#john lennonxpaul mccartney

[cinnamontoastandtears]

I Need My Love to Be Here

pairing: john lennon/paul mccartney

summary: Paul tries to escape his woes at John's house, but John's still sleeping. That doesn't stop Paul from trying to find peace another way. (or, another story about Here, There, and Everywhere)

warnings: mild recreational drug use

read here

[mithranqueersmusings]

Before This Dance Is Through XV

Chapter: 15/16

Rating: T

Summary: Ringo's being going through a dry spell for the last year or so and when he regretfully tells his best friend John, he insists on taking them to an all-male strip club for some "fun". Ringo isn't sure whether it's the alcohol, his desperation or a mixture of the two but he thinks he might be falling in love with a stripper.

Tags: AU - Strippers, Modern Setting, Smut, Slow Burn

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Ringo stayed at John's for the remainder of the day, he ordered in dinner for the both of them and they sat in front of the television while they ate. Ringo did his usual routine of cleaning up small things around the house, like offering to do all the washing up because he'd already started cleaning up a plate or two, or taking the bins out because he wanted a bit of fresh air; Ringo imagined that John knew exactly what he was doing, he didn't try to be overly subtle about it any more, but he was a little too embarrassed to say thank you because it would be an acknowledgement that he needed help in the first place.

The day soon turned into night, Ringo always found that time flew whenever he was with John. Ringo had offered to drive the two of them over to the club, considering he'd driven all the way here in the first place, but John wanted to ensure they didn't leave too early.

"Paul likes to have his breaks near the end of his shift, and I can't really interrupt him working so we'll have to wait for him to take a break." John explained with a mouth full of Chinese food.

"Are you gonna tell me exactly what's going on with Paul? Or are you just gonna keep me in suspense all night?" Ringo asked, he'd already essentially figured out what their dynamic was but he wanted to hear John's version of it.

"I'd tell you if I knew." John smiled, more to himself than anyone else "We just seem to gravitate towards each other, you know?"

Ringo made an affirming noise while he ate, part of him wishes he didn't know. He'd never seen John so taken with someone before, usually he was moving around from person to person without much of a care. Ringo had figured John had just stopped telling him about his array of one night stands, but with Paul in the picture he realised there simply hadn't been any. All this obsession with getting Ringo out in the world to find somebody had clearly been a major deflection on John's part.

Even though Ringo was anxious to get to the club as soon as possible, as much as he'd been hesitant at first to agree with going he'd rather face whatever was waiting for him there, but this was ultimately John's night and hopefully his big moment, and Ringo could never sabotage that.

They left at around 2 in the morning, Ringo knew he'd regret staying up this late come tomorrow but it was too late to turn back now. He could feel John's excitement as he sat beside him in the car, it was refreshing to see a genuine smile on his face again. He'd scrawled down the poem on a page in his journal and ripped it out as neatly as he could, it was the most presentable Ringo had ever seen John's handwriting.

There was nobody loitering outside the club which was a sign it was fairly empty inside, this satisfied John as he knew he'd be able to get Paul alone but Ringo felt unnerved by the idea that he'd be far more visible to George. John led the way excitedly, the poem folded up inside his jacket pocket.

"Need a drink to settle my nerves." John announced as he headed to the empty bar, Ringo just followed behind him silently.

The club was sparse, there were about two or three small groups hanging around and several loners; it meant that Ringo could get a perfectly clear view of the main stage where the one and only George was dancing. Ringo almost didn't recognise him, he was sluggish and slouched with a distant look in his eyes. Was he drunk? Ringo watched him from the bar, hopefully shrouded in the relative darkness, trying to figure out what was going on. John followed his line of sight after ordering his drink and gulped dramatically loud.

"What's gotten into him?" John asked "Didn't realise sleeping with you was so deadly."

"I dunno..." Ringo spoke softly, his eyes were fixed on George.

John led the way closer to the stage in his search for Paul, Ringo would really rather stay hidden for now but he didn't have much of a choice. As he got closer, Ringo could see just how inebriated George was: his eyes were heavy and unfocused, he stumbled a little as he tried to move across the stage. He'd never been drunk before at work, as far as Ringo knew, so why now?

"I'm gonna go check if Paul's in the back." John explained "Just wait for me here, I shouldn't be too long. I'll text you if something happens and you should head home, okay?"

Ringo nodded slowly, he was hardly listening to what John was saying "Sure. "

And so John slid away into the back of the club, Ringo could see him knocking on the staff only door and waiting anxiously. John looked over at him for a moment and made a dramatically anxious face, Ringo let out a small laugh and held up his thumb to encourage him. He wished John was the only thing he had to worry about right now, but lately things hadn't seemed to be going as Ringo wished they had.

There were a few people waving money around at the front of the stage, eager for George to give them a quick lapdance, they didn't seem to notice the change in George's behaviour. Ringo stayed near the back, hesitantly taking a seat and observing as best he could. George was dancing as he usually did, partially clothed with a great deal of hip thrusts, but something was definitely off. Ringo wasn't sure what to do, if he should do anything at all, but sitting there and watching felt wrong somehow. Was he merely no longer so impressive because Ringo had slept with him? He didn't think it was the case, but he couldn't understand why tonight would be the first time George had seemed so strange to him.

At one point George seemed to suddenly notice the money being practically thrown in his direction, what he'd been focusing on before Ringo couldn't tell, so began making his way off the stage as steadily as he could manage. He was wearing heeled boots, nowhere near as high as the ones Ringo had seen him in before, but tall enough that he began to stumble as he tackled the steps. Nobody seemed to care that he was struggling, perhaps the audience were are all far too drunk to even notice themselves. Ringo wasn't though, he still had half his drink left and wasn't planning on finishing it any time soon, not with George in a state like this.

Ringo only seemed to blink, to take his eyes away for less than a second, and George was suddenly falling down onto the floor. Nobody reacted, nobody except Ringo who was out of his seat instantly. Unfortunately he hadn't been quick enough, George fell face first into one of the empty tables and smacked his face off of the hard metal, the noise rang out louder than the thumping music. As he hit the floor, some of the audience let out a pantomime groan yet still remained in their seats. George managed to get himself off of the floor, he didn't seem to realise at first that Ringo had been helping him up to his feet. His nose and lip were bleeding pretty badly, red pouring down his chin and onto the floor. George moved his hand sluggishly to touch his bruised face, looking at the remnants of blood on his fingertips in confusion.

"Is there a first aid kit anywhere?" Ringo asked alarmed.

George nodded, finally turned his head to face Ringo; his movements were so slow that Ringo could see the realisation spreading across his face.

"Ringo..." George slurred, his teeth were painted red "What are you-"

"Don't worry about that, we need to get you fixed up." Ringo tightened his grip around George and began walking the two of them over to the staff room.

George made a quiet noise, Ringo wasn't quite sure what he was trying to say, but the important thing was that he allowed Ringo to lead him away from the stage. The music was still pounding even when the stage was empty, it seemed to signal to a lot of the stragglers that it was time to go home. George limped a little as he walked, Ringo supposed he must've twisted his ankle as he fell or something.

"You're always... Always coming to my rescue." George mumbled as they approached the door.

"You're always in need of rescuing." Ringo spoke gently, the way you'd speak to an old person who'd lost their hearing "What's the code for the door?"

George turned his head to face the keypad, it rolled heavily on his neck, then he pressed four of the numbers sluggishly and a quiet hum could be heard which signified the door being unlocked. George then rested almost all of his weight on Ringo, his head falling to the side, luckily he wasn't too heavy. Ringo had to kick the door open with his foot, it was extremely awkward to do with such an unexpected burden, but he managed it.

"Jesus Christ!" A voice called out as the door violently opened, it was Paul.

Ringo had almost forgotten that John had even come back here, and judging by the surprised look on John's face he'd forgotten all about Ringo too. John's poem was spread open on the countertop, facing towards where Paul was sitting. The two of them moved erratically when the door opened, but Ringo was certain he caught a glimpse of a heated kiss; the redness of their lips was enough of a giveaway. Ringo managed to get George into the room and down onto one of the benches, the heavy door swung closed and locked behind them. He wished he'd be able to relish this moment of victory for John, but there were more important things to be dealt with.

"What happened?" Paul practically jumped out of his seat and over to George, who sat slumped against the wall with blood still dripping down his face.

"He fell." Ringo explained, letting out a huff of air as he caught his breath "Why's he so pissed? Who let him go out there like that?"

Paul looked over a John with wide eyes then turned back to Ringo "I tried to get him to stop drinking, but there's only so much I can do."

"Suppose it doesn't really matter now. Do you have a first aid kit at least?" Ringo asked, both his face and voice were hard.

Paul nodded then began rooting around under the counter, while he did so Ringo and John shared a knowing look: Ringo raised his eyebrows inquisitively, and John winked in response. That was all he needed to know for now. Paul pulled out a rather heavy first aid kit and opened it desperately, but before he could begin looking for anything, Ringo gently pushed him out of the way.

"Can you get him some water? I'll deal with this." Ringo demonstrated his words by picking up some antiseptic wipes and plasters.

Paul nodded again then headed over to the small sink in the corner, finding a relatively clean mug from the overhead cupboard and filling it with water.

"Can I help at all?" John asked but remained comfortably seated.

"Don't think so." Ringo sighed as he sat down beside George who had begun falling asleep or slipping unconscious, it was difficult to tell "Are you alright George?"

George groaned in response "Why does my face feel like shit?"

"Looks like shit too." Paul commented as he tried to pass the water over to George, but he didn't even seem to notice it "You need to drink some water, George."

"Piss off." George almost whispered, Paul screwed his face up slightly in annoyance but didn't let it deter him from his mission, he pressed the mug against his lips and waited for them to open, which they eventually did, then he gently poured water into his mouth.

George drank almost the entire mug, Ringo didn't suppose he was entirely aware of what he was doing, then let out another groan "Tastes like blood."

"That'd be the blood." John quipped from the other side of the room.

Paul retreated back over to the sink to fill the mug up again, while he did so Ringo opened up the wipes and began cleaning up George's face as best he could. George struggled against the contact for a while but eventually gave in, his eyes were closed the entire time.

"Why are you so pissed, George?" Ringo asked in a hushed tone, gently wiping around his nose.

"He didn't show up." George mumbled almost unintelligibly.

Ringo paused "Who didn't?"

"Ringo." George answered, Ringo almost wanted to laugh at how unaware he was.

"Fucking hell." John laughed as Paul returned with more water, he shot John a glance of warning.

"Drink." Paul demanded softly, pressing the mug against his lips once more.

George obliged but only drank about half, then pushed it away aggressively and spilled some water onto the floor "I'm fine." He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut even harder.

"You don't look fine." John called out once more.

"Or sound fine." Paul agreed "What's gotten into you?"

George rolled his head to the side and moaned again "Why didn't he come?"

Paul looked at Ringo anxiously, it told him all he needed to know about what had happened that night. It looked like George had wanted Ringo there after all, not only that but he gravely missed his presence so immensely that he drank himself almost to sleep. Just when Ringo thought he was getting George all figured out, something like this would happen. He wasn't quite sure what to do in this situation, was it better for him to be there at all? Ringo had managed to get rid of most of the blood on his face at least, it looked like most of the bleeding had fortunately stopped. He opened up a plaster and tentatively pressed it against the cut on George's nose, he almost felt like shivering when his fingers brushed against the skin.

George struggled again when he felt Ringo's fingers "Paul, stop..." He scrunched his eyes up tightly, trying to move his body away but evidently he didn't feel able to, then he opened his eyes to protest further but the words died in his mouth.

Ringo saw realisation spreading across George's face for a second time, but he had a feeling this time would be a little more permanent. George's face softened almost immediately, his mouth was hanging open as though he were still about to speak. Ringo could even tell that he'd been crying, when or how much was impossible to see, but knowing that he'd cried at some point tonight was enough.

"Ringo..." George breathed out "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you." Ringo replied with a sweet smile "I would've come sooner if I'd have known you'd get like this."

George turned his head slightly to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror, it was only now that he realised the state he was in "What happened to me?"

"You fell coming off the stage." Ringo explained, he inspected George's face for anything else in need of care.

"Shit." George almost laughed, but it didn't come out properly "What time is it?"

"Nearly closing." Paul answered, he'd sat back down opposite John again "You're lucky we're so empty or you'd be in deep shit."

"Don't you start on me Paul." George furrowed his brows, but it was hard for him to look intimidating while he was swaying slightly as he sat "You're always going over your break time to talk to what's-his-face, and I don't say shit."

"Allow me to introduce myself." John announced "John What's-His-Face, a pleasure to meet you."

All three of them laughed, Ringo louder than anyone, George had only just noticed John's presence.

"What matters is that you're alright, George. Everybody just calm down, it looks like it's been a long night." Ringo tried to clear the energy of the room.

"You're telling me." George sighed, resting his head against the wall.

John stood up rather abruptly "I'm going for a smoke, care to join me Paul?"

Paul got up out of his seat too "Please."

John led the way to the fire exit at the back of the room, holding it open for Paul to walk past him first. Ringo let out a chuckle at the sight of the two of them conspicuously hurrying away together. He figured he must've interrupted some pretty important stuff, that they evidently were eager to continue. The door slammed shut behind them and silence followed, George had closed his eyes once again and Ringo was just staring at him cautiously.

"What's going on, George?" Ringo asked, quietly as though the two outside could still hear them.

George let out a pained chuckle "Fuck if I know."

Ringo paused, tightening his lips, somewhat frustrated "Did you get like this because I didn't come earlier?"

George let out a heavy sigh "If I said no, would you believe me?"

"No, I wouldn't." Ringo answered gently.

"Then yes, I did. I thought you weren't coming, so I had a few drinks." George explained, his eyes still closed "A few turned into a lot which turned into me falling over like a prat."

"But... Why?" Ringo asked "I'm not here for one night and you drink yourself stupid?"

George sighed again, then tilted his head to the side and opened his eyes slowly so that he was looking directly at Ringo "I thought you wouldn't come back at all. Why would you? I don't even know why you're still sitting here after seeing me like this."

Ringo tutted "You're impossible, do you know that?"

"So I've been told." George attempted a grin, but the movement of his lips pained him and he hissed.

"I told you I wanted to see you again, and I meant it." Ringo began somewhat intensely "You need to get it out of your head that I'm going anywhere; as long as you want me here, I'll be here."

George's brows knitted together sadly "I just don't know if I can risk it. Not again."

Ringo placed his hand over George's, it was scuffed up slightly from the fall "What's the risk? Seems like being with me is the safer option, if I'm honest, far safer than almost breaking your neck on stage like that at least."

George chuckled "You might be the nicest guy I've ever met. What could you possibly see in a git like me?"

Ringo squeezed George's hand "Well right now I see an idiot with a bloody nose; I see someone who's in desperate need of some sleep."

"You might be right there." George sighed "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for tonight to go like this."

"Neither did I, yet here we both are." Ringo smiled "Come on, I'll drive you home."

Ringo stood up and extended his hand out to George, who looked at him somewhat cautiously.

"There you go being nice again, do you know how hard it is to hate you?" George accepted the hand and pulled himself up.

"I could say the same to you." Ringo let go of his hand after a while "I'll just go and see whether John wants a ride home."

"I'd be careful interrupting those two, never know what you're gonna walk in on." George warned, but it only made Ringo's smile wider.

Ringo opened the door far slower than he had before, giving John and Paul enough time to pull away from one another before he was fully outside. He pretended that he hadn't seen anything, even the hickey beginning to form on Paul's neck.

"I'm gonna drive George home. Are you coming John?" Ringo stood against the door, he knew he wasn't going to be out here long.

John paused and looked over to Paul, who shook his head as discreetly as he could manage. The two of them looked like a deer in headlights, their eyes wide and their mouths slightly open.

"No, no, I'm good." John answered suspiciously slow "You go on without me."

Ringo smiled knowingly at them "Sure thing. Let me know when you get home safe."

"Will do." John replied before Ringo slipped back into the warmth of the room.

George had thrown on his coat and was currently looking at himself closely in the mirror, inspecting the cut in his mouth from where his teeth had cut the flesh when he fell. When he noticed Ringo had returned, he pulled away quickly and flashed him an innocent smile.

"You ready?" Ringo asked as he stepped further into the room "You better not be sick in my car."

"I can't make any promises." George continued to smile drunkenly.

Ringo rolled his eyes playfully "Can you walk alright on your own?"

"I wouldn't say no to some extra support." George walked over to Ringo's side, exaggerating his limp as he did.

"I don't think this is gonna make it any easier to hate me." Ringo suggested as they made their way to the door.

George paused for a moment then tightened his grip around Ringo's arm "I think I might have to give up on that."

[mithranqueersmusings]

Before This Dance Is Through IX

Chapter: 9/16

Rating: U

Summary: Ringo's being going through a dry spell for the last year or so and when he regretfully tells his best friend John, he insists on taking them to an all-male strip club for some "fun". Ringo isn't sure whether it's the alcohol, his desperation or a mixture of the two but he thinks he might be falling in love with a stripper.

Tags: AU - Strippers, Modern Setting, Smut, Slow Burn

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

"I'll leave you out here to have your little tantrum, alright? I'll be inside when you've calmed down." John spat, quickly storming back into the club without giving a second glance to his friend.

What was his problem? Tonight was supposed to be fun. John always seemed to encounter that problem: whenever he was trying to have a good time, which was almost all of the time, someone had to go and ruin it by getting upset over something or making everything all serious for no real reason. He was sick of it, even if Ringo was his best friend he wasn't going to put up with tonight being derailed.

Ringo's words had stung him deeply, as much as he wasn't willing to admit it, even to himself. John had heard time and time again that he wasn't sympathetic enough, but he didn't view himself that way; more often than not people didn't even tell him what their problems were then would suddenly explode out of nowhere and blame him for not noticing the fuse being lit. Ringo rarely did, this was one of the few occasions he let his emotions get the better of him and John didn't have the patience, not tonight.

There was only one person left who'd give him the time of day right now, and that was Paul. John shoved his way through the crowds more aggressively than he needed to, but it at least felt good to exert the anger somehow, and asked the first dancer he saw if they'd seen Paul. His name was Stuart, he'd been working at the club the longest therefore he knew John the longest; when he'd first started coming here Stuart had been his favourite, but that all changed when Paul came along. It had gotten past the point of John even needing to ask where Paul was, if any of the workers saw him approaching they immediately knew what question was going to fall from of his lips. That didn't stop John from asking though, just because it was a strip club didn't mean he'd forget his manners. Stuart had given an unsure answer, John always thought he was a little bothered about being replaced by Paul but that might have been his ego talking.

John continued his search, trying to ignore how sticky the carpet was as he tried to move around - whose idea was it to put a carpet in a strip club? It didn't take long to find Paul, he usually always had a crowd of a few people around him and tonight was no exception. As soon as Paul noticed John he politely ended whatever conversation he was having and headed over to him, as he always did. The spat with Ringo had made John forget the reason they were even here tonight, or at least why he was here: to see Paul like this. He looked absolutely breathtaking, if John didn't know any better he would've thought Paul was biologically female. Makeup sculpted his already feminine face, his long eyelashes even longer and darker, his plump lips even plumper. He was wearing the highest heels John had seen so far, a black platform boot which went all the way to his thigh. Over his body was a dusty pink chiffon robe, loosely flowing over his bare arms, which he hadn't shaved much to John's approval. This sight was exactly what he'd been waiting for, and now that he'd seen it all the frustration about what had just happened seemed to melt away.

"You alright, love?" Paul asked, he stepped away from the group he'd been talking to and brushed John's elbow to turn his body to face away from them "Fancy some privacy?"

John let out a weak laugh "I don't have any money." He admitted "I was kinda hoping Ringo was gonna bail me out."

Paul chuckled and John couldn't help watching his coloured lips curl "Is that why you brought him here, so he could pay for your dances?"

"Well it wasn't not the reason." John felt himself easing up already, Paul's hand was still brushing against his arm.

"I can take my break and we can sit in the back, if you want to." Paul quietened his voice a little.

"Sounds like a plan." John never wanted to seem too enthusiastic when Paul suggested this, but he didn't think he did a great job of hiding it.

Paul nodded and started walking around the edge of the stage until he came to a door marked only for staff, he had to punch in a combination on the wall before the door unlocked. This was far from the first time that John had sat with Paul in the back room, in fact he struggled to even remember the first time it'd happened.

As much as John had wanted Ringo to believe he'd only been coming to the club recently, it was a gargantuan lie. John had been coming here for years and the majority of that time had been spent with Paul. The first time they 'met' unfolded with Paul approaching John who had been sulking in a booth surrounded by empty beer bottles. Paul had later explained that he went over to him because he had looked eccentric, with his multicoloured striped trousers and brown fur coat - not to forget the pin.

"Eccentric means one of two things: money or trouble." Paul had explained much later "I don't need to say which one I got from you."

John had been immediately taken with Paul, though he'd never tell that to anyone, with his doe eyes and honeyed voice. When it had gotten to the point that John couldn't afford any dances, Paul had offered a couple for free; the exact wording had been that it'd be put onto John's tab, but so much time had passed since then and no such tab had been paid off. Eventually though, Paul made it clear that this imaginary tab wasn't limitless and that he couldn't make a living off of charity. John had been determined to find a way around it but money hadn't been easy to come by for him at the time, no publisher was interested in his poems and he had no clue what to write his next book about. Paul had caught wind of this, namely because John had gotten drunk and complained about the abysmal condition of his life, and thus a strange new transaction began. Paul loved poetry, and there was no joy greater than discovering a work that nobody else had read before and through John he was able to experience this joy over and over again.

When Paul had suggested to John that he could pay him in poetry, he burst into a fit of laughter that didn't subside for several minutes at least. Once he realised Paul was being serious, the most productive writing period of his life began. The two of them never discussed the poems themselves, it all transpired like an illegal art deal as John would hand over the shabby piece of paper and Paul would accept it with a smile, slipping it into his pocket - or wherever he could fit it - then would lead John away to a private space. Unfortunately, the love Paul had for John's poems wasn't going to pay the bills either and even this had to come to a halt. Yet all was not lost, for Paul had discovered very quickly that when John was craving to see him, he wasn't really desperate for a lapdance, rather he just wanted some intimacy with someone, someone who couldn't express any judgement. This realisation led Paul to inviting John into the staff room, it wasn't completely unheard of for dancers to do this but it was mostly reserved for friends rather than customers, where the two of them would sit and chat over a drink or two.

It was policy to keep a bottle of alcohol in the staff room at all times, just in case of emergencies. But as the manager wouldn't allow anything to be taken from the bar, it meant an array of cheap and often obscure liqours being brought into the room.

"What have we got tonight?" John asked as they took seats by the mirror - luckily Paul was always here to distract John's gaze so he could avoid looking at himself.

Paul stuck his head under the countertop and returned clutching a bottle "Amaretto, it looks like." He read.

"That's barely alcohol." John scoffed as Paul set up two glasses in front of them "Well, at least I can drink it straight."

"Think we need to make a rule that if it's not at least 30% it shouldn't be under the counter." Paul suggested as he poured a healthy amount for the both of them.

John was already drunk enough, but he was never one to turn down free alcohol. They cheersed one another and drank a fair bit before slamming the glasses back down. There was nobody else in the room, as was often the case on a busy night like tonight. Before John had laid eyes on it, he'd expected the changing room to be some kind of kinky sex dungeon with whips and chains on the wall, so naturally he'd been very disappointed to see it was like any other changing room, except with a lot more glitter and a better smell.

"So, do you wanna talk about it?" Paul asked, looking at John through the reflection of the mirror.

Their chats almost always started this way, John had noticed that very early on. Whatever answer he gave, Paul would always respect it. He never understood why Paul just let him ramble on about his problems, or expect Paul to ramble on to distract him from said problems. In the end he supposed it was cheaper than therapy, he could only suppose since he'd never actually been.

"I'd love to, but I can't really. Ringo would kill me." John explained with a sullen look.

"I understand." Paul smiled softly "Whatever's happened I'm sure it'll be fine, you've been friends forever after all."

"For sure." John mumbled, and that was Paul's cue to begin the distractions.

"Tonight's been a right ballache, no pun intended." Paul began inspecting himself in the mirror "When I suggested it, everyone was all for it and now it's all 'Paul, my feet hurt' or 'Paul, this bra makes me look fat'."

"I think it was a great idea." John took another swig of his drink, his eyes were focused on Paul's reflection.

"Oh yeah? And how would you rate the illusion out of ten?" Paul smirked.

"Ten." John answered bluntly "If I was straight, I'd be having a right crisis after seeing you."

"It's a good thing you're not then." Paul rummaged around in a bag that was on the counter, eventually pulling out some mascara and touching up his makeup "I've just had the best idea."

"You'll never charge me for a dance again?" John suggested with a grin.

"You wish, love." Paul winked "No, what I actually had in mind was trying some of this makeup on your lovely face."

John paused "And why would you wanna do that?"

"It'll be fun! Don't you want to see what you'll look like properly done up? I bet you'd make a pretty girl." Paul urged, he was already laying out his makeup out.

"I've worn makeup before, Paul." John stated somewhat defensively.

"Eyeliner and tinted lipbalm doesn't count." Paul retorted, gesturing with the tube of mascara.

John sighed in resignation, scooting his chair a little closer to Paul's, who beamed in excitement. It was moments like this that made John want to question exactly what this dynamic was, he wanted to avoid the word relationship at all costs. On the one hand they saw one another every week or so, always dropped whatever they were doing to speak to the other and had spent hours of time doing nothing in particular besides chatting and laughing. Yet they'd never exchanged numbers, they didn't even know each other's last names and neither of them had explicitly expressed that they enjoyed spending time with one another. Sometimes John thought Paul did it merely to keep him as a loyal customer, and once he realised he wasn't going to be getting any money from him in the future he'd drop him in an instant. But here Paul was spending his only break trying to cheer John up, he didn't even need John to tell him that something was wrong, he just knew. Perhaps John had gotten so angry with Ringo because he'd been able to admit what John had never been able to. Perhaps.

The two of them continued talking and joking with one another as Paul delicately painted John's face. He'd almost finished John's second eye when his phone suddenly vibrated. John didn't need to check it to know it was Ringo, most likely apologising, and so he paid no notice to it. All of this would've blown over by the morning, he saw no point in dealing with it now.

"Aaaand done." Paul announced proudly, he leaned back in his chair to get a better look at his work and his smile only grew.

"This better not inflate my ego any further, I've already got enough issues because of that." John prefaced before he turned to look at himself in the mirror.

The sight absolutely stunned him. Naturally he had to move a little closer to the mirror so that he could get a proper look, a strip club was the last place he'd ever wear his glasses. Most interesting was how Paul had almost painted his own face onto John's, it was like looking at some strange feminine hybrid of the two of them. What John loved most was the eyes, how smoky and alluring Paul had made them.

"After all these years of people telling me to go fuck myself, I can safely say that I would." John turned his face from side to side to get a full view.

"You look gorgeous, John. But that's nothing new." Paul's eyes were filled with joy as he watched John's reaction.

"You're proper good at this, maybe when you get too old for stripping you could be a make up artist." John suggested jokingly which earned him a glare from Paul.

"The day I get too old for stripping is the day you earn a steady wage." Paul quipped back, the two of them began laughing before the door suddenly opened dramatically.

Behind the door was Stuart looking fairly alarmed, it was no surprise that he knew to find the two of them back here. He didn't even question why John was currently covered in makeup, it wasn't the strangest thing he'd caught them doing.

"Bloody fight's just broken out." Stuart explained as he walked into the room, Paul immediately rose up from his seat.

"What happened?" Paul asked desperately.

"I dunno. Two lads just started going at it, think Spike might've been involved." Stuart explained "They've both been kicked out now, it's all fine. Just thought you'd like to know."

"Nothing worse than missing a good fight." John added, he thought that Stuart had been speaking more to him than to Paul.

Just as Stuart opened his mouth to speak, the door opened again, and Spike walked in. He paused when confronted with the sight of everyone looking at him, as though they'd been expecting for him to show up.

"If you stare any longer I'll have to charge." Spike made his way over to his locker and began to change, he didn't seem phased by John being able to see him.

"What happened? Are you alright?" Paul walked over to him, inspecting his face and arms for any damage.

"I'm fine. Some prick just got a little too big for his boots and someone stepped in to help." Spike turned to look at John "It was your friend, actually."

"Not very bloody likely." John gaped "Are you sure?"

"Short guy with a beard. Wears a lot of rings." Spike detailed "That's him isn't it?"

"Shit." John sat back in his chair and let out a heavy sigh "Didn't think he'd go that mental."

"Someone's gonna have to cover my last dance cause I'm not going out there again tonight." Spike ignored John's words and focused on Paul and Stuart "I'm sick of these creeps, I tell you."

"I'll cover for you." Stuart responded almost immediately "Are you gonna be alright?"

"I can get you an Uber home." Paul chimed in, looking around for his phone.

"No, no, it's fine." Spike paused and took in a deep breath "I just need to get out of here."

He'd changed out of his previous outfit, it couldn't really be described as clothing, then headed back over to the door. With a quiet muttering of goodbye, he was gone. Stuart soon followed after him, he didn't tend to stick around too long when Paul and John were on their own. Paul sighed as he sunk back down in his seat, any time anything like this happened it always took a toll on him; it just brought up memories of all the times something similar had happened to him. Now wasn't the time to dwell, not when he was meant to be making John feel better, who was currently gazing off into space.

"Are you gonna go looking for him?" Paul asked, more of a suggestion than a mere question.

"Nah." John sighed, picking up his recently refilled glass "Sounds like he's in a right state, I'd probably only make him worse."

"You should text him at least, it'll make him feel better." Paul pressed his hand onto John's knee.

John paused "You're right." He breathed then pulled his phone from out of his pocket.

Ringo responded almost immediately which was a good sign, it meant he wasn't completely pissed off with John. As much as he knew Ringo wasn't going to take him up on his offer to head home with him if he'd been refused entry, he offered it all the same. All this was very much rehearsed, up until the next message Ringo sent. He was going out for drinks? With who? Wait.

"No fucking way." John almost gasped which alarmed Paul.

"What? What?" Paul leaned forward to try and get a view of the phone.

"He's going for drinks with Spike." A huge smile spread across John's face "Ringo, you bastard."

Paul didn't respond immediately, he took a moment to process exactly what John had revealed with those words and how in retrospect everything then made sense. Instead he picked up the rapidly emptying bottle and topped up their glasses.

"Good thing we've got our own drinks here." Paul said somewhat quietly, then picked up his glass to cheers with John once more.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be." John mocked, but both of them knew all to well that he wasn't joking, it was probably the most genuine thing he'd said all night.

[mithranqueersmusings]

soooooo i was wondering if you could write a short little mclennon mafia au where paul is the detective and he gets caught by the famous mob boss John and some gay stuff occurs

gay stuff?? thats my favourite kind of stuff! i feel like this got way too long but im just a sucker for violence (sue me)

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Paul slowly regained consciousness and he could taste the metallic flavour of blood in his mouth. There was a throbbing pain on the side of his head and when he opened his eyes to see there was nothing but darkness, he was wearing a blindfold. He tried to shake his hands to wake them up but he found them bound behind him and the panic began to set in. It was all coming back to him now in fragmented pieces: he had a lead on the location of John Lennon, the most wanted man in Liverpool, and stupidly he had gone alone. He'd been working on this case for years now and he was desperate to finally catch the guy so he decided to scope the place out as secretively as he could, but before he could even get a good look he was knocked out from behind. The room smelled damp and he could hear someone breathing on the other side of the room, he wondered where his gun was. Suddenly he heard footsteps of heeled boots and his blindfold was ripped off, revealing none other than the man he'd been hunting for the majority of his career. He had a basic idea what he looked like, brown hair and a Roman nose, but the only photographs had always been too blurry or too far away to get a really good idea, and he had to admit that he was surprised by how unthreatening he looked at first.

"Nice of you to join us McCartney." John lifted the blindfold off his head slowly then discarded it to somewhere in the room. Paul could get his bearings now but it didn't help much that he had no idea where he was, surely somewhere in the warehouse but even that wasn't certain. "And what exactly were you expecting to do here today? Something tells me you weren't just popping in to say hello." A smirk spread across his thin lips and it made Paul feel sick.

"We're gonna take you down, Lennon. You can do what you want with me but someone else will follow my lead, and they'll catch you." Paul struggled against the restraints but it was no use, it made John chuckle lowly.

"Whatever I want you say? Now, isn't that nice?" John took a step to the other side of Paul and bent down so their faces were level, he looked as though he was inspecting Paul's face. "I must say you're the prettiest detective they've ever sent after me." His breath was hot against Paul's bruised face and it made him shudder.

John pulled away and took a few paces across the room appearing to be deep in thought. Paul desperately looked around for anything that could help him get out of there but the room was entirely bare. What he thought was strange was that it was only the two of them in the room, John had no goons there to protect him, and Paul wondered if he'd be able to take him by himself. He fidgeted again in the chair, his wrists felt raw from the rope that was tightly tied around them and his shoulders were beginning to ache. Whenever he struggled John looked amused and Paul cursed himself for being so foolish and allowing himself to be at the mercy of such a lunatic. Blood was slowly filling up in his mouth, he didn't know where it was coming from, and he had to spit on the floor to get rid of it which drew a dramatic grasp from John.

"Now, now, now. That's not very polite. What do they teach you over at that police station?" He tutted and began rooting in his pocket which only made Paul struggle more.

John took a few strides towards Paul, placing his hand on the back of the chair and tilting it upwards so that Paul met his gaze; Paul felt panicked, his feet were tied to the legs of the chair and there was nothing he could do but be moved around by this other man. John flashed him a grin and quickly pulled out something from his pocket, and before Paul knew it there was a switchblade poking at the skin below his jaw. His breath stopped, the cold metal so close to piercing his sweaty skin. Was this the end? John saw the panic in Paul's and he seemed to feed off it, he ran the blade gently across the skin without drawing and blood and Paul feared the slightest twitch of the hand or the chair slipping from his grasp suddenly.

"You're even prettier when you're scared." John's voice grew low and he tightened his grip on the back of the chair "It's a shame I'm going to have to kill you, seems a waste of such a nice face."

Paul's eyes flicked up to meet John's, his pupils were massively dilated as he resisted thinking about how much John must have been enjoying this "Don't kill me then." Paul breathed out raggedly, his Adam's apple moving painfully against the tip of the knife.

"No? Maybe not... Maybe I could find another use for you." John practically purred as he lightly dug the knife into Paul's soft cheek, drawing trickles of blood pouring down the skin which made Paul hiss.

John quickly pulled away then and bent down on his knees, running his hand down Paul's clothed thigh. Paul wasn't sure what was worse, the threat of death or whatever this was. His breath was hitched and the taste of blood was becoming overwhelming, the pain in his head screaming for relief. John continued to move his hand down until he settled on the restraints on his ankles which he cut quickly without a word. Paul's eyes grew wide as he hesitantly shook both legs slowly to regain the feeling in them. John began to move behind him now, trailing his hand across his skin up to his shoulders and the second restraint was cut. Paul sighed at the feeling of relief but didn't dare to move, the knife was still dangerously close to him and he was certain he must've had his weapons stripped of him.

"Don't get any ideas now, McCartney." John still spoke in a low tone "Even if you somehow overpower me there's no way you're getting out of here without my say so." He moved in front of Paul again, the knife glistening in the low light of the room. "Do you understand?"

Paul nodded but when John squinted his eyes in disapproval he managed out a strained "Yes."

"Yes, what?" The smirk returned to John's face as he lowered himself onto his knees in front of Paul once more.

"Yes... Sir." Paul choked out, even with his hands and feet free he felt more trapped now than ever before with John's predatory eyes on him. The panic seemed to have shifted into a new territory now, and there was a small voice in Paul that wanted to admit that he was excited, that he liked it... Whatever was about to happen Paul didn't know and he certainly hadn't anticipated when he set out that night, but there was a part of him that wanted to go along with it, a part that needed to.