Chapter Text
Paul doesn’t remember enough of Julia. He only knows the warmth and nostalgia that is so prominent in his memories of her. Always was that troubled guilt that crowded his head, how much he envied John and Julia’s relationship, for how he longed for that passionate nature of reconciling with his own mother. Though he never will say it.
When he finds out Julia died, there’s this weird familiarity that he doesn’t know how to confront with the dramatic telling of Julia's death. He feels empathy at most, the same that swallowed his gut when Paul found out about his mothers death. The unsure settlement when he sees John’s crawled up body beneath him, choking up hard cries, felt anguish and torment. Anger sits beside him, Paul’s hands, unsure what to do.
John had come to his house. His body was shaky and looked vulnerable, overturned with shock. John had already hurried up to Paul’s room, as Paul shuffled to join him, quaint steps echoing through his head as he attempted to prepare himself for something he may never be ready for.
John’s body had already unfolded when he opened the slightly closed door, John tried to ready his rapid wheezing while tears plummeted down. Paul looked back, reluctant to barge in such an invasive scene as John tried to repress his emphasizing cries. Paul’s hand traveled towards John's clenched up body. A slight shock moves Paul forward at seeing John, so brittle and delicate, trembling violently. Paul’s eyes are awed in stiffness, body stricken as his hand stays still on John’s quivering body. “Sorry,” Paul whispers timidly.
John stops his heaves, his body crawling to the other spacious gap in the already cramped bed. Paul watches as his body crawls back and curls up drastically. John mumbles something, but his voice hovers with how much mucus his throat has built up. Paul doesn’t ask him to repeat. Paul hears John sniffling, with his breathing still coming shallow. Paul watches John in dismay. Paul tries to say more, the want to say more, but he's caught up in his saliva, his eyes itching. John’s body doesn’t move an inch, but Paul can manage to hear the subtle slow gasps of air John lets out.
“I’m sorry,” Paul still manages to muster up, but he sees his eyes begin to turn hazy and blurred, tears streaking down his face. “Shit,” He tries to stop the tears peeking out of his eyes, but it comes to be everlasting. “God, sorry, I,” Paul hacks up a gasp, and his breathing shortens, and he tries to regulate but it still comes unsteady and worrisome. Paul’s stomach convulses involuntarily as he tries to vanquish his chilling gulps for air. Sliding his hand to his wet face to his hair, trying to control the unsteady rhythm of his breath.
John's head rises up, as Paul cocks his head elsewhere. “Sorry, god, sorry,” Paul insists madly, but his voice stumbles as each apology is swallowed by his cries, glancing down in mortification. His hands pushing the cries back till he sees clouded mixtures of dull colors. John’s voice, so faint, not sure if Paul even heard it. Paul feels a sudden hand caressing him, and then, the clenching embrace of burly arms holds him in place.
“What are you doing?” He asks John, his voice, quaint, cracked as a chipped throbbing tooth, his eyes wet, blurry. He tries to run from the thoughtful clinging on his grasp, but John's grip hardens more, never daring to weaken. Paul asks the same again, voice now breaking more. His tears forgiving him and making it harder to resonate with himself. He hides himself in John’s arm, crying hard, muffled between John’s shoulders. Paul tells him, begs him to stop, to let go. He fights the strength of John’s biceps wrapped around him, scratching and scrambling to be let go.
John comforts him with his voice near the same as Paul’s, still managing his composure, he says, deepening through the futile trench in his body, “It’s okay,” and it hovers over his weeping soul, widening in shock as his body gives in, and he cries bloody mary, his breathing going heavy as he shouts his cries. John pets his hair, Paul's body hardily tensing. He feels embarrassed to cry such an unwarranted amount, as cries seem out so easily, his cries come so unforgiving, so selfish.
He tries to joke, “y’know, never cried this much when my mother died, isn’t that a laugh?” He says, weaker than he wanted it to be.
“It’s okay,”
“D..Don’t say it,”
“‘S okay,”
Paul looks up to John eyes welled in tears, Paul hisses as his eyes swell as well. “Stop saying that,” he tries to tell him, trying to put on a stern voice, but John simply moves to continue to stroke Paul’s raven hair, twirling the precious black locks as he whispers words Paul can’t make out.
He shuns himself, for how John’s supposed to cry. Paul shouldn’t need to be crying, but Paul tears up in his arms, feeling small and insolent. He rambles, “I forget what my mom looks like, sometimes, y’know, it’s, we don’t have many pictures of her y’know, and when I find her in them,” He chokes, “I remember–how,” His voice is shaky as he tries to punctuate every word aloud, “how her-face,” His voice gets devoured by tireless pants, and he doesn’t get to finish what he wanted to start when his cries get more louder and pathetic. John makes no noise, his body still as Paul’s body clenches up in a hastened rate, breathing in an unsettling rhythm. “I’m sorry,” Paul says again, with all the trying remorse he has. John soothes Paul’s back, fondling him in sensualizing rotations, but John remains quiet, undefined.
“I only ever cried about her for a day,” He says under his breath, ashamed in all his body believes in, and seizes John closer, letting his wet face rub more in his rough endearing leather jacket, wishing maybe John hadn’t hear, so he doesn’t feel the harsh still shock that Paul will bound to feel all around him. But John doesn’t tense up, instead, he clutches Paul further, as Paul hears a timid, meek, rasp of air, and he forces himself out of John’s embrace. John’s sunken look, looking away from Paul’s glare. John’s face, toughening to constrain itself. Paul pities John, he pities John’s face, pities his life. Paul holds John’s face, caresses his wet cheek, and lets his fingers linger there. “I’m sorry,” John finally says, his voice barely felt around Paul like the touch of a light feather.
A tear meets with one of Paul’s fingers, and he sees John lay down a surge of tears, his eyebrows contorted, his eyes clenched tightly, not willing to open. Paul moves closer, and he aligns his angle, meeting eye to John’s closed with John’s pained look. He moves a gentle finger up to John’s shut eye, as his mouth moves as well. Paul stills, before a dazed bold urge rushes to his head, and he pecks John’s eyelid. Stunned, Paul watches as John flutters his eyes, a desperate longing look, before John crowds himself closer to Paul’s twisted mouth, and kisses him gently back on Paul’s silent lips.
Paul stops, his lip burning, body whisking away with warmth. His head no longer in his will, he kisses John back, longer and inviting, one upping him. John softly moans in his mouth, making his body strain as he feels John’s dry lips, the same lips Paul watches as he gulps down a beer, lips that pucker up as he smokes. Paul bolts in shock, ashamed of the revelation, he backs away. John's eyes, stiffen in the same depraved position when he kissed Paul.
“Was that okay?” Paul asks, looking at John with still worried eyes.
John meekly nods.
“Is this okay?” He asks again, as Paul progressively reunites their lips together, and John gasps a shallow ‘yes’ as he tightens the heated embrace around them. Their bodies, stuck as they bite on each other's lips. John hurls out a soft startled gasp when Paul pins John to the bed, pinning John’s arms up as he whisks John away with his frenzied craving desire. He watches as John squirms with no little to do much, and Paul finds the tight, strained, jolt that lights beneath his abdomen. John’s eyes smolder as he sees how close he is to John, Paul sees John’s flushed pimpled face, and Paul has no other words but near endearment, but the mirroring resentment still strains inside, but he lets it melt and make disperse, till it’s so very far away.
Their bodies flush as they move for ravaging dominance, Paul pressing onto John and scratching at his waist as he hurries his kissing, nibbling the skin there as he watches how John huffs. He wants to foster so much but cause so little. He pecks at John’s skin, innocent kisses that manifest all over John’s neck. Murmurs of pent up groans, hiccups of rich gasps that churn like butter, low and humming that clasps onto Paul. Paul watches as John’s sticking to him with suppressive want, enrapturing him, the pressure beneath him as he wallows in just John’s body.
The feeling wrapping around him is unbearable, but it isn’t sufficient, and Paul pivots around for John to press his weight against him, and Paul chokes up, baffled, how neat the precious weight is down right suffocating that is blissful. Tears dashing down and Paul realizes he’s crying again. Paul holds onto John, fragile, clawing onto John’s back like a pathetic baby with his mother, and resting his head on John’s stench of musky sad fragile ego, and Paul drinks in the scent and cries softly. John knows he hears his cries, but he stays and breathes calmly, tenderly swirling the hairs on his head. Paul could whimper at the firm gentle pressure that just is John that’s smothering him. He shouts harder, the proximity in John’s neck getting humid and shortening his breath, but Paul refuses to leave from this.
Paul wails where no one can hear but John. John holds onto him and simply the tidal waves of his breath allows Paul to be put in ease. John’s nose cradling his cheek, Paul feeling John’s humid breath all over his face. It’s wonderful. They fit together in such a tight fitting little space that Paul can only flutter in how much he enjoys this. He clings firmly, Paul’s cries lessening as trying to avoid the snot running down, sniffling roughly.
“John, John..” Paul abruptly sings, giggling after basking in the quiet serenity.
“Pauuul,” Paul hears with the same sing-song tacky crooning voice, as John lifts up and fondles Paul’s cheek. John’s voice, light and smooth like the beautiful calm water. Paul moves to let his arms branch out and nestle upon the side of his back.
They move slightly, their faces wanting to brush against each other. “Never leave me, Paul, I swear.” John says, hushed and stirring in his paranoia. John’s head still laid upon Paul’s neck. Paul nods, and he lifts up so Paul’s face reaches out to press onto John’s lip. He kisses him, and the novel feeling of John’s lips more prominent than the last frantic messy kisses. How sturdy this moment of a real, moved kiss, one carries.
“I won’t, ever.” Paul murmurs in his mouth. Kissing him with assurance, more and more to deepen the meaning of his words, meaning every of it. John, holding onto Paul, so he can never deny Paul’s admission ever. John is still whispering and saying never ever to leave him, and Paul swears with each deep press into his lips, the kiss lingering more than the last.
As he lays while John softly snores after their amorous period of necking, Paul can’t help but grin in profuse joy. He moves to cling onto and press on John’s body. Taking in the scent of John’s homey smell, Paul can’t find a place he doesn’t love more. He closes his eyes, smiling unabashedly as he dreams about John, his warming eyes smearing through Paul’s eyes. Paul finally surrenders into drowsiness. Paul’s rosy lips still aflame.