Pairing(s) in the story: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Author Name/Pen Name: Lye
Author LJ Name: lye
Title of story: The Best Medicine
Rating of story: I'm gonna say R.
Word count of story: 3,600
Chapter 1 of 1
Brief summary: John appreciates Paul's laughter.
Notes: Not entirely sure how I feel about this one. I wanted to give John/Paul a try, but the dynamic didn't come to me as easily as I would have liked. I sort of struggled though it, but I wanted to share anyway! Many, many thanks and kisses to those who have commented on my last stories.



John Lennon operated under a ‘laugh first, ask questions later’ mentality. This wasn’t because he was easily amused, or overly happy. It was because, as a young boy, he learned that the right kind of laughter could be a very effective offense. A laugh could be almost as painful as a physical blow, and could certainly linger a lot longer. John preferred to attack using his brains rather than his brawn (which was somewhat lacking, compared to some of the other boys).

He had an entire library of laughs. His favourites were the ones that appeared to make the people he was laughing at feel incredibly small, or miserable. He relished the ones that brought self doubt to the table especially as he himself wasn’t particularly self assured, though his personality certainly gave the impression that he was. Selfishly, he wanted those around him to feel the same (or worse) than he secretly did. He was jealous of a lot of people for a lot of things, really, though he would never own up to it. He wanted to be the best at things, and he wanted people to acknowledge that.

He had a powerful laugh, and he knew it.

It wasn’t until Paul McCartney walked into his life that he met someone else with a laugh as powerful as his. Paul laughed often and easily, as John had noticed from the dawn of their friendship. While John’s laugh was usually calculated, hurtful, and sharp as a knife, Paul’s was easy going, soft, and as warm as a blanket. John’s laughter was usually met with a grimace; Paul’s was embraced with a grin.

Against his will John fell for the boy, with his easy laugh and his aptitude for music. While he recognized Paul as the competition he was, he couldn’t resist inviting him into his life, and his band.

--

They became unimaginably close almost overnight, though to them it didn’t feel all that instantaneous. To John, it felt more like they’d known each other their entire lives. It wasn’t until Mimi pointed out with a raised brow after supper one night that he’d been spending a lot of time gallivanting with that Paul boy, lately. John responded with his evasive laugh, but Mimi was impervious to all of John’s laughs at that point. It was entirely possible that he’d learned them from her in the first place, anyhow.

It didn’t matter to him what she or anyone else thought about him and Paul, because John knew that he’d found something precious in his friendship with the younger boy. Paul made him happy, and not just fleetingly, like his other friends, but constantly. Even when they found time in their shared contentment to fight about something, John enjoyed having him around.

Paul was self assured, almost as much so as John pretended to be, and John silently envied him for it, though not in the aggressive way he would usually respond to such a feeling. It was a welcome thing when Paul mucked up his first guitar solo during a performance. Paul, embarrassed, had tried to slink away to the back of the small stage and the other guys visibly waited for John to rip into him. But John, relieved that his new friend was in fact fallible, could only laugh. It wasn’t one of his old hurtful laughs, but one of uninhibited glee.

“It happens, mate.” John had assured him with a squeeze of the shoulder afterwards, ignoring the slack jawed response from the rest of the boys. Paul responded with a weary smile and a slightly embarrassed laugh.

--

John often brought Paul to visit the owner of his favourite laugh of all; his mother, Julia. John was unabashedly fond of his mother, who was more of an older sister type, and when he first brought Paul around he was pleased to find that the two of them got on swimmingly. When John was in a room with them both, he was sometimes overwhelmed by how similar they were, with their blissfully enchanting laughter, charming personalities and innate beauty. Julia would crack jokes and Paul would laugh appreciatively and John almost felt like he could feel his heart swelling in response to the feeling of it all.

He felt lucky to have them both, and when the two of them laughed together, it was music to his ears.

--

With September came the Liverpool College of Art, and significantly less time with Paul. They saw each other routinely, meeting in the graveyard that connected their respective schools to share a laugh and a few songs. John missed their easy summer days, but reckoned he should at least try to put a little bit of effort into school.

John sometimes scribbled pictures of Paul holding his guitar and wrote nonsensical poems about laughter and twinkling eyes, but always tossed them in the bin at the end of class.

Stuart Sutcliffe came on the scene and John admittedly got a little bit distracted. Paul brought a kid named George Harrison around and John felt betrayed by the excitement with which Paul talked about the way he could play the guitar. He begrudgingly acknowledged the boys talent and let him in, talking Stu into purchasing a bass and joining them as well.

--

The following July stole Julia from him. He refused to look at her broken body, and was numb to all that surrounded him until Paul finally showed his face a week later. He needed Paul’s laughter the most then, but he knew from the wet and empathetic look in his friend’s eyes that he wouldn’t get it. Instead he was given a warm embrace and a shoulder when John finally really cried. Julia was gone, his sisters were sent away where he couldn’t see them, and all he had was Mimi’s chilling grief to live with.

He felt Paul’s warm breath shushing into the shell of his ear and in response held onto him tightly, desperately. John let out a sick, mournful laugh and Paul wiped away his tears without a word. John thanked him with a handful of wet kisses around his face before dissolving into a fit of sobs.

It felt like he would never laugh again.

--

After a number of name changes, a revolving door of band members, a haphazard tour of Scotland and a bit of elbow grease, his band (their band) found their way to Hamburg, Germany. They played their first show billed as The Beatles, and it was nothing to write home about. He and Stu still thought the name was clever, and John wished Paul would just laugh a little and acknowledge that. The first time he told him the idea, Paul only gave him a smile and John tried hard not to beg a laugh out of him.

Germany brought the two of them closer together than ever. Stuart was on the threshold of true love, their drummer Pete had women on the mind, and George had finally figured out how to use what he’d got going on down there and popped his cherry. They played eight hour shifts with the other house band, and with breaks as short as they were getting, they didn’t venture too far during the night.

Drink, pills and women were in abundance and while John and Stu had lived together back at college, it was the first time he felt really free to do as he liked. He felt liberated, which made the hours of playing bearable.

Sometimes at the end of the night, Paul would talk about missing his father and his younger brother a bit, “Not much, you know, but a bit,” and John would take firm hold of his hand until Paul would smile and laugh again.

--

Their girlfriends, Dot and Cyn, came together to visit them and it was coincidentally the afternoon they left back for Liverpool that the boys had their first real kiss. They put the girls on the ferry and waved their hands in the air enthusiastically as it got farther and farther away. Finally deciding Cynthia had had more than her fair share of goodbye waves, John stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned his back to the water, Paul following soon after.

“That was nice,” John stated, kicking a stone in front of him and watching it bounce and skid away into the street. John noticed after a few steps that Paul hadn’t said anything, and he turned to him with a quizzical stare.

“I think Dot and I will be finished when I get home,” Paul said, as if he’d had an epiphany. He looked up finally to meet John’s eyes.

“What do you mean ‘finished’? She’s alright, mate,” John tried to be encouraging, turning around and walking back towards Paul. “Not all the time you get one willing to travel great stormy lengths to bring you a bit of loving, aye?” Paul offered a half hearted shrug and John rolled his head around on his neck, slightly annoyed. “What’s wrong, then?”

“I just-” Paul started and then turned back to the still retreating ship in the distance, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “I think I’m glad to see her go,” He looked at John, who looked down at his boots.

“Well you know, I’m a bit glad to see Cyn go as well,” He looked up again to meet Paul’s face. “But, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna-” He was cut off abruptly by Paul grabbing him by the face, crushing their lips together. John leaned into him fully at first, parting his lips and allowing Paul instant entrance. After a few moments lost in the taste of his friend, John struggled to pull his hands out of his pockets and grabbed Paul by his upper arms, pulling him off and holding him there. This wasn’t the place for that, or the time, what with their girlfriends floating away in the distance. That, and if he and Paul were going to be doing any kissing, John would like it to be on his terms. Namely, they wouldn’t be snogging each others faces off in public.

They stared each other keenly in the eye, silently trying to decipher if everything was still okay. Paul finally offered a half smile and John patted him twice on the cheek before they shared a laugh. A laugh devoid of any humour, laced with uncertainty and excitement.

--

Hamburg fell apart a bit for them. George had been sent home for being underage, with Paul and Pete following soon after, caught lighting up a condom in a corridor of the club they used to work at. John was furious at first, left alone with Stu, who still put up with John’s bullying friendship with no complaint. He was lovesick, though, and while the two of them did try to have a go of it, John missed Paul and home and left Stu behind in Germany, traveling home alone and cold. He felt like a dejected piece of shit for a while, with Mimi keeping him in the house to herself for days on end.

Finally John escaped Mendips and Mimi, slinging his guitar strap over his shoulder and taking the bus to Paul’s house. He couldn't place why he felt nervous, but it was the first time he ever hesitated before knocking on the familiar door.

When Paul opened the door John drank him in as quickly as possible, smiling at the shocked look on his friend's face and the letting out a pleased laugh as Paul threw his arms around him, his lips coming to smack against John’s neck.

They broke apart, jumping twice excitedly before Paul rolled his eyes at their boyish behavior and invited him in, pulling him by the cuff of his sleeve.

--

They tried another spell in Germany and a few months after they got back John turned twenty-one, a man, and an auntie gave him £100, which was more money than he’d ever seen in his life. He decided the first thing he'd do as an adult was blow it all as fast as possible.

“You got how much?” Paul asked in disbelief after they took a break from writing something new. John told him, grinning wildly. “And you want to hitchhike to Spain?” He nodded. “And you want me to come with you?” John nodded again.

“You and George have done it,” John explained, plucking a couple of strings absently. He looked down at his fingers, watching them move at their own accord. “And I figure, you know, as you’re my best mate and all, it only makes sense you should come.” John cleared his throat and allowed himself to look up expectantly.

Paul looked deeply touched by the invitation. “Come on,” John reached across their touching knees, resting his hand on Paul’s neck. “It’ll be shit without you, mate.”

“Of course I’ll go, Johnny,” Paul grinned. “You know I will.”

--

Spain turned out to be farther away than first imagined, and the two decided to try their luck in Paris. Without more than a lick of the French language between them, they bumbled their way around the sleeping city until a pair of prostitutes took pity and kindly showed them in the right direction. They got a room with one bed, deciding to sleep head to toe. That first night saw them exhausted, stripping down and climbing into the bed, happy to be on a soft surface. John slept with his head at the top of the bed, Paul with his at the bottom. John thought they felt miles apart when he said goodnight to his friend, getting nothing more than soft, even breathing as a response.

He woke the next morning to find that not only had Paul evidently decided to join him up at the top end of the bed, but also snuggled up to him. He tilted his head slightly; trying not to disturb the face nestled into his shoulder. Paul’s arm was stretched across his bare chest, his bent leg resting between Johns.

He decided, had Paul been awake, that would have been the perfect time to kiss him. They were alone, miles and miles from everything and everyone they knew. He could roll him onto his back, pin him, and just lay one on him. A real ferocious display, like he wanted to. He was getting turned on just thinking about it.

But Paul was sleeping peacefully, mouth agape with impossibly long eyelashes resting on his cheeks, and John didn’t have the heart to wake him up just yet.

John laughed quietly to himself, for he was an old softy.

--

As it turned out, they weren’t as alone in Paris as he thought they were. Jurgen, a photographer friend they’d met during their time in Hamburg, happened to be living in Paris. They ran into each other on the street and after a few minutes of shared laughter and excitement, Jurgen offered them a tour of the city the next day. They eagerly accepted, decided on where and when to meet, and headed off to fill their empty stomachs.

They didn’t mention the state they’d woken up in, though John could distinctly remember the dreamy smile that spread across Paul’s face as he woke up, and the hand that had rubbed slow circles across his chest as Paul slowly blinked open his eyes. He seemed completely unapologetic about having invaded John’s personal space during the night, which made John glad.

After a day full of terrible attempts at French, pretty birds with accents, and exploration, they made their way back to their tiny room. Paul was chattering away animatedly about a waitress with the hairy armpits as he undressed. “Just like that,” He let out a boisterous laugh, twisting his shirt up over his head and pointing to his own armpit. “You didn’t see, John?” John shook his head no, because in truth he hadn’t really noticed the waitress at all. Paul had been sucking delightedly on a milkshake and John had found himself rather distracted. “She was sexy as hell, though. That accent! Boy,” Paul added as an afterthought, hanging his shirt on the back of a chair and slipping out of his trousers. “Don’t think I could deal with hairy armpits, though.”

“Oh?” John spoke up without meaning to. “Not even mine, then?” He crossed his arms across his chest and met Paul’s eyes firmly. “Cause you were right cozy with one of them this morning, if I’m remembering right.” He laughed, and it was fond and challenging and just a little bit aroused.

--

Paul had been up for the challenge, seemingly. He’d responded with the sexiest, most wicked smile John had ever seen form on his lips and took a few steady steps towards him. They took hold of the back of each others heads at the same time, and from then on it was a battle to see who could kiss who first. John would swoop in, and Paul would avert. Paul would have the corner of John’s mouth for a moment, but John would twist his head away. Paul was still the best and only competition he never resented.

They erupted into playful laughter, pushing and pulling at each other until John finally had Paul pinned beneath him on the bed. He’d managed to wrestle Paul’s arms above his head and put all his weight into securing them there. He grinned down at him, sitting atop him proudly, victorious. “What now, my son? I’ve got you where I want you,” Paul responded by lifting his hips suggestively. “Ohh, you’re a devil, aren’t ya?” John wiggled his eyebrows and laughed.

He crashed his lips down against Paul’s for the first time in a year, feverishly and hungrily. John was starving for it, and maybe he had been since the day they met. Since the first time he laid eyes on Paul McCartney, who had turned another typical Quarrymen show into a milestone in John’s life. Since that first laugh had made his heart sing and he knew he would need that sound, that glorious laughter, for the rest of his life.

Paul was making different sounds now, letting out moans and groans of appreciation as he thrust his hips up against John, who responded in kind by pressing downward. They moved against each other, their shared arousal increasing with each press of the hips and hot, frenzied kisses.

--

Paul finally wiggled his hands free and set to work pulling Johns shirt off before turning his attention to his trousers. After a moment of fumbling unsuccessfully with the button he grabbed John by the shoulders and, mustering more physical strength than John would have pegged him to have, pushed John off of him onto his back before swiftly straddling his thighs. John could only blink in shock as Paul attempted to undo his trousers from his new perspective. John, feeling utterly useless, watched his friend’s intent face as he went about his task. He lifted a hand up to stroke Paul’s face and as soon as his fingertips met the soft skin Paul’s intent stare dissolved into a satisfied one. An instant later the button was open, the zipper undone, and Paul’s gloriously warm hand was circling him, stroking slowly.

“Oh,” Was all John could offer as encouragement, his eyes falling closed. Paul leaned down and pressed his face into John’s cheek, his lips moving against the skin there, his voice husky.

“I’ve wanted this,” Paul kissed him fiercely, as if to further prove his point, before pulling away. “Have you, John?” The quickening pace of his hand and the intent look in his eyes were almost enough to bring John over the edge right there.

“God, yes,” He arched his back, the building promise of release increasing with each stroke. “You know I have,” He grabbed onto Paul’s arms, lifting his hips to meet each pump of the fist, eyebrows knitted in concentration as he focused on the feeling of it.

Paul let out a particularly delicious moan into his ear and in the midst of his release, John wondered how he could have lived without that sound for as long as he had.

--

As promised, Jurgen showed them Paris the next day. They were gleeful, which he either didn’t notice or failed to comment on. They were seemingly excited by every aspect of the tour, but in reality were more excited about the new aspect of their friendship. To John, it felt like an electric current was surging through his body. When Jurgen showed them L’Opera, they clasped hands and burst into song, laughing and dancing before each throwing an arm around the others shoulders and carrying out the tour as the two headed monster those close to them knew they were.

“Jurgen, mate,” John spoke up on their way back to the Latin Quarter, where their German friend was living. “Give us a haircut like yours?” Jurgen agreed, and Paul looked at him, arching an inquiring brow.

“You laughed at George for days after he had Astrid cut his hair like that,” Paul pointed out.

“Aye, and just think how annoyed he’ll be when we come back with ones just like it,” John’s footsteps fell into sync with his friends, and he smiled into the October sky. “It’ll give us something to remember Paris by.” He shook his arm, crushing Paul against his side even more. “Not that we don’t have enough of that already, what with those hairy lady armpits forever engraved in our minds.”

Paul scrunched his face up, clearly picturing it, and dissolved into a fit of his angelic laughter, and John’s heart could only soar.

--

Feedback (good, bad and ugly) would be appreciated! I won't improve unless you guys tell me how.