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Epilogue

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Epilogue

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December 7th, 1980.

The dreams were beginning to be unreal. The vividness and the truth to them caused John to wake with a start almost every night, sweaty and pale and frightened. Tonight was just the same as always, but in a way it was also different.

Paul was underneath him, his young, boyish features contorted into something amazing, this beautiful expression of love and lust and sincerity.

John was young again as well, his soon-to-be mop top falling into his almond shaped eyes, thin and nimble fingers gripping onto his lover's hips. Everything around him seemed so real, the feeling of bare, pale flesh beneath his fingertips, Paul's heavy breathing and his lidded eyes.

He felt safe like his, utterly secure when he was inside of the tight passage now wrapped around his throbbing length.

It was around this time he realized it was the dream, that he would end up the same as always, alone and confused and heartbroken. He decided then that he would try to change the dream, maybe somehow he could stay in this euphoric state forever. He never wanted to wake up.

"Paul, I love you baby, you know that don't you?" He whispered, but his voice didn't even sound like his own.

Paul opened his eyes and the pain and fear in them were unmistakable, paralyzingly capturing John's gaze. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"Paul, I love you. You know that, right?" John said, more desperately than before, his voice cracking as he continued moving inside of Paul, already feeling a wave of pleasure going through him, his orgasm building up steadily.

He cupped Paul's chin, forcing him to look into his eyes, a quiet moan escaping his lover's mouth in response.

God, John wished with all that he had that this was real. He allowed his eyes to close, his body trembling all over.

"I know, John." Came Paul's quiet response, his voice weak and strained.

He caressed John's face lovingly, but it wasn't actually felt. It was like Paul was a ghost, his touches invisible and his words fading into nothingness. With one last lingering gaze at his lover, he repeated himself. "I know." And then, he was gone. John's body hit the empty grass with a thud, groaning quietly as he realized there was nothing else he could do.

-

"Fucking hell.." John sat up with tears in his eyes, his muscles sore from being in the same position for hours as he slept. He needed to be through with this torture that occurred to him every bloody night.

That was what, eighteen years ago? Way too long to still be thinking about what might have been.

He stood up slowly, unsure of what to do. Yoko was sound asleep in the bed, her still form telling John that he didn't disturb her with his small outburst. He went into the front room of their apartment, sitting on a chair for a while, head resting in his hands.

After all that time, after all the fighting and the band breaking up and even after he wrote that horrible song about Paul, it was impossible to get him out of his mind.

-

Nothing had really happened between them after that one day, well nothing too serious at least. It was a long while before they were comfortable around each other again. Being forced to tour and write together helped a lot with that.

There was only one other time that their previous relationship was brought up again, and it was rather accidental. It was in '65, both of them were quite stoned, the pot making them just as equally horny as well.