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“Johnny baby,” Paul called, lithe and stretched across the bed, covers ruffled, a mess amongst the curves and folds of unfamiliar sheets. The cigarettes hung loose between her lips, almost daring to fall out and set the bed alight, gently puffing, ash falling in a little heap by her loose curls. Her hair long but freshly cut, messy fringe falling across a pale forehead.
She was only in an undershirt, bra forgone, the frilly little thing her Da made her wear at home entirely left behind. This was Paris, this was a sweet release from real life. John could let herself stare here, sunglasses carefully covering her heavy gaze, but Paul wouldn’t mind even if it was blatant. Her jeans tight, button up loose, they were supposed to be going out tonight, even if Paul seemed to forget the fact. Cool light breeze filtered in through the open window, they were both pleasantly buzzed.
“Alright Macca?” John replied, swinging her heel over her knee and leaning back in her chair, exhaling the smoke to the ceiling and watching it swirl. “What you got worrying that pretty head of yours?” The sun was still in the sky, though low and beginning to settle down to sleep, they’d been out today already, parading about and exploring.
“Do we have to go out?” It was proper English, Paulie was pouting, pushing herself up on her elbows, hair falling down luscious down her shoulders and curling around her collarbones, dark against pale skin, the small peaks of her chest forming perfectly as she sat up. So charming, so adoringly made to be held, played with, to make Paul squirm under the feeling of it. John’s eyes couldn’t help but stare. “Can’t be arsed, really, French gets a bit tiresome, doesn’t it?” Paul argued, cigarette in danger of falling from her lips. Knowing John was pretty set on the idea.
John smiled at her, knowing she couldn’t watch where her eyes wandered as they drifted over her body, all the exposed skin, all the beauty of her so often covered up. Only on display for glimpses and moments as they changed in partially darkened rooms. John had all the time in the world now, though they were only meant to be there a week, not even here, Spain, but they’d never made it to Spain, had they? No, dear sweet Paulie decided to use all their ready money on her milkshakes, and John couldn’t help but oblige her addiction. She looked so sweet drinking them up, so sweet when she smiled at John that way, saying thanks with her eyes.
Her voice was low and smooth as she asked, “Come now, you don’t find the lad’s appealing enough, no French fella caught your eye?” It was teasing, intended to rile her up. It worked, Paul shivered from where she sat, one graceful hand moving fluidly up to her lips and taking the fag out, ashing it blindly against the wooden side table.
“You know I don’t speak French like you do Johnny, hard to chat with a lad when you have no idea what he’s on about,” She whined, before flopping back on the bed, pushing one knee up, the other flopping hopelessly off the side of the bed, legs taut against the fabric of the jeans, exposing every nook and cranny of her figure. John felt achingly proud of the fact she’d been the one to convince Paul of the look, to convince Paul she should show it off. Not hide behind those frumpy skirts, to let herself be desired openly and freely.
“Poor darling Paulie,” John crooned, pushing herself up from the chair, walking over to the side of the bed, watching Paul tilt her head up to look into her eyes, mouth parted slightly, lips beautifully pink.
John was learning to deal with the haircut too, hers significantly shorter than Paul’s, falling against her forehead, curling about her ears. Paul who had complained about the idea of her Da yelling once they’d made their way back home. About John being banned from her house for being a bad influence, again. If only he knew the way John was looking at her daughter now, that it wasn’t just the lads looking at his little girl. John reached down and grabbed Paul’s chin, tilting her head up even further and eliciting a sweet little hum, making her neck look endlessly ravishing.
This was Paris, anything could happen in Paris, city of love as much as it was the city of debauchery. They’d both seen it in glimpses and snippets, bodies pressed together in back alleys, lads in skirts and lasses with tightly cropped hair and their arms around others lasses. There was something about here that made it all feel easier, all those times she’d glimpsed Paul changing, the curve of her hips so easy to reach for, perfect in the moonlight. All those times Paul had been sweating, hair plastered to her forehead, eyes low and hooded and dark circles blackened against her eyes, crooning into the microphone, and she was the only thing John could see clearly. The only real thing in the room.
She had wanted Paul from almost the second they’d met, when the girl had switched the hold of the guitar, when she’d told John hers was tuned wrong. Arrogance, confidence, but a certain teasing sheepishness about her. The way she’d bite her lip, as if giving you the benefit of the doubt while still mocking you. John knew then she’d have all the lads in Liverpool at her feet, she’d only been proven right of course.
But Paul was all hers now, for today, for the last week actually, and tomorrow too. Following her around, demanding things, and John had taken good care of her in return. She’d been a little prickly today, seemed that was smoothed over again now.
“Left me last night, with that bloke, touchin’ you and dancing with you, thought I was goin’ home alone,” Paul said, her voice low, her frown deepened, John’s hand flattened to cup her face and Paul tilted her head into it, cheek squishing against her. “Didn’t want to be alone. Don’t want you leavin’ me,” She said, her eyes going straight through John.
“You’ll never shag anyone with that mindset, can’t exactly both approach them, can we?” John said, voice lighter than she felt, the pit in her stomach growing hungrier and hungrier, she wanted to swing her leg over, straddle Paul, pull her to her lips.
“Can too, heard other girls do, you know, same time, some lads like it,” Paul explained, sounding awfully proud of herself as much as her cheeks burned with shame.
John laughed, “What happened to innocent Macca who refused to so much as wear too much lipstick lest she get in trouble,” She said, and Paul’s frown deepened, “Pretty certain that was just prossies Paul, and we’re not prossies, are we?”
Paul huffed, seemingly giving in to reason, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. John’s hand began to pull away before she hooked her finger in the waistband of John’s pants, pulling her closer before she could step away from the bed again, “Even if you find the fittest lad in Paris, you won’t go home with anyone but me, if we do go out,” Paul said, firm and determined, “Promise.”
“We’re not bloody six years old, promising and all that,” John’s brow furrowed, but Paul’s fingers dancing across her sensitive skin was a powerful drug, she made a slight sound, and God she was such a delight for John’s eyes, “Fine, fine, stop your complaining you miserable sod, I won’t go anywhere, promise,” John said with a sigh, sitting on the very edge of the bed, hand falling away from Paul.
Paul smiled, entirely too pleased with herself, “Pinky promise?” She said with a slight laugh.
“Don’t push your luck,” John replied lightly, pulling the sunglasses off her eyes and pushing her fingers through her hair, looking down at Paul’s smug expression, “How’s about you give us a kiss? Seal it properly and the like,” John said, grin wide.
Paul scrunched her face up for a moment, then seemed to loosen up, pushing herself upright, suddenly so close to John, perfume hitting her senses like a brick to the face. Girlish, heavy, addictively Paul-like, it made the room smell like her own back home. The heady scent she always wore mixed with her natural one, never too much, always making John’s heart beat a thousand times a minute, hot and heavy. It lingered when Paul slept at hers, seeping into the pillows, the clothes she would borrow and John would shamefully smell when dutifully returned, remembering her body sprawled only a few feet from her. Fuck it had been hard not to wank while Paul was here, not that she’d mind, they’d done it before, to the guise of thinking about Elvis or Marlon Brando. Even when Johnny would think of Bardot instead, or the girl only an arms reach away, panting and desperate.
John thought she was going to be slapped initially, joking, of course, Paul didn’t care about all that queer stuff usually. Always a laugh, wasn’t like they were lads, it wasn’t serious, a joke. The way John would wear a jacket made for lads, Paul would put on a shirt and tie, fitting oddly over her tits. They’d smoke and drink and perform in jeans and stay out late. They’d make a show of masculinity that’d tick Mimi off, or Jim, but it was all games. Wasn’t like when a lad made a game of it, they weren’t taken seriously, even if it didn’t feel like a joke. This certainly felt serious, the breath light against her lips, but heavy with cigarette smoke.
It took a few seconds for John to realise what Paul was working herself up for, the way her eyes fell to John’s lips, heat pooled heavy inside her, body sluggish with desire and the heat of liquor. Then, Paul pressed forward, capturing John’s lips, so soft sweet and unsure of herself. She’d seen Paul kiss, she knew that she was anything but unprepared for this, but John understood her chasteness all the same. It was John who moved, hand sliding naturally to curl around Paul’s waist, sliding up underneath that slight see-through thing they were calling an undershirt, spreading out across warm skin.
Paul made this slight little sound against her lips, beginning to move properly, as she would with any lad, hands against John’s hips, the angle awkward and unfulfilling and yet everything John had ever wanted. John opened her mouth, tongue pressing for entry which Paul granted gladly with a slight shudder of divine delight, it took on a tinge of the desperation that lay thinly veiled underneath, moving quicker, hands searching and exploring skin previously off limits, fingernails digging into unmarked flesh.
It was John who pulled back first, breathing heavily, wet and needy, thighs pressed tightly together as she took in the sight of Paul, flushed and still tinged with embarrassment. “That’s one hell of a promise Paulie, don’t reckon we need to go out at all if you keep at that,” Her voice was low, raspy.
“Oh, aye?” Paul said, a little dazed, eyes unfocused, deep pools of desire. “And what are we doing instead, baby?” Paul asked, leaning forward, breath tickling John’s skin, holding John still she pushed herself up, settling after an awkward little shuffle on top of John’s thighs, bracketing them warmly. Weight settling pleasantly over her. Her head was in a daze, foggy and unfamiliar, as if it were all something she’d dreamed up. Paul looked like a dream, except much better than any dream she could have.
John let her hand trail down, grasping at the other woman’s ass through her jeans and making Paul squeak, “Reckon you know pretty well,” John told her, kissing her again, light but firm, feeling the plush of her lips sensitive against hers. “Darling little tease, aren’t you love?” She pulled Paul further against her, jeans allowing for little give, not enough friction between them.
Paul wiggled in her lap, head dropping down and sighing against her neck, pressing a soft kiss to the side of it, “You’ve got me all worked up, don’t know what it is about it, I’m going mad here,” John could sympathise with that, whatever restraint and self-control she’d possessed back in Liverpool had slipped away into nothingness in Paris. At least it seemed they were on the same page.
“Oh I’ve got you worked up, have I?” John’s voice was heavy with sarcasm, her hands coming up to cup Paul’s chest over her shirt, “Not you, with your pretty little tits laying there and biting your lip and all that toss, it’s a wonder you haven’t been swept up,” Her thumb brushed over her nipple, pink and had beneath the see-through garment, satisfying to hold.
Paul made a small sound of disagreement. “You have your tits out all the time,” She whined, flushed and breathing heavily.
“Mine aren’t as pretty as yours baby,” John said, continuing to play with them and making Paul squirm on her lap, eventually she grasped the edge of the flimsy and useless shirt and begun tugging it over Paul’s head, and Paul’s arms went willingly letting John remove it. She sat there for a moment, flush extending down her neck and sitting pretty against her pale skin, exposed but self-assured, submitting herself to John’s heavy gaze. “It’s a good thing you’re so close, can appreciate you properly,”
“Could always put your specs on you know, would make it easier. Besides, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” Paul leaned forward, pressing sweet kisses up the side of John’s neck before attaching herself there to form a mark, defining her territory, a claim that she had been there, she had been John’s.
John scolded, into Paul’s hair, “Ah, but before it was all look no touch, wasn’t it? You’re a proper tease, Paulie.” She said, fingers trailing lightly across Paul’s skin.
In fairness to Paul, anytime they’d changed it was usually in a state of pure drunkenness, moving half blind in the dark. But John could admit freely that even then, heavily inebriated and liable to pass out at any second, her eyes were always drawn to Paul as she pulled shirts over her head and unclasped bras, slithered haphazardly out of too tight jeans, almost tripping over in the effort to remove them. John would look, and look and take and take and want her oh so much. Hungry to touch.
“Says you, taking me out here to fuckin’ Paris,” She says the world like it contains everything she could possibly mean to say within it, and John gets it, she does. Paris is everything, Paris is them alone, is them holding hands in the dark, lying together in bed, drinking wine and having no one but each other, the only ones who speak English the same way as each other, the only ones who understand each other, who finish each others lyrics and chords, who finish each others thoughts.
“We’ve got to get you out of these,” John said, releasing Paul’s tits for a moment only to return to her ass, Paul gave a light sigh against her throat as John pushed her back against the bed, “Sorry to disturb you love,”
Paul let John take care of her, undoing the buttons and hooking her fingers in and underneath the underwear that also lay there, and then, she looked up and began to push her pants them down past her thighs, gentle and smooth taking her time to cherish Paul’s legs as they were revealed. They often were out, in short skirts, but never in their entirety like this, shaved and smooth, John’s own hadn’t been shaved in weeks, gotten lazy with it. She understood the appeal as much as she would’ve loved if Paul hadn’t, being able to feel her fully, the press of skin beneath fingertips. She was extremely grateful to see that Paul hadn’t decided to shave everything, as she shucked off the pants and crawled back over her, hand drifting towards Paul’s cunt before Paul cut her off with a hand to the wrist.
“You too,” She begged, and when John only blinked, she frowned, “please John,” her voice was pleading as she reached up to unbutton John’s shirt,
Oh, her too, yes, that made sense. “Yes Ma’am,” John gave a mock salute that Paul grinned at before batting Paul’s ineffectual hands away and began opening her shirt, exposing the bra she wore underneath as Paul watched with unconcealed desire. “Riled up, are we?”
“Already said that, hurry up,” Paul said, legs drifting apart slightly, revealing her cunt, slick already, it made John’s mouth dry.
“Oh eager and demanding, I like that in a girl,” John said, standing up to slide the jeans off her, almost falling over in her eagerness to get the blasted things off, bracing herself against the bed, tits dangerously close to Paul’s.
“Fucking hell John,” Paul reached around to undo her bra, having multiple men try and fail to do so it was jarring, and Paul led John into letting it slip off her body easily, “There you go,” She said, with a smile and everything, pleased as peaches. John felt crazy as Paul pulled her back in and on top of her, gingerly perched above before Paul’s hands slid to her hips and pull her down with a slight groan.
“How long you been thinking about this then?” John bit her lip and stifled a sigh as Paul’s hands continued their exploration, knees slightly bent to keep John where she was, cupping her boobs, at her waist, her hips, wider than Paul’s, stomach slightly rounder, it seemed to delight Paul.
Paul smiled, hand drifting lower till two of her fingers pressed against John’s cunt, “How long have you been watching me get changed? I only picked it up about a year ago,” She asked, the tease.
“Fuck off,” John hissed, there was no heat behind it, only the sudden shift in sensation and accusation hitting at the same time.
Paul slid her fingers further down, in between John’s folds, moving in slow deliberate circles in the wetness she found there, dragging back and forth just to play, “I’ve been watching you too, not my fault you’re an unobservant twat,” She said, voice light and hardly bothered, and that wasn’t fair, was it?
“Our Paulie’s a dyke then?” John asked, head falling forward against Paul’s shoulder as Paul moved against her.
Paul had the audacity to laugh, the minx, “Aye, she is, and what does that make you?” It was a fair argument, one John had no desire to fight against. She was happy to be a dyke if it meant she could have Paul like this.
“Touché, darling,” John said, breathily, and Paul laughed again, hair falling over her shoulders and sticking to her forehead with the sweat of exertion. She laughed, like a complete prick, before leaning down to kiss her, craving her, her taste, her lips, every inch of her.
John moaned into Paul’s lips as her long clever fingers managed to work her clit while sliding back into that tight heat inside her. Teasing at her entrance, before two slid inside, curling gently upwards until John bucked against her hand with a gasp, breaking away from their kiss. Her other hand playing with one of John’s tits, kneading them, making her entirely overwhelmed, temporarily unable to do anything than thrust again Paul’s talented fingers as heat pooled inside of her, all consuming and heavy.
She tightened around her, cunt fluttering ineffectually as more and more pleasure was squeezed out of her by Paul, all by Paul, Paul who had completely and utterly overtaken their little game with that hazy slight smile showing off her bunny teeth and the flush that overtook her face. Their tits were pressed together now, brushing against each other pleasantly. Paul was much too composed, John could hardly stand it as much as she couldn’t stand to do anything else but take what Paul was offering, only trying desperately to watch the other girl, the concentration on her face, the way she’d tilt her hips up, giving up her own need.
“You’re a vision Johnny, fucked if I ever let another lad have you, fuckin’ gorgeous,” The words spilled easily from Paul’s lips, her eyes heavy on John’s body, drinking her in. It felt like a fog of desire had fallen over the both of them, a sweet sort of madness. John was addicted now, better than she’d ever had before, Paul more beautiful, better at everything, moving in just the right way, she’d bloody let Paul take her away from men forever. “They made you for me, or me for you, you’re so perfect,”
“Shit, Paul,” John whined into her neck, spasming around Paul helplessly as she slid another finger inside her, clenching down and arching to feel her even deeper inside, curling and feeling that spark of pleasure within. “Not going to last, with you like this, so fucking- ah, christ,” She gave a cut off cry, biting her lip.
Paul was breathing heavily against her, hand working faster, her face pinched with concentration, adorable and painfully attractive in one, “That’s the plan love,” She said, pressing a kiss to John’s neck, sucking lightly on the pressure point, making John squirm hopelessly. It was building quickly now, John couldn’t help it even if she wanted to, moving desperately against Paul’s hand, clenching down as the feeling built, like a glass about to be overfilled,
It tipped over, John came with a quiet gasp, fluttering around Paul’s fingers moving inside her and circling her clit, soaking them both, Paul moved for a few moments more as John continued to move slowly against her chasing that high, prolonging as long as possible. When Paul pulled out John let out a quiet sound of mourning, Paul’s hand moving to the outside of her thigh, wet and stained with John.
“Really don’t think you need to worry about me goin’ out now,” John told her, breathless, words coming out a little jumbled and messy. Paul’s eyes were out of focus, but she smiled all the same as the words registered, leaning up to kiss John again. She hummed into the kiss, they’d learned each other even in this short period of time, moving together all natural, as if they’d been doing this for years and it was just as good every single time. “Let me do you too, must be maddening for you,” John whispered as she pulled away.
John began to climb off Paul and back on the bed, Paul’s legs were tightly together, “Johnny I could’ve gotten off squeezing my legs together with you looking like that,” Paul said, even as John’s hands slid up the back of her smooth calf, splitting her open and revealing her cunt, and fuck John could smell her arousal, even beyond all that perfume, something latent and so powerfully Paul, delicious.
“Stop the flattery, I’m trying to eat you out, have a job to do,” John muttered, now zeroed in with single minded focus, unwilling to let Paul’s lovely voice distract her. She pressed a kiss to Paul’s inner thigh, delighting in the sheer warmth of it, almost hot to the touch, then she trailed her kisses up, hearing Paul’s hands clench in the sheets and her attempts to smooth out her flurried breathing.
“John,” Her name was said like a prayer as John pressed a kiss to Paul’s folds, wet and glistening with her desire, she licked a stripe up, opening her up, finding her clit with her tongue, slow and deliberate, all that fog disappearing as she took in the scent of Paul, the taste of her, the feel of her thighs as they tried so hard not to clasp around her.
Her fingers buried in the meat of Paul’s thighs she explored her, tongue dancing around where she knew Paul was most sensitive, delighting in the sounds she made above her, the way her face was wet from Paul, all from Paul. Her own satisfaction still buzzing within her.
She moved lower then, nose still buried in her cunt but tongue playing with her entrance, feeling it quiver under her movements. Then, after the teasing she began to move properly, Paul was already far gone, she hadn’t been lying when she said she could’ve come from pleasuring John alone, the way she gasped, the feel of her legs, the way her hips thrust up to meet John’s face. It wouldn’t be going on as long as John wanted it to, she could spend all day worshiping Paul this way. Sucking her clit as Paul gasped and squirmed beneath her tongue.
It was too soon that Paul’s legs suddenly clenched harder around her head, hips thrusting up into her, John’s tongue buried in her folds, “John, John,” She chanted breathlessly as John continued to eat her out, feeling as Paul fluttered around her, “So good, perfect,” Paul said, hand that was in the sheets moving to play with John’s hair, carding through it like she was a well trained animal. John lazily licked at Paul for a while, enjoying those little overstimulated sounds, before pulling back and resting her cheek on Paul’s thigh and taking the opportunity to look up at the woman.
Paul was a right mess, a stunning mess, but a mess all the same, it made the ache in her gut return with full force at the sight, the red lips, red face, hooded dark eyes and those long long lashes fanning out to stare at her adoringly. Hair against her head all askew, chest rising and falling heavily making her tits move with it, John could swallow her whole.
How had this taken them so long? John could do this every day for ever and never get tired of it, the sight of Paul, the feeling of Paul, everything with Paul. Fuck the music, fuck the idea of fame, all she needed was Paul. She understood Paul’s complaints better now, no man deserved to have her, not like this, didn’t deserve to have her gaze thrown their way.
“Come up here baby,” Paul said, light and loving, and John went as if under a trance, pushing herself upright so their bodies were flush together, letting Paul press another kiss to her lips, “Do you reckon we could stay in Paris forever?” Paul mumbled against her lips.
John smiled, half laughed against her, eyes closing, feeling the warmth radiating from Paul, the touch of their skin together, taking it all in, “We can fuckin’ try,” She drawled out, “And hell if we don’t manage it, I’ll be taking you back at the next possible moment,” she trailed her fingers up Paul’s skin, taking in all her curves.
“I’m holding you to that love,” Paul told her, cheek to cheek, as close as they could possibly get, breathing her in.
John huffed, “You and your bloody promises, tosser,”
“Your tosser,” Paul said, half dreamily, half teasing, it made John laugh.
“You’re hopeless, and soft, and all that rot.” John listed as Paul only laughed against her skin, “Now, pass us a smoke would you love?” She said, tilting her head up, suggestive and teasing, feeling Paul’s eyes almost physically against her skin, adoring.
“Course Johnny baby,” And like a good girl, Paul reached back for the smokes all porcelain lines and exquisite curves, the likes any artist would be hideously jealous of. It was a sight only meant for her eyes, no performance, only Paul, languid, fucked out and painfully graceful.
John looked, and looked and looked, and adored her.