Hey I uh,,, really really want to apologize for this beforehand
Please enjoy this
Helter fucking Skelter
John Lennon x Paul (implied)
Word count: 2,406
Requested
————
It had started out with a stupid earworm, caught on the same damn song over and over and over again no matter how hard he tried to push it out of his fucking head. He tried to go about his day despite the fact. He tried to work in the studio, answer some fan mail, even use the fucking bathroom and he couldn’t manage it without hearing his voice when he least expected it, or wanted it for that matter. It pissed him off more than he wanted to admit, and that was saying something considering he had been pretty vocal about it when the band had first split. They had been broken up for a few years now and John could begrudgingly admit that he wasn’t the bigger person about it.. though never to another soul. When Yoko asked him anything about the band- about the others, he just told her that it was in the past and that he was the bigger person about it. That was usually enough to get her off the topic, enough to get the media off of it as well. While John had kept his fucking mouth shut, Paul was the one going to interviews and still bringing up the fucking band at what seemed like every possible moment. Paul was the one playing their songs at his concerts. Paul was the one that kept saying that the Beatles had made the golden age what it was when that just wasn’t true. Paul was the one lying to himself not John. John had put it behind him.. he said he had at the very least, which was more than Paul could say.. but when he was alone, when yoko had fucked off to do her own things and his son was with his mother, his jealous side really came out- especially now that he had that fuckers voice stuck in his goddamn head! It was maddening. Paul McCartney didn’t deserve to be on his mind. Ever. Especially not like this. Not any more.
Helter Fucking Skelter.
That goddamn fucking song. He could hear the rift every now and then, he’d catch himself muttering the words over and over again and now while he was alone he was doing it still, imagining his counterpart leaning into the mic as he sang the words. He remembered that Paul had tried so hard to use that song as an attempt to break out of the ballad style everyone was accusing them of falling into. He had insisted that they had to be better than The Who, be louder, out do them… and the rest of the band had agreed. When John had read the lyrics for the first time he had been a bit impressed. It was absolutely horny in a way he hadn't expected from Paul of all people. Paul had swayed, rocked, played his heart out when they first unveiled it to the public, and then did every damn thing he could to get people to love it like he did. It was dirty, it was vulgar, the lyrics were enough to make a nun blush and the noise was loud enough to wash out the loudest preacher when they really played, and some people had enjoyed it, they really had.. until that fucker Charles Manson has gone and made his cult off a bunch of people. John had never really listened to helter skelter before.. it was just noise to him. Sure he knew the words and the notes, how to play his part and get the crowd going.. but he was pretty sure that the lyrics didn’t exactly have a way to interpret them as “hey go fucking knife someone and start a race war.”.. that bloke was mad, and since then most people had opted to forget about helter skelter.. until now.
He poured himself a drink before he went into one of the back rooms. The dust picking up and escaping through the door as he flicked on the light and stepped inside. He had always liked records, always liked collecting them.. he wasn’t as avid a collector as Paul was, that was for sure, but he did have a few off to the side that he had gone out of his way to get.. then there was this room. He had records- 35 in this room that had that green apple and The Beatles name, not to mention the golden ones and the awards as well that he stored in here. His old guitar, memorabilia, documents, pictures- you name it, John probably had it in that room.
“Helter Skelter...Helter.. Skelter.. You may be a lover, but you ain’t no- God Fucking Damn it.” He caught himself doing it again, hissing softly in utter annoyance as he shook his head. He moved towards the albums, looking through them until he found the white album. He wasn’t really certain if it was in that one after all the years he had tried to repress all memory of the band and had to flip it over to be sure. Sure enough, on the back it was there, that damn song.
He looked around, feeling as if what he was doing was somehow wrong as he slipped it out of its sleeve and placed it on the turntable at the center of the mess. It spun for a while, no sound leaving it as he tried to decide if this was the best idea, to let himself sink into “BeatleMania” as the fans had called it. Did he want to think about him?.. as he moved towards the door he thought he had known his answer. Then he had suddenly been locking the door and turning back to sit on a dusty couch as the needle touched down right where he wanted it. There was the rift, then his voice- just as energetic as it had been when they had released it. Loud, happy, excited, and a little sexy, he supposed. That had been what they were going for, after all. What Paul had wanted.
John sat through it a few times, laughing at Ringo right there at the very end before getting up and resetting it to play again, sipping on his whiskey as Paul sang to him about going over the edge. He found himself remembering nights after concerts. He remembered fights, he and Paul going to the others room and ending up in arguments that turned into fucking. He denied everything. His feelings, the incidents ever even happening, and everything in between. To the public they were once best mates.. but John and Paul both knew what had happened in those hotel rooms when they had got too heated to use words. John used to pin him down by the wrists and grind into him to distract him. Paul always used to talk big shit, act like he was a big strong man, but in reality it only took a few boldly spoken words from John to put him in his place. He missed that, fucking with Paul like that. Things had changed, not in ways that he liked. They didn’t talk anymore.. not since yoko had come into the picture. Yoko said it was for the best, and John agreed… but he still found himself in the back room thinking about his band mate in a way he hadn’t in years.
It had been nothing but hate for a very long time. He had hated Paul McCartney with everything in him, refusing to feel anything else.. and even now he could feel that resentment bubbling up.. but for the first time in a long time it was mixed with something else as he took in the lyrics for the first time.
“Do, don't you want me to love you
I'm coming down fast but I'm miles above you”
It hit him then that some part of him wanted that song to have been about him. He wanted Paul to have taken the time to write a raunchy song about the two of them fucking in those hotels. Looking at it now, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.. how he felt knowing that he had felt that way about Paul… that he still did..that he still wanted it to be about him. Then again.. who was he to say that it wasn’t. Who could say it wasn’t. It had always been noise to him, but now that he was tipsy and turned on he could really hear what Paul had been trying to say. ‘You’re a little whore John, and you’ll always be mine.’ Fuck, he could practically hear the other muttering that right in his ear, feel him straddling his waist as he shifted to sink into the cushion.
“Come crawling back to me ‘ave you?” He spoke to an empty room, hand moving against his inner thigh as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, letting his long brown hair dangle over the edge and sweep out of his face. “Think you can write me a song and everything’ll just be fine again?” He worked his pants loose as he spoke in the scathing, self assured tone, sliding them down off his ass before pulling his cock free of his boxers to give it a few strokes. His voice caught for a few seconds, the derogatory slurs, the pet names, and everything else in between intended for a man that wasn’t even there stopping dead in their tracks at the smallest touch from his own hand. A small part of him felt pathetic for a moment before he pulled himself back into it.
He shuddered just a bit, imagining the others' smaller fingers wrapping around his cock as Paul looked up at him with those doe eyes, lids lowered in a way that was anything but innocent. They all thought Paul was so cute and precious, didn’t they? If only they knew the side of him that John had come to know after all those years spent together, day after day. Paul had a side that liked to have his arms tied up when John fucked the life out of him, Not to mention his side that would press John to the wall and suck him off to prove a point, Or the one that would beg John to cum in his mouth only to tease him with the same thing he had begged for. He thought of exposing the other for a few moments as he thought back on everything they had done together. He could go out and tell everyone in the world.. but who would believe him? Who would honestly care? Paul would, probably. He could imagine him coming all the way from across the pond to beat the ever loving shit out of him, and honestly he liked the idea of that. Not just seeing him, but knowing that Paul cared enough to let John know in person that he thought he was a horrible piece of shit.
His hands moved teasingly against his head, one gripping his thigh to keep him from trying to grind into something that wasn’t there as the other began the action moving in small motions. He hadn’t realized that he had been idly stroking himself while he thought of Paul but as he ran his thumb against his slit and felt the precum smear against the skin he knew his body had been paying attention in his mind's absence. God he wanted him so badly. Some part of him was revolted that he was this needy over Paul, but even so He wanted him between his legs more than he ever had when they were together. He wanted Paul to choke on him, to beg to come up for air. He wanted the other at his complete mercy, begging for forgiveness and sucking him off in some pitiful attempt to make things better. He had a strong desire to pin him down and watch him squirm, to fuck him till he was sobbing and clinging on to him like he was god. John needed him and in the moment as he started to fist fuck himself he felt as if he was somehow getting a small taste of what he wanted
He caught himself moaning paul's name in the heat of the moment, hunching over himself, hair falling back into his face as he gripped the side of the couch with his free hand. He could imagine Paul between his legs jerking him off, lips pulled up into a self satisfied smirk as he made fun of how close he was with so little effort. He could nearly feel his warm mouth over his head, tongue thrashing against his slit and collecting any cum he could find while his fist kept milking him. “Fuck, Macca!” He whined-no, gasped, falling back again against the chair as a hard shudder rolled through him, hips bucking up to try and give the other more of him. A loud and long moan passed his lips as he picked up the pace, chasing an orgasm like the ones he used to have with his band mate in secret. “Fuck me! Ah- god I’m gonna cum.” He could almost hear a snide remark from the other as he lifted himself a bit to ram his hips into his fist, his pattern growing quickly erratic as he let himself go.
He came in time to Paul’s vocals, mixing in with the already lewd song to make something all together horrible as his cum shot into the carpet and onto his still firmly clasped fist. He found himself panting with his eyes closed, hardly able to grasp the fact that he had just gotten off to a song he hadn’t ever really cared about before while he worked to slowly come down off that hate fueled high. His head hurt a bit and it spun when he got up to turn the record off, heart beating fast all the way to the door. He turned back to look at the memories for a moment in his few moments of clarity and heard Paul’s voice murmuring something in the back of his mind. He closed the door and locked it back and realized he had been too late to hear it as he walked back down the hall and towards the bar to get another drink.
End
