sunlight had fully found its way into your apartment, lighting the room in soft golden hues. Paul slowly pulled out and cleaned himself up while you pulled down your gown and closed your robe. You couldn't help but giggle upon seeing your panties on the lamp across the room, and walked over to them shyly putting them back on. 

“That was amazing.” Paul murmured, wrapping his arms around your figure. His hands rubbed your belly gently, tracing patterns. You sunk into his person, enjoying the feeling of his arms around you. 

“You’re much better than my fingers.” You spoke with a chuckle as Paul blinked and then laughed himself. You two then fell into silence, standing in the living room, arms wrapped around the other as the morning light shone in through the windows. 

-----

3:27 p.m.

Your heart raced as you and Paul pulled into the driveway of his home. Somehow, the man had managed to convince you to join him for when he tells Linda. Maybe it was his charm, or the second round you two ended up having that convinced you fully. Whatever the reason, you now regret the decision as the bad idea stared you right in the face. Paul parked his car and the two of you sat quietly before you finally spoke.

“Ready?” Your voice came out as a murmur. His hazel eyes bore into your own before he gave you a gentle reassuring smile and your hand a quick squeeze. The two of you exited the car and you took a shaky deep breath as Paul rounded the car and put his hand on the small of your back. No turning back. You two entered in through the back door and immediately greeted the scent of a cooking roast, sending your stomach into an angry hungry fit. As the kitchen came into view, there stood Linda by the sink, peeling a potato she had in hand. You felt your chest tighten and heartbeat pick up; it was almost paralyzing. At the sound of footsteps, Linda turned around. She smiled sweetly at Paul.

“Hello, darling.” Her voice rang out as warm and welcoming as an evening bath on a cool night. Paul nodded at her with a tight lip, not wanting to hurt your feelings. Linda then noticed you behind Paul, standing timidly. 

“Miss (Y/L/N).” She greeted, not as welcoming, though you knew Linda is too polite to be any harsher.  Paul gestured for you to sit at the counter and you mindlessly did so, cautiously looking between him and Linda. 

“Could we speak in the other room?” Paul murmured, his gaze never leaving Linda’s. The woman nodded, setting down the potato and knife she had in hand, then proceeded to follow Paul. After you heard them settle into the couch, you quietly stood from the bar stool and tiptoed your way over to the opening of the living room. You peeked in, noticing they sat on the couch in front of the fireplace. It wasn’t lit, in fact the living room was dark, save for a lamp turned on next to the couch. Their figures shuffled on the couch, you could see Linda’s hand resting on Paul’s thigh; however, Paul’s body language told that he was shut off to her touches. 

“Linda,” Paul began, a sigh escaping his lips. The woman turned her head in question, inviting him to continue. 

“I have something to tell you.” His voice was quiet, as to not worry her, even though the context of the conversation would be bile to her.

“Well, get on.” She murmured, slowly removing her hand from Paul’s thigh and even scooting away from him. 

“About… six months ago,” Paul paused, gauging the situation, “I slept with- I cheated on you.” Linda leaned back in shock. You could see the visible heartbreak on her face; even in the dimly lit room. She looked down at her lap, nodding slowly-- so desperately trying to come to terms with the fact. You, on the other hand, felt a slight relief the bass player hadn’t mentioned your name. 

“I-I can’t say I’m not surprised.” She murmured. You could see-- even from your hiding spot-- the glisten in her eye from tears. She was trying so hard to fight the hard sobs, only allowing sniffles through. Paul rubbed the side of her arm in a friendly comforting way, however the woman shyed away from his touch. 

“Just… Tell me one thing.” Her voice was a little shaken. “Who was it.” 

From your angle, you could see Linda’s face, but the back of Paul’s head. His body shifted uncomfortably on the couch, and he cleared his throat. You felt your heart sink to your gut-- which was twisting so hard you felt nauseated. As a quiet reassurance to yourself-- that everything was going to be alright-- you placed a hand on your bump. 

“(Y/N).” Paul spoke with such hesitance; however you knew he respected and loved the woman too much to not be truthful-- it’s the least she deserved. Linda’s head fell as a sob escaped her lips. Your stomach twisted more as anxiety coursed your veins like gasoline. You felt disgusting, whore-ish, like a homewrecker. You’re ruining this woman’s life; shaking her thoughts of love and relationships to the core. Forever, after this, she’s going to question men’s loyalty. All because you couldn't keep it in your pants. 

“I knew it.” Linda spoke, a tone of betrayal in her voice. “You couldn't ever keep your eyes off her.” Even though her comment came from a point of malice, it made you blush. 

“Linda, I don’t want there to be hate between us.” Paul began, but Linda held her hand up as though to shut him up. She stood up and made her way to the little bar, grabbing a bottle of wine from the mini fridge and an empty glass. You witnessed as she poured the cup nearly full, then walked back to Paul. In one swift motion, the woman dumped the entire portion onto Paul’s head. She then calmly set the wine-tainted cup onto the coffee table and started to make her way towards where you stood. With a quick squeak, you tip-toe ran across the hall into the kitchen-- acting as though you'd been there the entire time. Trying to regulate your breathing, you heard Linda’s footsteps-- followed by Paul’s-- echo on their way to the kitchen. 

“Fuck you.” Linda spoke while staring right in your direction. Her eyes pierced your own; a feeling of threat climbing your spine. Your heart sunk and you felt a lump begin to form in your throat. You cast your gaze to the floor. 

“What about your stuff?” Paul asked. You couldn't manage to look at his face-- still burning from Linda’s comment-- but you could smell the distinct wine smell coating his person. 

“Have your people send it to my apartment. I’ll collect my personal things later.” She spoke, sounding defeated. You couldn't blame her. “The roast will be done in an hour.” That was the last thing she said before gathering her coat and shoes, then exiting the home. You and Paul hadn't moved from your spots, sitting still with a cocktail of defeat, guilt and sadness coating your aura. A tear slipped down your cheek and you hastily wiped it away, rubbing your belly to try to feel something other than melancholy. Paul released a heavy sigh and made his way over to you. He gently kissed the top of your head- but you pushed him away as the wine coating his hair began to drip. 

“Right.” He murmured, taking a step back. “Shall we shower?” 

“Actually, I wouldn't mind that.” You murmured back, feeling as though warm surroundings and Paul could help you feel less loathsome. Showers and baths always have a way of bringing comfort. The bass player set his hands on your shoulder and helped you stand from the barstool. He then led you to the master bedroom-- your memory reminding you of the week and a half you spent here over the Holiday. Paul then proceeded to start the shower, making sure the water was warm enough before silently asking you to enter the en suite. 

The man began undressing, ridding himself of the wine flavored clothing. His bare form quickly stepped into the shower and you bit your lip admiring him. Even after the awful events that just occurred, your body still managed to let you feel a slight taste of happiness. You then undressed yourself and stepped into the shower, wrapping your arms around Paul’s figure from behind. Your baby bump got in the way slightly, but you didn't mind. Paul turned around, and you took a few steps back while he held your hands. A warm smile donned his face as he gazed up and down your body. 

“You’re beautiful.” He murmured over the roar of the shower. His body protected your own from the spray of the shower while his long calloused fingers placed themselves on your stomach, a look of adoration crossing his features. Suddenly you felt a slight nervous butterfly feeling cross your tummy and Paul looked at you with his brows furrowed. 

“Did the baby just move?” He asked softly, placing both hands on your belly. 

“I think so,” You bit your lip containing a wide smile from taking over. A giggle of excitement escaped your throat as the feeling overcame you again, and Paul gleefully moved his hands along your belly with the movements. 

“This is the first time I’ve felt movements.” You spoke just loud enough over the shower. You placed your own hands over Paul’s moving the same way he did. You two stood quietly for a moment, enjoying it for as long as possible. Maybe things were starting to look up.

[mclennon-ao3-feed]

"You posted my pic on something called 'tumbler'..."

by waveofahand

The continuing adventures of dating a beautiful 20th century boomer, circa 1965, while living in the 21st century. This time, Paul McCartney gets wind of something you've posted on that 'tumbler thingy' and he wakes you up in the middle of the night about it. Because he's not happy. There is a surprising amount of discussion about John Lennon and how he clenches his backside.

Words: 1891, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 4 of Dating Paul McCartney

Fandoms: The Beatles (Band), McLennon - Fandom

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F, M/M

Characters: Paul McCartney, You, John Lennon (mentioned)

Relationships: Paul McCartney/You, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

Additional Tags: McLennon, Dating Paul McCartney, Butts

[waveofahand]

No stopping that backside

It’s terrible. I know it’s objectifying and I shouldn’t do it. But still...

I mean...

Dat tush, though... dat tush, dat lap. He so curvy and cute. 

[elafranco2024]

Nobody ever looks so gorgeous in jeans.

Our lovely Paulie💙🩵💙🩵

[donhornsby]

It's been a full day of packing for an upcoming move. But there is always time for a #VinylAndBeerSunday. I have packed up my books and just begun packing my vinyl collection when I came upon this well-loved copy of a live WINGS album. I have been on a bit of a PAUL MCCARTNEY kick lately. I have been revisiting a lot of his earlier albums to rinse my ears out after listening to his latest (EGYPT STATION). This live album WINGS OVER AMERICA is much of the soundtrack of my life in the mid-1970s. I know that Sir Paul's solo work pales a bit to his work with THE BEATLES, but you can't deny the quality of this material. I mean listen to LET ME ROLL IT and tell me that it's not great. There are some incredible songs here like ROCK SHOW, JET, MAYBE I'M AMAZED, LADY MADONNA, THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD, LIVE AND LET DIE, BLACKBIRD, MY LOVE, LETTING GO, and the showstopping SOILY. Simply love this three-disc set? I am winding down with these tunes with a great light bodied IPA from BACKSIDE BREWING COMPANY in Roseburg, OR. Their OSP STATE PALE is a great IPA with lots of hops and smooth finish. It's refreshing after a busy day. So...what are you listening to tonight? What are you drinking? #vinyl #vinylcollection #wings #paulmccartney #wingsoveramerica #vinylrecords @paulmccartney #thebeatles #beer #craftbeer #backsidebrewingco @backsidebrewingco @sandandstain #beerstagram #beermusic (at Salem, Oregon) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bv-nPtegRaH/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1l80de9whv401

[xnowhere-man]

❤ ☣ ☀ ✘ ☠ ☻ ❀ ♫ - forthriight

❤  - A kiss- ‘65

Paul’s stare beams forlornly through the dark to gaze at the bedacross from him, stirring awake for the sixth time that night, mentally carvingout a space in the desolate spread of sheets beside George’s slumbering frame.  The other boy hasn’t been feeling well andretired early- it’d be one of the few nights they haven’t slept together since thestart of their forbidden trysts. Decidedly indifferent to the prospect of contractingwhatever plague has befallen the younger, he slithers from an entanglement ofsheets and slinks onto George’s mattress, his knees impressing with a small squeakbefore nestling beside him. With a curt nod acknowledging the planets aligningonce again, he plants a kiss upon the lad’s knitting eyebrow and swiftly pullsthe covers over them.

☣  - A punch- Let It Be Recording                    

“Whatev’r itis that’ll please you, I’ll do it”

Time ceases and collapses into itself and McCartney can feel hisfingernails puncture his palm as it curls into a fist. Paul looks different,stiff in an apricot sweater with his dark mane subdued into a façade of poisewith George standing just across from him, falsely appeasing him from beneaththe obscurity of his fringe. Harrison’s mounting indifference bewilders him ashe’s spent the latter half of the year furiously trying to mend things.

And for the better part of fifteen minutes he’s merely been directing the other, professing that he’sonly trying to help him but being met instead with relentless, crucifying,scorn. In any other universe the bassist could only imagine that he’d knock outa few of the guitarist’s teeth before sending him crashing into the arrangementof cymbals beside him.  But he canalmost hear the camera whirring behind them- that’s right- the filmimmortalizing yet another rift between them. Perhaps this was Harrison’s onlysaving grace from a proper thrashing, McCartney reminds his bruising ego as he lingersbehind the retreating Beatle in trembling pacifism.  

☀  - A hug- ’69

The bassist discards a well-readtabloid over his shoulder and meanders behind the other lad’s perched frame onthe bed, an impish grin chipping away at his features, incredibly rare duringsuch a tumultuous time between the pair. Such startling news has made himsuffer a relapse into old sentiment and despite the degradation of the band,maybe amends could be made- he’s been dead for three years after all, sosomething more surreal could still happen.

“Read the news today about th’crash…sorry fer y’er loss, what’ll ye’ do without me?” Paul whispers against theshell of George’s ear before pressing a bristled cheek into the knob of hisshoulder, his arms furling around the guitarist’s waist, “I ‘ope th’new guy isa good kiss’r.”

✘  - A push- Maharishi Mahesh Yogi’s ashram.

They were all still in white and Rishikesh is blazing, the Beatle’sbrains feeling more like an egg on a skillet than enlightened, a pool in thedistance throbbing a bright lurid blue sinfully vacant with everyone insteadsweltering around it. George is flaking off a few feet from its edge and Paullurks in the wings with heatstroke tears bleeding from his temples. He suddenlyfinds himself rushing towards him like a lioness after an antelope, impressinghis palms into the younger man’s back before leaping past him to submergehimself as well. It was never a thought whether this forced baptism would gowell but his act of (questionably intentioned) delirium suddenly evokes a pangof dread as the water’s briskness jolts Paul from his ‘transcendental’ state. Thewater is boxing his ears and he remains treading beneath the surface, air bubblesand his kurta expanding around him, tentatively spared from whatever sort ofwrath his increasingly temperamental bandmate might subject him to.

☠  - A slap- ’63 band rehearsal

Brian’s call for uniformity may have been originally off-puttingbut George wore those gray trousers very well. His bum sat quite nicely in thepockets of fabric, each hemisphere tightly cradled but it wasn’t too much,holstering a bit of anatomy he’s never quite paid noticed to before. Paul’sparticularly distracted this afternoon, doe eyes peeping not so subtly at his mate’s southside from beneath his short fringe.

“One, two, uh’one two, three four!” Paul yodels before startinginto Money, his hand impulsivelyflinging outward and slapping one of George’s tempting globes on the lastnumber.

It was the slap heard around the world- thick, goading, and burstingwith implications. He immediately proceeds to play, fingers sloppily whammingthe frets, hoping no one had noticed.

☻  -A present- ModernAu

“No pets are allowed at any of th’campingareas…No open fires are allowed in any of our campgrounds…Thur’s an adequatenumb’r of port-a-potties at all campgrounds…”

“Oh yeah..this’ll be good,” he sniffs, snappinga pamphlet shut, his gaze falling into glum half-lids.

He folds a large glossy brochure and twotickets to the Telluride Blue Glass festival into an envelope and drags histongue across its seal. He has condemned his own fate in hopes the experiencewill renew some kind of vigor in the burnt-out thespian (all a thinly veiledeffort to get him focused again)- he and Harrison would spend a few days inColorado amongst throngs of sweaty campers with shit-stained trousers reekingof stale bong water.  When George returnshome from his rehearsal, Paul waits for him to settle into an adjacent armchairwith a heavy script on his lap before he shuffles up to him, prodding the largeenvelope into his chest. His Dalmatian puppy wriggles excitedly at his loafers.

“Get y’er affairs in ord’r, son. We’requitting th’band an’ getting lost in th’mountains.”

♘  - A piggyback ride- Hamburg

He’s shared a few late nights with Lennon but staying up threedays straight was profound and he feels himself start to lag, nothing racingbut his junked up heart, gawking as the corridor before them stretches endlesslyinto the horizon. A piece of him suddenly feels betrayed that his father hasn’tsent for him yet- instead leaving him to ail in this war ravaged state. He’stypically assumed the role of overbearing dictator this whole time but all of thenew discomfort of unprecedented liberation is turning him into somewhat of atit at this weary hour. His guitar thuds to rest against some bricks, abandoned,and he carries on still with little enthusiasm, chalking up Harrison’s quickerstrides to him being leggy. George may not be the best lad for his impendingstunt but he’ll do in a pinch.

“I think I cock’d up one of melegs comin’ up th’steps, Joj!” Paul wails theatrically, scampering up behindhim in a half limp and latching onto his gangly backside, “kindly carry me tomy chambr’s if ye’ will an’ leave me t’die a cripple.”

❀  - A bouquet of flowers- Dark Knight AU

Embarkingon a passive aggressive endeavor of murder and treason, Paul gallivants aroundFriar Park with a large wicker basket slung under his arm and plucks off ablossom from each meticulously tended bush, rubberbanding their stems together tocultivate an enormous bouquet of death. He slips in through the back door andtip toes nimbly behind George before pouring over his shoulder to set the ‘bouquet’onto the kitchen table before him, desecrating a plate of sarnies made byprocessed cheese product ironed between two slices of white bread. His bowl ofquinoa and peanut butter sits neglected to the side in all of its gloppy,vegan, glory.

Awhisper from behind- “thur’s more whur tha’ came from if ye’ don’t stop with thosesodding grilled cheeses.”

♫  -A song- Dark Knight AU

“It’s th’latest, it’s th’greatestMashed potato, ya, ya ,ya, ya”

Paul’s been in the kitchen since 6 A.M. practicing cutting up abag of old russets, his bum twitching to the beat of a murmured song as heprepares for his cooking show debut. He hears George dawdling in from wateringthe plants and his octave grows higher, the fifty year old’s hips rattling moreperkily-

“A Mashed potato started long time agoWith a guy named Sloppy JoeYou’ll find this dance is so cool to doCome on baby, gonna teach it to you!”

@forthriight

[imaginebeatles]

Art and Obligation | Chapter 17

Pairing: John/Paul

Rating: Nc-17 (PG-13, for this chapter)

Set in: 1820s (au)

Summary:  John Lennon works as the apprentice of a well-known portraitist and is tasked to do the picture of the young Mr. Paul McCartney. He is the son of Jim McCartney, a wealthy and powerful landowner, and has the reputation of an arrogant, spoilt brat with a pretty face, who has a way of wrapping anyone around his finger. But soon John finds that things are not as straightforward as they may seem.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Beatles and this is fictional. I do not make money off this.

Author’s note: It’s still Monday, right? I think it is. But yes, I have decided to post this fic on Mondays from now as this will work better with my schedule for university as well. Hopefully the updates will be more regular now, but I cannot promise. 

Waking up that Friday morning, the sun itself having only just risen above the numerous rooftops that made up the view from the bedroom window of the McCartney's Parisian apartment, Paul felt a strange sense of unease in his stomach, though he could not think of anything that could be the cause. Sitting up, he looked out of the window as he took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself. It was looking to be another good day with warm weather and a soft breeze to make it more temperate and, in his opinion, more pleasant, the lace curtains swaying in the gentle wind, giving him glimpses of the clear blue sky that was hidden behind them, still coloured golden from the light of the morning sun. Beside him, John still lay vast asleep, his lips slightly parted as he slept, his breathing slow and gentle, and his eyelids twitching as he dreamed of what Paul hoped were pleasant and fantastical things. One of his arms lay slung across Paul's lap with his fingers tangled into the rough material of his sleeping shirt to keep him close. Paul smiled down at him as he ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it aside, while being careful not to awaken him, before he lay back down and rolled onto his side to face him.

Sighing, he put the unpleasant feeling down to a dream he had most likely forgotten, and gently traced the older man's features with his fingertips, feeling the slight scrape of a stubble on his jaw as he traced his jawline. John's hand, triggered by the feeling of someone else's touch on his skin, untangled itself from his shirt and grabbed at Paul's hip, pulling him closer until they were touching as he mumbled something incomprehensible in his sleep, causing Paul to snicker as he gave into him and placed a gentle kiss on the man's nose, before laying his head back down on his pillow. Closing his eyes, he listened to the soothing sound of the other's breathing and relished the feeling of his warm body against his own, his fingers moving on their own accord, reluctant to stop touching him and let him rest.

The last couple of days with John had been pure joy for the both of them, and Paul regretted the day they would need to put an end to it and go on with their usual, ordinary lives, pretending to be nothing more but acquaintances while John would finish his portrait - which Paul suspected could not take much longer - until their meetings would stop and they would most likely never see each other again, separated by society's norms and expectations - his father's expectations. Sighing, he drew closer to the man beside him, nudging his forehead with his own and wishing, though he knew it was in vain, that for once he would not need to.

The body beside him stirred. Paul refused to open his eyes as he heard him groan and murmur to himself, his body turning and twisting as he awoke, wanting to remain the way they were a little while longer in the hope he could, even for a moment, stop time. John rubbed his forehead against his and his fingers tightened their hold on his hips, his nails digging into his skin through the thin material of his sleeping attire. His voice, too, became more substantial, the incomprehensible sounds transforming into babbles and finally into words as he opened his eyes, muttering something about walking and pretty fingers before he said Paul’s name, which made the owner of that name smile. Feeling the other's gaze upon him, Paul opened his eyes as well and smiled as he looked directly into those dark amber crystals that were focused upon him.

"Good morning to you," John muttered, his voice rough and hoarse with sleep, which caused the little hairs on Paul's arms to stand up straight.

"Good morning," he answered. For a moment they did not speak and only looked at each other, John still recovering from his sleep as he drew circles on his lover's hip with his thumb, while Paul felt little for breaking a peaceful moment like this now he had it, those moments having become rarer and rarer as he had grown with age. After a few moments, John released his hip and reached for his hand instead, grasping it tightly and clutching it against his chest before turning and rolling over onto his other side, dragging said hand with him as he did so, which left Paul with no other choice but to curl himself up around John's back, slotting himself against him perfectly as he caught onto the hint. He smiled as he snuggled up to him and buried his nose in his hair, feeling perfectly content.

Although he had not expected it at first from the man's rougher and more hardened exterior, John had proved to be very fond of cuddling, or even just touching in general, and it had only been on the rare occasion that Paul had not found himself curled up with him in bed, both at sunset and at dawn, with a smile on his lips. It had been a pleasant surprise and he was more than happy to oblige him like now. After a while, however, when the sleep had left him completely, he began to grow restless and nosed his way to the crook of the other man's neck to suckle at his skin to tempt his interest.

"John?" he whispered, chuckling as he let out a soft grumble in reply, still drowsy with sleep and feeling little to change their situation. Paul repeated his name, not being one to give up so easily, and rolled his hips against John's backside to show his intentions. "John, love?"

"Hmm... you are insatiable," John murmured in return, keeping his eyes closed, but Paul sensed a smile as he started dragging his lips up to kiss along the man's jawline, feeling how his lips got caught on the roughness of his two days’ worth of stubble. Paul was aware he had not shaved himself yesterday when they had opted to remain in bed for the entirety of the morning before going out for luncheon and to visit an art gallery, though he couldn't say he necessarily disliked it, the scrape of a beard reminding him that he lay in bed with a man, not a boy or a woman, but a man, which he hadn’t felt as clearly since his short-lived affair with his father’s acquaintance. It was a turn on.

"Is that a complaint?" he crooned, his lips lingering at said stubble, and smirking as John let out a huff in frustration, being well-aware he was unable to agree with such a question in fear of bereaving himself of the pleasurable activity that was being offered to him now, remembering last time when he had answered a likewise question with a teasing positive only to have his partner mutter an apology as he stood up from where he had been sat in the other's lap, after which he had refused to come back to him for a whole hour, saying he would not want to pressure him into doing anything he did not want to do. It had been amusing to Paul at the time, who had taken pleasure in seeing him worked up and frustrated, but the humour had - quite understandably - been lost on John.

"Merely an observation," he said in the end, and Paul chuckled as he suckled at his jaw, working his way further up towards his mouth for a morning kiss, to which John replied with a pleased hum to encourage him on. "Didn't we have somewhere to be this morning?"

"Yes, but we still have time," Paul said, closing his eyes as he kissed the side of John's mouth, and he cried out when he felt John grab a hold of him and roll them over so he had him on his back. John himself was hovering above him and had one of his knees firmly planted onto the bed between Paul's legs, keeping them apart as he stared down at him, watching him with an eager twinkle in his eye as the man beneath him continued to laugh.

"In that case," John said, shooting the other a wink, and before Paul had even had time to calm down or wonder what he was going to do next, he bent down to kiss him, finding the other's lips eager and responsive to his own as he captured them and kissed them tenderly, his touches calm and teasing, which coaxed a weak moan from his lips. Paul, happy with the result of his endeavours and eager for more, smiled against John's mouth and tried to ignore the unpleasant taste of John’s morning breath as he reached up to tangle his fingers into his hair, giving it a little pull in encouragement, before he let out another soft moan as one of John's hands, rough and calloused from his craft, travelled down his chest and stomach and came to rest on his crotch, feeling the shape of his growing erection beneath the material of his underwear with curious fingers as they followed the outline of it, stimulating it and urging it on with light, barely-there touches that seemed to be twice as effective, causing the young man to squirm under his touch.

Before it could grow into anything more, however, they were rudely interrupted by someone knocking on the bedroom door, causing both men to jerk up, their heated thoughts, touches and passions quickly being lost as they stared at the door, waiting for the other to react.

"Mr. McCartney, sir?" an unfamiliar voice called as they tapped once more at the door. "Mr. McCartney, a letter has arrived for you. Presumably, from your father."

Paul, sighing at the interruption, began to sit up and John followed his movements, kneeling over him and sliding down his body as Paul began to untangle himself from him and got out of bed, grabbing one of the robes that he had hung over the back of a nearby chair that previous evening, which he pulled on and tied securely around his waist before padding over to the door to open it, looking unashamed as the door was opened and the eye of the man behind the door caught sight of John who still lay on the bed, his cheeks slightly flushed with what anyone could guess was arousal, making the nature of their relationship more than clear. The unknown man blinked a few times at the sight, before pulling himself back together and turning to Paul to offer him the aforementioned letter without making a single comment on it.

"This arrived for you with the post today, Mr. McCartney. From your father. We thought you might appreciate it if we handed it to you as soon as possible."

"Yes, thank you, Mr...?"

"It was no trouble, sir," the man replied and with one last nod at Paul, he turned around and disappeared again, leaving the two men alone once more. Closing the door behind him, Paul remained lingering by the door as he studied the letter curiously before opening it with trembling fingers, fearing what his father might want to contact him for. His father never wrote him or Mike when they were away from home, especially not when he knew they were to return home within a few weeks - if not days - and Paul could barely remember the last time his father had written him anything. Of course, he had his suspicions on what the subject of the letter might be, but those thoughts did little to assuage Paul's worries. If anything, they heightened them, for he doubted it could be anything good if he could not wait a few days longer to tell him. He took a deep breath before he unfolded it and began to read.

"What does it say?" John asked after Paul had read the letter over twice, but he was unable to look away from it, feeling how his throat constricted at the words of his father.  

"He wants me to return home as soon as possible," he finally managed to say.

"Why?"

"He doesn't specify," Paul lied, swallowing thickly as he folded the letter up and placed it inside the envelope safely in the inside breast-pocket of his coat which hung on a hanger in front of the mirror, away from view. "We will leave this afternoon."

"This afternoon?! I thought we wouldn't leave until tomorrow evening at the earliest," John objected, sitting up on the bed, feeling little for returning to England, and Paul found himself smiling at the thought.

"And now we will leave one day earlier," he said and sighed as he walked back to the bed and sat down besides the older man, reaching out for his hand, which John abruptly pulled away from him. Looking up in surprise, he found John looking at him in disbelieve. "What?"

"You are seriously going to leave one day early because your father asked you to do so in a letter?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow, and scoffed when Paul nodded in response.

“John, my father-” Paul started, but John did not let him continue.  

"Your father does not even know you have received this letter today, so why not wait until tomorrow? One more day wouldn't matter, would it?"

"It is not so simple, John."

"Isn't it?" John asked, looking at the young gentleman with a intense gaze, but Paul did not give into it, and sighed once more as he got off from the bed and started gathering his clothes, before making his way towards the bathroom, refusing to look or speak with John, who remained confused on the bed. "Paul?"

"I don't want to leave either, John, but we have to and therefore we will this afternoon. Now, get dressed. Mr. Arpin is expecting us for tea. It would be rude to be late."

          Neither of them mentioned the letter again after their conversation, both men knowing it wouldn't do either of them any good, seeing as Paul, being stubborn as he was, would get his way no matter what John would say in the attempt to change his mind; once Paul had gotten an idea in his head, it was no use trying to get it out of him again, as the young gentleman would simply ignore every word that was in disagreement with his own thoughts and ideas. This, combined with John's temper, would only lead to a heated argument, which neither of them wanted to happen. So, neither said a word about it as they drove across the city to their last appointment before they would travel back to England and leave the blissful freedom of Paris far behind them.

To pass the time, John had taking out his notebook again and was sketching in silence while Paul hummed a soft tune to himself as he watched him, intrigued to see him work on something he wasn't the subject of. Once the carriage came to a halt, Paul got out first, carrying a leather satchel with John's best work, and offered John his hand to help him step outside as well, which John gladly took. Paul then handed John his satchel back and went to pay the driver, before they approached the Parisian townhouse on the left side of the street that bore number eleven. They had barely rung the bell or the door was pulled wide open, revealing an older man in his fifties, with greying hair and a sunken in face that made him appear even skinnier than he already was. He had a wide smile on his face, a flush on his cheeks, and a pair of shiny spectacles on his nose; John could hardly recognise him as the same man he had met at The Salon during their first night in the city.

"Mr. McCartney, Mr. Lennon, come in sirs, come in," he said, his voice surprisingly youthful for a man of his age, and stepped aside to let the two young men into his home with a polite nod. As soon as they were inside, he closed the door behind them, reached out to shake their hands and kissed Paul on the cheek, engulfing him in the potent smell of alcohol. "I am so pleased you two have taken me up on my invitation. After what had happened at The Salon, I would not have blamed either of you if you hadn't. Come in, please. I have asked my maid to put on some tea for us," Mr. Arpin continued, urging them to take off their coats, which they swiftly did, allowing Mr. Arpin to hang them from a peg as they had a look around their environment.

Mr. Arpin's apartment was small, consisting of two small drawing rooms on either side of the hallway, one of which was used as a permanent atelier on the walls of which hung numerous paintings from many different artists. At the back, there was a dining room and a kitchen, and upstairs there were two bedrooms and a bathroom, one of which was currently used as a study. Paul groaned as he noticed said maid coming out of the atelier carrying two empty bottles of wine.

"Are you not married, Mr. Arpin?" he heard John ask beside him, but the man seemed not to take offence at the question and merely laughed as he nodded and guided them further into the house and through a large archway, which lead into one of the drawing rooms where he offered them both a seat.

"My wife prefers the countryside, I am afraid, so she'd much rather stay there than come to London with me. I move between the two as much as I can," he explained and smiled at them both as he clasped his hands together, "Now, if you two would excuse me, I will see how the tea is coming along."

"He is a cheery fellow, isn't he?" John asked as soon as the man had left them alone, turning to Paul, who was biting his nail with a worried expression on his face.

"He is a nice man, generally," he said as he glanced at John, pausing for a moment to consider if and how to continue, "the relationship with his wife, however, is not as happy as he lets on. But if I had known how bad his drinking habits had become..."

"He is not one of your old lovers, then, is he?" John inquired, smirking as Paul burst out laughing as he shook his head, the idea alone being far too absurd to even take seriously.

"Mr. Arpin is a good man, John, but I have my types and he is not one of them, not to mention that he is ever so slightly too old for me, even by my standards. And besides, he likes his women," he said, still chuckling, and the emphasis he deliberately put on the last of sentences told John more than he needed to know about their host and possibly about the nature of his disagreements with his wife, which John knew for certain were not just about London. A twinkle in his eye, however, told Paul that was not the thing that interested him.

"I didn't know you even had a type, Paul, not to mention standards," he taunted and Paul gasped at the insinuation, shaking his head and playfully hitting John, before turning away with a pout.

"How dare you say such a thing!" he said, but he could not help but smile when John leaned in to kiss his cheek as a silent apology, which Paul opted to accept by turning his head to kiss him properly, to which John responded with a little smirk of his own and a pleased hum. They had  barely separated when Mr. Arpin joined them again, followed closely behind by his maid, carrying a tray with three tea cups, a teapot, and a saucer with some biscuits, which she put down onto the coffee table between the two couches and poured it out for them, as Mr. Arpin sat himself down on the couch opposite the two young men. As soon as the maid had finished, she left them with a polite nod, leaving the three men alone to their business.

"Now, Mr. Lennon," Mr. Arpin spoke as he took one of the cups and blew lightly into it to cool its contents, an example which the other two men quickly followed, "I hope you don't mind it if I skip the pleasantries. You have brought your work with you, I take it?" John glanced nervously at Paul, who nodded encouragingly at him as he noticed their nervous look on his face. In truth, he had not expected any differently: from the moment they had received Mr. Arpin's invitation for tea two days ago, John had shown a great reluctance to go, not wanting to be disparaged once more by the same person as the last time he had shown his work to anyone who was supposedly an expert, and even when Paul had assured him Mr. Arpin wouldn't waste his time on someone who he didn't think had potential, he had initially refused to come with him. Sex, however, Paul had soon found, was a great instrument of persuasion, especially when combined with some light teasing about him being a coward, which, of course, he had not meant. Not terribly, at least. Still, he could understand his lover's nervousness and had tried his best to make John feel better about his art, but, as he could see now, the rejection at The Salon had left a lasting impression on him.

"Yes, I made sure to also bring some other works than those you had already seen at the gallery last Monday," John finally spoke as he placed his tea back down onto the coffee table and reached down to pick up his satchel, which he opened in a hurry in the hope neither Paul nor Mr. Arpin would see the trembling of his fingers, and produced a couples of sketches and finished works, which he handed to Mr. Arpin with a weak smile.

"Thank you, Mr. Lennon. And my apologies for my behaviour then. Or rather, that of my colleagues. Mr. Deniau can be rather rash in his judgements. He certainly did not speak upon my behalf, I would have you know," Mr. Arpin said as he put his tea down as well and slowly went through the stack of art works, going over them one by one and taking his time. Paul nudged John’s side at the man's words and offered him a wide smile as John looked at him, feeling rather taken aback by the nervousness that was written all over his face. He wished he could do something for him, but he knew nothing would put him at ease until he had heard some form of praise fall from the lips of Mr. Arpin. Paul thought it was rather cute in a sense.

He wished, though, that Mr. Arpin would not take as long with examining John's work as he was, as he could see the anxiety on John's face grow with every minute that passed by without any kind of opinion being uttered by the older man. He himself wasn't feeling much better, hoping for John's sake, as well as that of his own reputation as art lover and collector, that his work would be better received than last time, and he listened attentively as John answered all of Mr. Arpin's questions on his works, his techniques, his use of colour and light, and style, as well as what his intentions were with his works. Finally, after much longer than Paul's nerves had been able to properly endure, Mr. Arpin cleared his throat and handed John his work back.

"So," Paul asked, ignoring the dryness of his throat, "what do you think?"

"The boy," Mr. Arpin started, pausing to take a sip from his tea that had nearly gone cold in the course of his conversation with John, which Paul supposed he did on purpose to add to the already present tension in the room, "the boy certainly has potential. If he can prove himself and make a name for himself in the art world, that is up to him, but he has enough talent and skill to have a likely chance. I am glad you brought some of your other works as well, though, Mr. Lennon, because I can see now Mr. Deniau had been terribly wrong about you."

"You genuinely like it?" John inquired, hardly believing his ears, and reached besides him to take Paul's hand, which Paul was swift to pull away.

"Oh yes! Your style is something I have not seen often before, and I think that is what made Mr. Deniau dislike your work as much as he did, but I like it. It is... different, daring, honest. I would love to take you on and see what I can do for you, if Mr. McCartney would let me, of course. After all, he is the one who brought you to my attention." At this, both men turned to Paul with eager faces, and Paul, smiling at the eagerness in John's expression that he had not seen there before, waved carelessly with his hand as he gave into them, in response to which Mr. Arpin clasped his hands together again in youthful excitement.

"How wonderful. Now, Mr. Lennon, if you would be so kind to leave some of your works with me, I will stay in touch with you through Mr. McCartney and inform you if anything happens that you need to know about. What do you gentlemen say?"

"John would be more than happy to leave you with some of his work, Mr. Arpin. And we are both very thankful to you for this," Paul said, and finished his tea, before nudging John to do the same, which he did.

"Fantastic. And I should be thanking you. Now, how about we celebrate with a glass of wine? I am sure I have some lying around here somewhere," he said, but Paul was quick to refuse, shaking his head and offering their host a polite smile as he got up from the couch.

"No, thank you, Mr. Arpin. John and I have to leave for England I'm afraid. But thank you for the kind offer," he said and Mr. Arpin stared up at him for a short while, clearly disappointed, before he nodded and got up as well, offering first Paul and then John his hand.

"Of course, I understand. It was good to see you both. And Mr. Lennon, if there is anything I need you to know, I will contact you through Mr. McCartney, as I have said," he said and John and Paul thanked him once more, before they started to make their way into the hallway, where they pulled on their coats and said goodbye, and not five minutes later they were once again outside, John's satchel considerably lighter.

          John and Paul spoke eagerly as they made their way back to the apartment, discussing what had transpired at Mr. Arpin's and what this meant for John's potential future career with a mixed sense of excitement and nervousness, especially on John's side. They would be picked up at the apartment at three by Paul's driver, which only left them with an hour to pack and eat a quick lunch if they hurried, but neither felt much for getting a cab to drive them, preferring to take their time and walk, relishing the Parisian sun and air one last time before they would have to leave for England, where they knew the weather wouldn't be as good. Paul knew, however, he didn't have a choice, and tried not to think about it by focusing on his conversation with John as much as he could.

"I cannot believe he actually approved of my work," John muttered seemingly out of nowhere after they had discussed when and where his first exhibition needed to be – hypothetically, of course - as they came near to the Seine, which meant they were getting close. Instead of walking along it, however, Paul guided John into a quiet backstreet where they could talk in relative silence.

"Of course, he did. I told you, you have talent! I don't say that about simply anyone, John."

"But what if he changes his mind? Or if everyone else disagrees with him?" John pressed on, his pace slowing as worry began to take over his mind. Attempting to soothe his fears, Paul took a hold of his hand and squeezed it reassuringly before bringing it up to his lips to kiss.

"You will be fine, John. I know it," he said, kissing his hand again and John smiled at that as he nodded and forced himself to relax by taking a deep breath. They walked on for a little while longer, mostly in silence as John contemplated his future and how he was going to tell his aunt when they would be back in England in a few days, while Paul's mind was inevitably drawn back to his father's letter. He had been so deep in thought that he had barely noticed it when John suddenly stopped, his hand falling from Paul's grip as Paul went on a few more paces before stopping as well.

"John?" he asked, turning around to see him staring at him with a calculating gaze, seeming deep in contemplation, "John, are you alright?"

"What are we, Paul?" John merely asked, his voice suddenly dull and tight, as he remained where he was. Paul chuckled at the man's odd behaviour, unsure what to reply to his question.

"We will be late if we keep stalling," he joked, but John did not laugh and shook his head as he walked over to Paul, moving slowly, step after step, and stopping right in front of him.

"No, I mean..." he started, but paused a while as he bit his lip, thinking of how to continue, "what are we? Once we are back in England, what is going to happen to us?"

"John-"

"I know we will have to end this eventually, seeing as you're going to get married sooner rather than later, but I though..." he fell silent again at the last, his sentence broken, and Paul considered at him for a moment. He had given this exact issue more thought than he was willing to admit, and yet he did not know the answer to John's question. At first he hadn't even meant to start this affair and after that, he had quickly decided it would end once they would return to England, but now it was finally happening....

"Maybe we don't need to end this now, John," he said and John looked up at him in surprise, for which Paul could not blame him as he was rather surprised with what he was saying as well, "maybe we could continue this, while it lasts. I am not to marry yet, and we will see each other for the portrait anyway, so perhaps we could... If that is what you would want, of course. I mean, it is just sex, right? No harm done?"

"Right," John agreed, furrowing his brown, "just sex." He forced a smile and nodded his agreement, which Paul answered with a smile of his own.

"Come on," he said, reaching out his hand for John to take, "we'd better hurry or we'll be late."

“God forbid that we would make Mr. McCartney senior wait one minute longer than absolutely necessary,” John muttered, but he took his hand anyway, so Paul didn’t say anything of it, secretly finding it rather funny.

Previous Chapter

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[thatonebeatlesblog]

Play Your Heart Out

CHAPTER 1 

RATING: T 

OVERVIEW:  If you ask around Quarry Bank High School who John Lennon was, most of them would say

“You mean the squinty git that always has something to say?”

And, rude though it might be, John didn’t care much for a reputation. He is in the process of building his way to his own success. Until he stumbles upon Paul McCartney, son of the school’s headmaster. Each have their own fair share of problems, but both have a shared solution. And, even though neither of them is willing to admit it, they need each other in more ways than one.

 Suddenly, the road ahead doesn’t look so bleak.

 "JOHN!!!“ Rasped a shrill voice from the window. 

John was sitting in the patchy lawn out front of his aunt’s house, the sun beating down on his pale skin as he sucked a plume of smoke from a half-burned cigarette. He had found it in the dirt around the backside of the English Hall at school the previous afternoon. It was Wednesday. The day Mimi went out to town to go to bible study. He sighed and extinguished the cig, slipping it into the ankle of his sock. 

 "Yeah?!” He called back, walking over to the back door. 

 "Be a dear for me and get my dressy jumper from the closet. Martha is going to be there tonight and you know how ritzy she looks.“ 

 John rolled his eyes and laughed as he got inside. 

“Since when did you care about Martha? I thought you said she was a dirty liar, and had slept with the minister." 

 Mimi went quiet a moment. "But she has a pantsuit for every day of the week, and a closet full of dresses!" 

 "Mimi, I think you look fine the way you always dress." 

"Yeah, sure. In my pajamas and ruddy apron.” John sighed and retrieved the jumper. 

 "You’re going to be unhappy no matter what I say, so here. Live it up.“ He handed the black beaded sweater to her. 

 Mimi chuckled, and she turned to John, looking at him intently for a moment. Her blue eyes crinkled when she smiled and placed a hand on John’s shoulder. "You’re all grown up now, John." 

 "Mimi–" 

"Don’t go cuttin’ me off, boy.” John giggled.

 "You’re all grown up now…And I wanted to say that Miss Julia would be proud.“ She leaned over to press a kiss to John’s head.

 John tried to appear cool and collected as he always does in these moments, but he felt the warm sting of tears threatening his eyes. He blinked and looked down at the yellow tiled floor of the kitchen. 

 "Oh, Johnny. Don’t be sad…” Mimi pulled him to her in a tight hug and John tried to wriggle free at the aspect of near suffocation. 

 "I’m fine, Mimi.“ He cleared his throat. 

 "But you’re 17 and pretty soon you’ll be going out there, living, working…”

 "I know…“ 

Mimi took a deep breath and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her handkerchief. She sniffed. "I shouldn’t be bringing this all up before I go…Might mess up my face." 

 John grinned. "Exactly so." 

 Mimi gave him one last hug and with a lingering, loving gaze, walked out the door. She disappeared half a minute later down the road. John stood there for a moment, between space, between time, it felt. But he snapped himself out of it and went outside to finish smoking his fag. 

James Paul McCartney was an honor student. So near the top of the class that he could taste it, but never could quite reach. The seemingly endless pursuit rendered him sleepless at times, near crazed. Nights filled with cold sweat, anxiety, and an aching feeling of not being able to live up to standards put there by men who had nothing better to do than watch the youth suffer. Paul knew he was smart. Smarter than most who reached the top, but whatever he did never seemed to be good enough. People treated him differently than most as well. Was it his appearance? His left-handedness? His occasional stutter? Paul had dealt with his fair share of bullies in his lifetime to last through several. He couldn’t get through a hall most days without someone yelling ‘hey twink, pass the maths exams, eh?’ Paul wasn’t amused. His softer, androgynous appearance had given him trouble since pre-school. And the homosexuality jokes seemed endless. Unlucky enough for Paul, he had actually developed a couple crushes in secondary school that, once the boys found out, transferred out of Liverpool for ‘a better educational experience.’ So, for the time being he had given up the prospect of developing a relationship with anyone. It was easier to focus on exams that way, anyway. He didn’t need the psychological distraction intimacy created. Past the occasional fling with a willing bird, anyways. He could hear people drop their volume when he’d pass, talk amongst themselves. 

 ”…Do you think he might be one of those…y'know, women who wear bloke’s clothes?“

 "He could be a bird, now that all of 'em are takin’ a liking to trousers.”

 "Let’s see, shall we?“ A tall slicked back kid strode up quickly behind Paul, a short, stout lowerclassmen in toe, and grabbed his ass from behind. Paul turned, face flush in shock. He resisted the urge to knock the kid flat on his own ass with his textbook and stood silent, staring him down, or up, from his height. "You are a boy ain’t ya, Paulina?" 

 Paul remained silent, glaring. The tall kid stood closer, the scent of alcohol strong on his breath against Paul’s cheek. Before he knew it, he had groped him and a fire rose in Paul’s chest so quickly he hadn’t known what happened. Blanked out entirely, he presumed, as he smashed the front end of his textbook right onto the scumbag’s forehead. 

 "Jesus Christ!” He yelled as he stumbled drunkenly to the tiled hallway floor. “That’s no way for the son of a minister to be behaving, let alone speaking, Tyler.” And with that, Paul strode off to maths in room 106. 

 But John saw it. All of it. And he was struck dumb.

 "…Holy shit.“ A grin took over his face. John had an unusual desire to attend maths for once.

[kartiavelino]

Inside The Beatles final live performance and disastrous collapse

On a blustery, bitterly chilly day in London 50 years in the past, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr clambered to the roof of their report firm, Apple Corp., for an impromptu lunchtime live performance — beautiful passers-by with the band’s first live performance in two and a half years. It was additionally the final time The Beatles performed in public. Their 42-minute jam session, damaged up by police over noise complaints, was filmed by director Michael Lindsay-Hogg because the capper to an meant TV particular known as “Get Again,” documenting the group recording an album. “The unique concept we had was to do a TV particular, a model of [the Beatles TV movie] ‘Magical Thriller Tour,’ however not as conceptual,” Lindsay-Hogg, 78, tells The Put up. “All of us needed to shoot it in other places, however George wasn’t eager on it and needed to maintain recording. “The concept for what turned ‘Let It Be’ was that it was going to be a half-hour trailer earlier than the TV particular.” As an alternative, it certainly did morph into the documentary “Let It Be,” launched in Could 1970, one month after The Beatles broke up. It included each the rooftop live performance (lower to 21 minutes within the film) and emotionally darkish footage of the bandmates plus Lennon’s then-girlfriend, Yoko Ono, at turns bickering with — and ignoring — one another within the recording studio whereas creating their subsequent album. That album, “Let It Be,” was recorded earlier than “Abbey Street” however was launched in 1970 because the band’s final report. The film’s spotlight was the live performance, an iconic popular culture second that got here to sign the tip of the world’s most well-known rock ’n’ roll band and the turbulent decade they’d helped to outline. The Beatles had been free and enthusiastic — regardless of the interior backstabbing and the chilly climate — and ran by means of 9 songs, beginning with “Get Again” and together with “Two of Us” and “Don’t Let Me Down.” They even polished off an previous chestnut, “The One After 909” (spotlight: a blistering guitar solo by Harrison), one of many first songs written by Lennon and McCartney within the late ’50s. Lennon closed the live performance after a reprise of “Get Again” with a splash of humor: “I’d prefer to say thanks on behalf of the group and ourselves — and I hope we’ve handed the audition.” The promotional poster for the “Let It Be” movieEverett Assortment “What turned ‘Let It Be’ was actually an auxiliary documentary, which was all we had, then the well-known rooftop live performance, as a result of there was no ending for it,” Lindsay-Hogg says. “There have been fascinating photographs of the Beatles taking part in, speaking and interacting within the studio. Paul needed to shoot the ending within the Cavern Membership [in Liverpool] and I needed to shoot it in an amphitheater on the coast of Tunisia. “At some point at lunch, a few week earlier than, they didn’t wish to do that or that so I stated, ‘Why not do it on the roof?’ I used to be the one one who was considering of the movie. They’re all nice musicians, however they had been considering of the second refrain in ‘The Lengthy and Winding Street’ or no matter. I needed to assemble a documentary with attention-grabbing footage but in addition with some excessive to finish it on. “There was nobody else to have the concept [to film a rooftop concert] besides me,” he says. “At some point after lunch, which was served within the convention room at Apple cooked by good women within the kitchen — pink and white wine, rooster, macrobiotics for John and Yoko — Paul, Ringo, myself and a couple of digital camera guys went up and seemed on the roof. That was the embryonic concept on the Saturday earlier than we filmed [the rooftop concert]. “Because the week went on, The Beatles form of pawed on the concept. If you happen to gave them an concept, it was like throwing meat right into a lion’s cage — they’d sniff and paw at it and throw it at one another, then that piece of meat got here again in the long run, however was completely different from what you set within the cage. “We had been going to movie it the day earlier than, however the climate was too cloudy and too murky. This was London in January,” Lindsay-Hogg recollects. “Then we determined for the following day, Thursday. We needed to hit 12 or 12:30 p.m. for the lunchtime crowds. We had been standing in a little bit room on the backside of the ladder which went as much as the roof. George didn’t wish to do it, he didn’t wish to carry out in public. He was extra comfy recording and getting it excellent. And Ringo stated, fairly rightly, ‘It’s chilly up there!’ Paul, who had been essentially the most intently allied with me, stated, ‘Let’s do it. It’ll be enjoyable.’ The one voice we hadn’t heard from was John, who lastly stated, ‘Ah, let’s do it.’ ” Lindsay-Hogg had arrange a two-way mirror within the foyer of the Apple constructing to observe any police presence. Michael Lindsay-Hogg, director of the 1970 movie “Let It Be.”WireImage “I knew there could be points with the police,” he says. “The agency subsequent door [to Apple], which bought material or cloth, had complaints in regards to the noise; the blokes who managed it had been conventional in the best way folks seemed earlier than rock ’n’ roll — one of many guys had a bowler hat and a giant heat overcoat. “We had been all working and I used to be additionally attempting to cope with not solely what was occurring up on the roof and on the street and the cops arising, however all of the humorous issues on the roof. “There was a really correct Englishman sporting a coat and hat and smoking a pipe climbing up a pole to see them. For me, it was like, ‘I hope we pull this off,’ because it wasn’t a slam-dunk to rise up there and do it. I used to be on the roof, not in a van with walkie-talkies and earphones, and I used to be attempting to work out with the digital camera guys on the roof . . . how to not have the identical photographs. I had some alerts . . . If I unfold my palms at a wider angle, it meant go wider, if my palms had been nearer, it meant go nearer. I additionally knew that was it. “There weren’t going to be any retakes.” Lindsay-Hogg says the unique, longer film was screened for The Beatles on July 20, 1969. “Once we confirmed the tough lower, it was the identical day that Neil Armstrong landed on the moon,” he recollects. “There was extra John and Yoko within the longer lower, then I received a name from [senior Beatles assistant] Peter Brown early the following day. He stated he thought it was good however a bit lengthy and stated, ‘I feel a number of the John and Yoko stuff ought to come out. Let me put it this manner — I’ve had three calls [from the others] this morning.’ “I feel they thought that John and Yoko had extra to do within the first act [of the movie] and it was taking away a little bit bit from The Beatles as an entity,” Lindsay-Hogg says. “So we lower a few of that. United Artists needed extra of a musical image than a documentary, so that they got here in late within the day and I needed to angle it a bit extra to music and much less towards a documentary. These had been the sorts of modifications we made. The Beatles had been additionally the producers, not solely the celebs, and when issues had been going bitter between them, they weren’t as .” After its big-screen premiere, “Let It Be” largely disappeared from view. It was briefly launched on house video within the early ’80s and, however bootleg copies, hasn’t been broadly seen since. Why? In accordance with one concept, McCartney and Starr blocked its launch, sad with how the band got here throughout. But McCartney, who fought noticeably with Lennon and Harrison throughout “Let It Be,” informed Rolling Stone in 2016 that he doesn’t object to it being launched. “I maintain bringing it up, and everybody goes, ‘Yeah, we must always do this,’ ” he stated. “The objection must be me. I don’t come off properly [in the movie].” Lindsay-Hogg says, “I feel it was [pulled] partly as a result of it confirmed features of them which possibly they had been reluctant to see once more. You had a way within the film that they had been going to interrupt up, which they finally did. Though they had been nonetheless very shut — John, Paul and George had been collectively since they had been youngsters — by this time, they had been males of 27, 28 and had different concerns. The Beatles in 1969Everett Assortment “George was very certain he may exit on his personal, which he did, and I feel Paul needed to maintain the group collectively — he thought it was nonetheless his band. John and Yoko needed to go off and do their very own factor, [to be] rather more bohemian. Ringo was partly this, partly that. It was a special time of their lives as a bunch and I feel George, notably, didn’t like revisiting that. I feel he was the one much less in favor of it popping out. “After George died [in 2001], issues form of circled a little bit bit. They’re all very robust personalities — actually Paul, and Ringo in his personal method, and Yoko representing John, and Olivia [Harrison] representing George. It’s type of like turning an ocean liner round to get cohesion [between them]. It’s a must to be respectful of that. They’re very bought of their opinions. “However opinions additionally change, and what they suppose was detrimental 32 years in the past might need develop into constructive. It’s been a very long time between the discharge of ‘Let It Be’ and now.” Lindsay-Hogg hints that “Let It Be” will certainly be re-released within the close to future. “You’d must ask Apple about that, however I’m fairly certain one thing can be taking place for a wide range of causes I can’t go into in the intervening time,” he says. “It’s type of one thing we’ve all been speaking about for fairly some time and has gone by means of a number of iterations, however I feel most likely within the subsequent 18 months, it’ll come out once more in some type, or altered type, as a result of folks have weirdly been calling for it [to be re-released] for a while.” Lindsay-Hogg is requested why there’s a lot curiosity within the film. “As soon as they received on the roof, as chilly because it was, they had been that band that performed collectively as youngsters in Hamburg,” he replies. “They liked taking part in, even when they couldn’t see the live viewers. They might go over to look over the roof on the folks under. They had been very joyful on the roof and doing the perfect they may. “One of many issues I like about ‘Let It Be’ is the happiness it reveals between these 4 comrades. “I didn’t know they had been going to interrupt up and this might be the final time, and actually final time they’d play live. “I didn’t know once they walked off the roof that might be it: the tip of the general public Beatles.” Share this: https://nypost.com/2019/01/29/inside-the-beatles-final-live-performance-and-disastrous-collapse/ The post Inside The Beatles final live performance and disastrous collapse appeared first on My style by Kartia. https://www.kartiavelino.com/2019/01/inside-the-beatles-final-live-performance-and-disastrous-collapse.html

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Weight loss program Programs For 7 Hollywood Celebs

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