A/N: It's finally here! Thank you so much for waiting patiently for this. I have put the translations for the french at the end for you. Oh, and don't be afraid to vote and comment :)

The words Paul had uttered that afternoon concerning his father remained swirling inside John's mind even throughout the following morning when Paul and he had decided to enjoy breakfast together at one of the cafes just outside of the city limits, before going on a walk to admire the city as they had been planning on doing since they had first arrived in the city. It was a small but pretty café, situated directly on a narrow street, which left barely any room for any tables to be placed outside, but the large glass doors at the front could be opened to provide some room for two or three tables on warm days. Today, however, the doors were shut and the inside was filled with people attempting to escape the dreary weather and the dark looming clouds that were drifting overhead, which had prompted the waiters to put down some extra tables and chairs, making it almost impossible for anyone to walk around without accidentally bumping into anything. The mossy colour of the painted wood on the exterior of the building had been carried through inside in the wallpaper and tablecloths, and had been mixed with some accents of deep reds and oranges as well as the dark grey of the stone slate flooring to create a warm and cosy feel, while the light coming in through the windows kept it bright and fresh.

John and Paul had taken a seat at a corner table alongside the wall at the front of the café and enjoyed a cup of coffee and a plate of fried eggs and toast, while they took in the pleasant smell of tobacco, coffee, freshly baked pastries, and the many different flowers that were placed onto the many tables in small vases. There was a strong whiff of cologne and perfume in the air due to the many people that were seated in such a small space, which they both tried their best to ignore as Paul read a French newspaper and John took some notes in his notebook while staring out of the window. Occasionally, he would glance at Paul and study him as he wondered what exactly the other man had meant when he had said his father would kill him if he knew about them, but Paul appeared oblivious to the intent gaze that had been fixed upon him. He knew he should not have expected any differently when Paul had once again refused to elaborate on his words and strange demeanour, considering he had so far always been met with a dismissive gesture or phrase when he had inquired about anything remotely personal, but still he had not been able to help but hope - perhaps rather foolishly - that it would be different now.

He was glad, at least, to note that despite his odd reaction yesterday, those mixed and confusing feelings he had expressed were not still plaguing him now, as John had first feared. He looked calm and composed as he sat back in his chair: his legs crossed, back straight, shoulders loosened, and his hands relaxed and unwavering as he turned the page or brought a piece of toast to his mouth. He looked precisely how a man of his class ought to look in a situation such as this one and how John was used to seeing him - with his mask placed high upon his nose, looking distant and approachable at the same time. Below the table, however, well hidden from view, he had his knee pressed firmly against John's, like a constant reminder of their newly-found closeness, and on his wrist, John could catch glimpses of white and green sparkles, which told him Paul was wearing the bracelet he had given him, each glimmer causing his stomach to twist with pride that this gorgeous beauty of a man belonged to him.

"I see you are wearing my gift, then," he said as another sparkle caught his eye, and he repressed a grin as he glanced up at the younger man to see him doing something similar. The more time he spent with him, the easier it became to recognise the smallest clues that could give away what the man was truly thinking and feeling, knowing where to look. This time, John could see the tiniest of twitches at the corner of his lips as Paul suppressed a smile of his own and allowed the bracelet to roll further down his wrist, making it look like an accident as he brought it into clear view for John to see.

"Of course. Something as beautiful as this, it would be a shame not to wear it, wouldn't you agree? Not that I appreciate your manner of acquiring it, however," he said, giving John a firm look, but there was a sparkle in those hazel eyes that gave him away and allowed John to let his grin shine through as he cocked his head to the side, feeling rather smug.

"Naturally," he replied with a wink in good-humoured jest, pricking a piece of toast onto his fork and eating it as he kept his eyes locked onto Paul's, before laying his fork back down and licking some egg from his finger, watching in amusement as Paul's gaze was drawn to his mouth at the movement, recognising the sparkle of interest that lay in it.

"Besides," Paul spoke after clearing his throat and averting his eyes from the distraction that was John Lennon's mouth, which filled the older man with a sense of triumph, "there would have been no use in refusing it. I am well-acquainted with your sort."

"My sort?" John scoffed in return, snickering as Paul glanced back at him with an almost exasperated look in his eyes, before his hand vanished beneath the table to grasp at John's wrist before the older man had even realised he had been moving his hand to the other's thigh, taking John by surprise as he halted his movement.

"Yes, Mr. Lennon, your sort. I have been around enough young gentlemen like yourself to know not only how to recognise them, but what to expect as well. That," he paused to nod at where his hand was still firmly wrapped around his wrist, "was hardly surprising, nevermind impressive." For a moment John was uncertain how to reply to that, and licked his lip as he considered the implications of what the other had said, liking the subtle hint of a challenge that lay in it, one that he was more than eager to accept, the suggestion of Paul's experience with former lovers resulting not in jealousy, but in an eagerness to prove himself, a competition not so much with those previous partners, but with the man himself, a tug-of-war with the same end-goal but with each other's pride on the line. John assessed him for a moment, before pulling back his wrist in seeming defeat as he sat back in his chair, displaying his body to the other man in a manner that was supposed to be inviting, as he continued to hold his gaze, a small smile playing on his lips.

Paul, however, pretended to be indifferent to the other's attempt to play him with such a simple trick and turned back to his newspaper, as if that was the end of their conversation. His expression had barely changed at all during their exchange, not having so much as twitched or flushed at anything either of them had said or done, making it seem like they had been talking about the latest developments concerning the impeccable state of Aunt Mimi's flower beds, rather than shooting some flirtatious banter back and forth, which was a rather curious thing, considering yesterday he had not been able to pose in the nude without becoming aroused, and John wondered how he managed it.

"We aren't going to discuss what happened yesterday, then?" he asked after a moment of silence as Paul brought his cup of coffee up to his lips, watching closely as he halted at his words for a second before taking a sip as if nothing was wrong.

"We are discussing yesterday," he said, keeping his eyes on the newspaper that lay before him, but both men knew that was not what John was talking about it.

"That is not what I meant, Paul. I am talking about what you said about your father."

"I don't feel the need to discuss it. Nor do I wish to bore you with something as silly as that. It is not important and it most certainly does not concern you."

"Oh, I think it more than concerns me, seeing as you were talking about what would happen if he would find out about us, which clearly includes me. Is that what you have been worrying about all this time? About him finding out?" John asked, and Paul studied him for a moment before shaking his head.

"John-" he started, but before he could say anything else, they were interrupted by a young lad about the same age as they were, perhaps slightly younger, with bright amber eyes, blond hair, and a slender physique, who greeted Paul like an old friend, his English sounding broken on his tongue that was clearly more used to the shapes and forms of the French vernacular than the English one.

"Mr. McCartney! I had not expected to see you here. Good morning! Or, well, I suppose it could be better, considering the weather. I thought you were still in London?" the young man asked in a bubbly sort of fashion as he came to stand next to them, a bright smile on his face. Paul turned to him with a matching smile of his own as he recognised him and offered him his hand, which the young lad shook with a polite nod, before offering him a seat at their table. Thankfully, the man refused.

"Oh no, my apologies, but I shouldn't. Olivier is waiting for me here somewhere. I am supposed to meet him for coffee. You remember Olivier Morin?" he asked, sounding surprisingly fluent in English, despite his accent, and Paul nodded as he replied that he did. "He is having a small ball this evening, you see, just among friends, of course - you know the kind - but there are still some things to arrange. Organisational things, I mean. He asked me to assist him, so I cannot stay and talk for long. But it is wonderful to see you again. I thought you wouldn't be back until springtime at least. If I had known you would be here..."

"Last minute change of plans. Oh, and allow me to introduce you to a dear friend of mine, Mr. Lennon." With those words, Paul turned around to motion at the man beside him, who looked up from his notebook in surprise at the mention of his name, and swiftly covered the mindless sketch he had been making of the stranger before him in his notebook with his left hand as he offered him his right with a force smile. "John, this is Cédric Gardet, a close friend of mine."

"How do you do," he grumbled as they shook hands, while his mind tried in vain to work out what exactly Paul had meant by calling the man before him "a close friend", especially considering he had been introduced as his "dear friend". Once the French lad had released his hand with a polite nod and a wide smile, John shuffled closer to the other man beside him and laid his hand on his thigh as he closed his notebook to keep anyone from seeing what he had been working on, knowing neither the lad himself nor Paul would appreciate it. Cédric continued to smile as he looked between the two men, his eyes travelling from John to Paul and back again, until his smile widened even more in what appeared to be understanding.

"It is nice to meet you, Mr. Lennon," he said, before turning back to Paul, leaning with his hand on the table as he leaned closer to him, lowering his voice as he spoke.

"If you are interested, the ball I was talking about is happening this evening at eight at the Morin's mansion as usual. I am certain Olivier would appreciate it if you were to come. I know he would have sent you an invitation if he had known you were in Paris," he said, looking suddenly somewhat nervous as he glanced around him, as if to check whether if anyone was near enough to hear what they were talking about. The secrecy awakened John's curiosity.

"We would love to come, Cédric. We will be there," Paul promised and the lad's face lit up at the news, all worry having momentarily disappeared, before his expression turned serious again.

"Olivier will be most pleased to hear that. He has missed you, you know. As have I, of course," he said and with that he pulled back from him and turned his attention to the both of them again as he continued. "Now, if you two gentlemen would excuse me, I'd better not let my friend wait for too long, or else he'll get impatient. I will see you both this evening. À bientôt!" he said and raised his hand at the both of them, before vanishing back into the crowd of people as he made his way further into the café.

"Who was he?" John inquired once he was certain the young lad was too far away to be able to hear them, trying not to sound as bitter as he was feeling. Paul, however, didn't seem to notice the shift in his mood and merely smiled as he picked up his cup of coffee and took a careful sip, minding not to burn his tongue.

"An old friend of mine. Oh, and do not worry about this evening. You will enjoy yourself," he said.

"How do you know?" John asked, finding that hard to believe as he most certainly did not like balls, feeling little desire to be dancing with strange women he was not interested in and making polite conversation with people that were so uninteresting he could not even make himself pretend to care. Paul, however, smiled at him and nudged his knee with his own at his question, which John could guess was supposed to be a comforting gesture.

"Remember when I told you the art exhibitions were not the reason why I enjoyed my trips to Pairs? Well, this upcoming ball will show you exactly why I do enjoy these trips so much," Paul said and took another sip of his coffee before continuing. "These balls Olivier Morin organises are not your usual dances. It was during one of them that I met Cédric, if you were wondering."

"He is not just an old friend, is he?" John asked and swallowed thickly when Paul shook his head in reply, glancing at John from the corner of his eye.

"He is a good lad. I was seventeen when I met him and we have been close ever since."

"Is that how you realised you... had certain preferences? How your father found out?" John asked, and Paul nervously glanced around to see if anyone was paying them any attention, before he shook his head.

"Finish you coffee," he said, much to John's surprise, as he moved to stand up and began to put on his coat. "If we are going to discuss this, we'd better not do it here."

***

The two men barely spoke to each other at first as they made their way through the small cobblestone streets of Montmartre, walking closely together underneath a single umbrella which they shared to protect themselves from the rain that was softly falling down from the sky above them. It did not look like the weather would be clearing anytime soon, neither men being able to see even the slightest glimpse of blue among the grey clouds, but they hardly cared, liking the excuse it offered them to be walking pressed together like they were, with their shoulders and arms brushing as they ascended the hill, moving higher and higher up to where Paul had promised him they would be able to look out over the entire city of Paris. It was only when they came by a set off stairs that would lead them further up the hill at a steeper incline and through the many tall buildings that made up the neighbourhood, that Paul began to speak, their surroundings being completely deserted except for the occasional stray cat.

"Cédric was not the first man to pique my interest," he said in a soft voice as they began to climb the stairs, locking his arm with John's to be even closer to him and to offer them both some additional stability, the stone stairs being slippery beneath their feet due to the rain as they ascended them. John hummed to let him know he was listening as he glanced at him to see him looking down at their feet as he continued to speak. "Nor am I worried my father will find out about my preferences, as you called them. I would even dare to say he knew about them before I did." He chuckled at the confession, but John did not join in, feeling the way Paul's hold on him tightened as he spoke the words, which revealed just how painful and potentially scary it was for him to talk about something this personal.

"How did he find out?" John asked as a gentle encouragement, which made Paul glance up to study him for a brief moment before letting out another chuckle.

"You really are not going to give up on this, are you?" he asked, but John did not need to answer the question, both men already knowing the answer he would give. The younger man took a deep breath to calm his nerves before he started speaking again. "I met this boy," he said, biting his lip as he considered how to continue, "I was young , barely twelve, and from the moment I first saw him I felt a strong attraction to him. Not that I understood what that attraction meant, of course.

"We met at one of the old theatres in Liverpool before it closed down, and it had been one of the first times that I had been allowed to come backstage when I first saw him. One of the actors had taken me under his care and was showing me around when I saw him practising some lines with some other boys and, of course, I was thrilled to hear I was allowed to join in. He was handsome even then and a good year older than I was, but we became close friends and I would visit him at the theatre as often as I could manage, sneaking away from home whenever I could with the most silly excuses. We would meet up after shows as well, something my father especially very much disliked and I think now he might already have suspected something then, but for months it went fine like that. We would talk, play, rehearse lines, and he'd try to teach me how to act, but I wasn't any good and I preferred to simply practise lines with him and watch him play instead, but he never gave up on trying. My brother Michael would cover for me when my mother would ask where I was, but after a while she started to realise where I was going whenever I vanished and told my father. He was furious, of course. Having his own son socialise with actors and other common low-life types, it was disgraceful in his eyes.

"He caught us together that same day. We had been rehearsing lines together, sitting alone in one of the dressing rooms and were holding hands when my father burst in. He yelled at me, slapped me across my face, and dragged me away and out of the theatre. Not long after, the theatre was shut down and the company that he had been part of had moved to London. We had never gone much further than holding hands or giving each other curious pecks, and I don't think I quite realised what I had been doing until I saw the anger on my father's face. I had never seen him that furious before."

"That does not sound pleasant," John said, uncertain what else to say, and Paul chuckled sadly as he nodded in agreement.

"It wasn't. I met him again when I was seventeen during a family trip to London. We fell into bed together, but we never reconnected in the same way again. I still visit his plays whenever I can, though."

"Are you talking about that young actor we saw in London a few days ago? Whitfield ? I er... I heard you mention something about loving him," John confessed, surprised when Paul chuckled.

"You weren't meant to hear that. Besides, I never loved him. I have never loved anyone, I don't think. After him there were many more: other actors, rent boys, artists... When I was sixteen I had an affair with one of my father's acquaintances. He was quite a few years older than me and taught me a lot. My father caught us kissing one day and decided that if I had not found myself a proper wife by the age of twenty-five, he would take matters into his own hands. To be honest, it had been a stupid mistake to start making out in the library of all places with the door unlocked. I should have known better and my father had been furious with me. Probably because he had thought my preferences had changed since that day with Whitfield. Two years later he found out about the rent boys, which meant I needed to find another way to continue my affairs. First, I only had Paris, where I could do whatever I wanted as long as I was careful, and my father was never aware of any of the men there, I don't think. But then about a year ago, he hired a new stable boy. He caught me with him over two weeks ago."

"And that is what has been bothering you?" John asked and Paul nodded as he bit his lip.

"He gave me an ultimatum: either I find a girl to marry in the coming two months, or he will find someone for me himself. I came to Paris to enjoy my last sense of freedom before I take a wife. My father does not even know you are here."

"Shouldn't you find a girl to marry, then? So you know you are at least marrying someone you like?" John asked, knowing he would not be able to stand marrying someone he did not know or was at least a little interested in, but Paul shook his head.

"My father will find someone suitable. After all, it would not do for his oldest son to marry anyone who is not beautiful, smart, accomplished, and kind. It is all for the good of the family, you know. Besides, despite my faults as an oldest son, he does still love me; he wouldn't marry me off to someone he knows I would not like," he said as he looked up at the other man with a pained smile, and nodded at something directly ahead of them. "Come on, we are nearly there."

He quickened his pace as he intertwined their fingers and pulled John along with him as they walked up the last couple of steps, and, turning around a corner, came by a large plateau that was build up against the hill and provided the perfect lookout over the city beneath them. It was an absolutely stunning view and John was dumbstruck for a moment was he stared at the city below, over the many, many roofs, between which he could see the tops of trees onto which the sun poured many separate rays of white gold as it fought to break through the many dark clouds that were attempting to swallow it up. Apart from them, there was one other couple who seemed to have had the same idea in coming up here. They stood leaning against the railing as they stared out over the city and spoke silently to each other, clearly in love and too caught up in each other to realise they were being joined by two men. Nevertheless, Paul squeezed his hand to catch his attention, before letting go of him, and smiled as he put the umbrella away and beckoned him to follow him to the railing, the rain having stopped.

"I hope you are not afraid of heights," he said, half-serious, half as a joke, and John could only mutter an almost inaudible "no" as he followed him, staring at the younger man as he turned around to see where he was walking, and in that moment all John could think was that he was even more beautiful than the city that lay at their feet; a thought that he immediately pushed away, thinking it was daft of him to think such silly things about a man who was not only too far out of his league, but who would also have to get married in a few months.

"It is beautiful," he said after a moment of silence as they stood with their sides pressed against one another, taking in the sight before them while their fingers played with each other, the touches light and almost shy, ready to pull away if they would need to, and Paul hummed in agreement.

"Isn't it just?" he said, nudging the other's calf with his foot.

"I am sorry about what is happening with your father. It must be tough," John said, his voice tight as he kept staring at a speck in the distance, even when he could feel the other's eyes on him, taking him in. After another moment of silence, Paul let out a deep sigh and shrugged as he turned back to look out over the city, a deep frown on his forehead.

"Just make this week worth my while," he finally spoke and John promised that he would.

***

That evening, the two of them arrived about half an hour later than the time Cédric had given them that morning, which meant they were exactly on time according to Paul, who offered John an encouraging smile as he helped him out of the carriage. He was looking as handsome as ever in his black suit with velvet coat, his hair styled perfectly and his face cleanly shaven, giving him an almost doll-like look. John had put on the same suit that Paul had given him for the exhibition at The Salon - which, thankfully, someone had washed and ironed after he and Paul had handled it so carelessly that evening when they had gotten back - and again he felt drastically under-dressed compared to his companion, despite the latter's constant reassurances that he could make princes jealous with the way he looked, figuring he was exaggerating even if he did look handsome, and that he would not need to exaggerate if he was looking handsome enough already.

The building where the ball was being held was not so much a mansion as John had understood it, but a grand, 3-storey, pure-white Parisian townhouse, just outside the centre of the city, with a small set of stairs leading up to a large, shiny, black door with a golden doorknob, that John supposed would resemble a lion's head that was holding the knocker in its beak, but he was too far away to be able to tell. Light shone through the many windows, the curtains behind which had been drawn to keep curious passers-by from looking in, giving John only an impression of the figures moving inside. It looked pretty busy, much to John's dismay, but when he felt Paul's fingers brush the inside of his hand, most of his worries vanished from his mind. Taking a deep breath, he followed his companion up to the front door, and watched as Paul produced a small key from beneath a small statue of a dog that was placed besides the stairs, and opened the door for them, revealing a narrow hallway with plain white walls and black-and-white tiled flooring, where they were greeted by a cacophony of music, laughter, and talk in both English and French. They had barely stepped inside and closed the door behind them, when a young man came into the hallway and approached the two of them with a wide smile that John could see was more directed at Paul than at him.

"Monsieur McCartney! Vous êtes là!" the young man said as he beamed at Paul, offering him his hand, which Paul gladly shook as he smiled back at him.

"Olivier. Ravi de vous revoir. Comment allez-vous?" he replied, and John felt a familiar pull in his gut at the way the vowels and consonants rolled of the other man's tongue, thinking the already beautiful languages sounded even better when Paul was the person speaking it.

"Très bien, merci. Je dois vous avouer que je n'en presque croyais pas quand Cédric m'a dit qu'il avait bien parlé avec vous ce matin. Et c'est qui ce monsieur, qui vous avez avec vous?" the young boy asked as he finally turned his eyes onto John and offered him a hand as well, looking him up and down with an appreciative gaze that made John stand a little closer to Paul, unsure what to make of the other man.

"Voici John Lennon, un ami à moi. John? This is Olivier Morin, our host for the evening," Paul explained as he introduced them, switching back to English to make sure his companion understood and John acknowledged the other man with barely more than an uninterested hum as he shook his hand. He was handsome, with raven black hair, pale skin, and a couple of very light freckles that were scattered over his nose and cheeks. He had high cheekbones, a well-defined jawline and wide lips that curled up naturally, making him appear friendly and approachable without trying.

"It is nice to meet you, John," Olivier Morin said kindly in the same accent as his friend from this morning. "If you two would excuse me, however, I need to find some more bottles of wine before people will start to complain. Please, make yourself at home and don't forget to say hello to Cédric. He has been waiting for you. I will find you later." They acknowledged each other with one last nod and with that, Olivier turned around and started making his way to where John presumed the kitchen was situated. He had been about to head towards the large set of doors from behind which they could hear the sound of music and laughter, when Paul stopped him, wrapping his fingers loosely around the other's wrist to hold him back with the lightest of touches.

"John," he started and John fought the urge to whine as he turned back around to have Paul lean up against him to press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth, his hand resting on his breast, making him freeze up as he took him somewhat by surprise. "Please behave and don't be grumpy. We are here to enjoy ourselves, remember?"

"Not that I have any idea how we are supposed to do that. Balls are not for me, Paul."

"Well, this one will be different," the other man replied with a suggestive hint in his voice that made John frown. He didn't say anything as Paul reached up to fix his scarf - he always struggled with doing them properly - his clever fingers pulling deftly at the material, tugging it into place as he glanced up at him through his eyelashes, his full pink lips slightly parted in a way that caused John's mind to spin with many inappropriate thoughts, which were heightened obscenely as he continued to speak. "Be a good boy for me, would you? I promise, you will enjoy yourself," he said, almost teasingly, and John hummed as Paul leaned forward to kiss him again, properly this time, and John found himself unable to deny him anything when he asked him like that.

At first sight, the ball looked like any other, the room being filled with both men and women, some dancing, while others were sitting alongside the walls as they sipped a glass of wine, either talking in small groups or simply watching the dancers in the middle of the room. At one back, a small group of musicians were situated who John could hear knew what they were doing, and who would play different kinds of songs throughout the evening, making sure to switch up the different dances and occasionally doing a request when a young lady would ask for one. On closer inspection, on the other hand, John started to notice something odd. Although the group of dancers in the middle of the room was made up of both men and women, they were not strictly separated with the women all on one side, and the men at the other, and instead, as John came to realise, they were not only dancing with partners of the opposite sex, but of the same sex as well, meaning some men had taken on the parts of the women and some women the parts of the men. He could see more of those couples sitting at tables or on sofas surrounding the dance floor, and when he saw two women giggling together as they flirtatiously played with the materials of each other's dresses, John realised what kind of ball this was.

"Try not to stare John, it is impolite," Paul chided him with a wink as he noticed his lover watching the two young women on the sofa, and let out a chuckle as John turned back to look at him, his eyes wide. "I told you, you would enjoy it," he added with a wink and when John appeared too shocked to say anything, Paul took him by his hand and dragged him towards a small group of people, one of whom John recognised as being Cédric, who greeted them both with a warm smile, and - much to John's surprise - made no comment at all on the fact that Paul was still holding his hand. It took John a moment to come over his shock and to stop trying to pull his hand away from his lover's grasp.

As Paul had promised, the ball indeed turned out to be enjoyable as John became more used to showing his affections for the other man publicly like this, fighting against years of doing the exact opposite out of fear and resourcefulness, while he and Paul spoke to some people, most of whom Paul had already met and who could speak English, while they enjoyed a glass of wine, and watched other people dance. Paul's hand was still firmly wrapped around his, as if he were afraid John would freak out and run away if he didn't, a possibility John had to admit was all too plausible, and he was glad to have him near him to ground him. There was a strong sense of freedom, though, and both men were glad they did not to have to hide their affections in the company of others for a while, and even John began to feel glad Paul had decided they would go, understanding why he liked these balls so much. Even the other guests were turning out to be somewhat interesting to talk to, most of the people being acquaintances of Paul, though John had to admit some of them were still too posh and arrogant for his liking, but there were plenty of other people around to make it bearable.

"So," John asked as they took a seat on one of the sofas, taking a moment for themselves after a prolonged discussion about the faults of contemporary art of which John could not remember the details if his life depended on it and that had even started to bore Paul after a while, and curled his arm around the other's shoulder, pulling him to him as he surveyed the area, "how many of these people have you not taken to your bed, then?" Instead of acting shocked at such a forward question, however, Paul merely hummed and looked over the room as he leaned against John's side, allowing his hand to rest on the inside of the other's thigh in a way John knew what meant to be teasing.

"Some of the women, I suppose," he answered after a moment of consideration and John nearly choked on the sip of wine he had wanted to take at, and stared down at Paul, only realising he had been joking as he saw the amused shimmer in his hazel puppy eyes that were not half as innocent as they appeared. "I am only kidding, John. Apart from Cédric and Olivier, perhaps... two others?"

"But you have done it? With a woman?" John asked, suddenly intrigued as he watched the women around him, thinking it strange not to see their eyes fixed onto men but on each other. Beside him, Paul shrugged.

"Once or twice. Just to see what it was like."

"And?" Again, Paul shrugged, causing John to laugh. They remained seated like that for a little while longer, until another guest came up to them and turned to Paul as he offered him his hand.

"Excusez-moi? Voulez-vous danser?" he asked, and John raised an eyebrow at that, thinking the man bold for asking that while someone had a protective arm slung over his shoulder, but Paul assessed him for a moment before sitting up and putting his glass away on the side table beside the sofa.

"You don't mind, do you, John?" he asked and for a moment John considered telling him he did, but he knew Paul would do what he wanted no matter what he thought about it, anyway, so he let him, retreating his arm in defeat as he shot the strange man a warning look, which was swiftly ignored by both him and Paul, as the latter gave him his hand with a smile. He watched closely as Paul allowed himself to be taking to the dance floor where he came to stand at the side where the women would usually stand, next to another man at his right and a woman at his left. John didn't remove his gaze as he watched him dance, speaking and laughing heartily with his dance partner in a way he had not seen him do except for the previous evening when they had laid in bed together, enjoying their post-coital bliss.

"He is handsome, isn't he?" a voice came from beside him and John hummed as he turned his head to see Olivier standing next to him, a glass of wine in his hand as he watched the dancers as well. "Don't get your hopes up," he continued, "it won't last forever. Paul doesn't do that sort of thing."

"I know. He told me about his father," John replied, feeling his throat tighten at the idea that he indeed was going to have to give Paul up someday, a day that would come sooner rather than later, and a day he did not want to think about. Not yet, anyway. Olivier, however, seemed surprised at his words.

"How long have you known him?" he asked, and John shrugged.

"A couple of weeks. I don't really remember exactly."

"He seems to like you. More so than he ever like me or Cédric." John hummed, unconvinced, and tore his eye away from Paul to see that Cédric was dancing as well, two couples away from Paul, with another man.

"Are you and Cédric...?" John started, and was not surprised when Olivier immediately admitted that they were, sighing as he took a seat on the armrest beside John.

"We like our freedom," he explained when he noticed who John looking at. After a brief moment of silence, he added, "he really does like you, you know."

"I don't know..."

"You should know. I have been watching you two all evening. You make a handsome couple," he said and John turned his head to look at him, not noticing it when the song changed into another and Paul and Cédric came over to them, laughing as they discussed their dance partners, only falling silent when they were beside their lovers again.

"What are you two discussing, then?" Paul asked as he took his former seat on the couch at John's side, pressing himself even more against him in a way that forced John to wrap an arm around him, and Cédric pressed a peck onto Olivier's lips, before taking the class of wine from him.

"You," Olivier replied to Paul's question as he winked at Cédric, who giggled in reply.

"Good things, I hope?" Paul inquired at the news, turning to John who fought a blush as Olivier answered for him.

"Obviously," he said and Paul leaned in to kiss John as well, before turning away and moving to stand again, much to John's surprise, who stared up at him as he waited for him to explain his leaving him again so soon, wanting him back against him.

"Do you dance?" Paul asked, seemingly out of nowhere, and John blinked up at him a couple of times, before shaking his head.

"I don't."

"But you know how to?"

"My aunt taught me," he said and immediately wished he hadn't as he saw a mischievous grin appear onto Paul's lips at his reply. Before he knew what was happening, Paul had taken his hand into his own again and was pulling him up from the sofa and onto his two feet with surprising strength that left John no choice but to follow him.

"Perfect! When you know how to dance, you dance. Come on, indulge me, won't you," Paul said and behind him he could hear Cédric and Olivier laugh as he unceremoniously dragged John with him onto the dance floor, despite his lover's weak, stammered protests, and before he knew it he was standing in between two men with Paul before him, that same mischievous grin still on his lips and a glimmer in his eye that looked more than a little triumphant.

"You cannot come to a ball without dancing at least once, John. Now, I assume you only know the men's part, so I'll take the women's part again," he said, and John wanted to object again, but before he could, the music had already started, forcing him to participate against his will.

The dancing was not as bad as John had feared it would be, and slowly he started to relax as he felt how Paul began to lead despite having the woman's part, guiding him through the song and the many different steps that were part of the complicated dance they were doing, while occasionally whispering instructions into his ear when he was close enough. To his luck, the musicians had started a slower song than the previous one Paul had danced to, allowing John to keep up with the steps and the tempo of the music, reducing his awkward stumbling to a bare minimum of four or five times per minute, as he tried to remember the dancing lessons Mimi had given him by force when he turned fifteen. Paul, however, did not seem to mind his stumbling, appearing more amused by his mistakes than anything as he smiled at him whenever he noticed one and occasionally let out a giggle when he did something especially stupid, and tried his best to help him.

He looked gorgeous as he danced, an almost continuous smile on his face as he watched him move, taking in the sight of him with an appreciative look of his own, his eyes sparkling almost green in the strange light that lit up the room whenever he met his eyes, and John smiled back at him as he felt his hand tremble as Paul held it. His other hand, he let brush over the other's waist whenever he turned away from him, a touch not necessary for the dance itself, but as long as Paul did not complain, John hardly cared what he was and was not supposed to do.

He could hardly look away from him at all, his hands twitching with the urge to grab him and pull him to him for a kiss, wanting to hear him shriek in surprise before his voice would die down and he would give into him, his slender fingers coming up to caress his cheek and push his hair back with a gentle pull as John would wrap his arms around his waist and hold him close. He could see it happening before him, and for a moment he thought about actually doing it, to kiss Paul right there and then in the middle of the dance floor, but before he had had time to act, the song had already come to an end and the two of them broke apart to bow and applaud the band.

A/N: Here are the translations:

Monsieur McCartney! Vous êtes là!: Mr. McCartney! You came!

Olivier. Ravi de vous revoir...: Olivier. It's good to see you again. How are you?

Très bien, merci. Je dois...: I am very well, thank you. I have to say, I could hardly believe it when Cédric told me he had spoken with you this morning. And who is this gentleman you have brought along?

Voici John Lennon...: This is John Lennon, a friend of mine.

Excusez-moi? Voulez-vous danser?: Excuse me? Would you like to dance?