In Your Atmosphere (Paul McCartney/Beatles Fanfiction)

Chapter 31 - If I Fell in Love with You

Marisol woke up the next morning to the sound of a hundred girls being murdered out In the street, accompanied by police sirens. Paul clutched her to him as if she were a favorite stuffed toy, the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against her bottom. She dragged her watch in front of her eyes. Holy hell. Eight o'clock in the morning and the screams were already starting. Or maybe they had never stopped. She wondered if it ever became unnoticeable, like a drone of traffic.

She gently lifted Paul's heavy arm, trying to shift away without waking him. He stirred, then rolled onto his back with a groan of protest. She scrambled out of bed and stood looking down at him in the dim light filtering through a crack in the curtains. Her gaze swept over his features. His usually expressive face was tranquil in sleep, the laugh lines around his eyes not visible at all, his long, dark lashes resting against his cheeks. His mouth was soft and full, and in this restful state utterly kissable. It scared her how much she wanted to keep staring at him, memorizing his face, knowing they were, as always, on borrowed time.

Another volley of screams outside the hotel shook her from her reverie. In the bathroom she used the toilet and brushed her teeth, then climbed carefully back into bed and closed her eyes, trying not to dwell on how disappointing their reunion had been last night.

Were they drifting apart? Her heart ached at the thought. Maybe it was inevitable. Paul was a comet streaking across the sky and she wasn't even around to hang on to the tail. For the hundredth time she wondered if she'd made the wrong choice not staying in London. Maybe they would've flashed brightly for a few months and burned out in an explosive end but at least there would've been some resolution instead of endless months of yearning and wondering.

Eventually she noticed a change in his breathing and opened her eyes to find him staring at her. "'Ello, blonde stranger. Where am I? Am I dreaming?" His voice was husky with sleep.

She smiled at the sight of him, his hair tousled and a shadow of stubble covering his jaw. "Morning, stranger."

Paul brushed her hair from her eyes and rested his hand on the back of her head. His touch sent a shiver down her arm. "Look at you. You're so blonde it's like waking up next to a dandelion. The bed is at a 45 degree angle and you're in it. Must be San Francisco."

"Good call. Feel any better this morning?"

"Come here and feel for yourself."

She squeezed his shoulder, slid her palm across his chest. "You feel really good to me."

"I need a glass of water and a pee. Don't go anywhere."

Minutes later Paul reappeared beside the bed, stretching his arms over his head. He looked down and caught her staring at his perfect chest and lean stomach, at the way the trail of dark hair from his navel disappeared into his briefs and the bulge they did nothing to hide.

She licked her lips and flicked her eyes up to his.

"See anything you like?" he asked with a cocky little smile.

She nodded. "I like it all."

He arched a brow. "Not feeling so awkward this morning?"

"I've worked through it. Since you breathed your hot breath on my neck all night with your hand on my boob, I feel close to you again."

"So those were the ones I was dreaming of." He chuckled as he climbed back into bed, lying on his side to face her. "I've always loved that set of yours."

"Spoken by a man who doesn't have to deal with them. They're always in the way."

"In the way of what? My hands? My mouth?"