Another Piece Of That Beatles Thing
1/9/05 06:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyfirst part here
Title: Please, Please
Fandom: Beatles Slash
Pairing: Paul & John
Rating: G
I liked the first part-- I liked the no punctuation, but I guess I should be kinder to the readers so,*sigh* I'll stop screwing around and be a good girl.
Paul let him self into the room and felt pretty good to find it empty, tired couldn’t begin to describe how he felt and he just wanted a lie-down, no talk no work just sleep. Lately there’d been a little too much yelling and arguing when they were all in the room together. Nerves were frayed and tempers short—they were hungry all the time and tired a lot and the beauties kept them up and but eventually your body started screaming for sleep –it was fun for a bit but after a while it really started to fuck with you….
He yawned and scratched hard at his ribs and arms and sighed. What the fuck…no food… he stooped to see if anyone had shoved a few bottles under the bed, with luck—something he had not a lot of, he thought —and shrieked and jumped back when a grinning face yelled “Boo!” at him.
“What the fuck—are you mad—what are you doing under there!”
John shoved out from under the bed, laughing. “I heard you come in—just wanted a bit of fun, is all. Your face, your eyes--big as saucers!”—he laughed again.
Paul rolled his eyes; such little things amuse little minds. John scooted up into a corner of the room and wrapped the thick blanket he had pulled around himself a little tighter and fished a metal container out of it’s depths. He looked up at Paul and his lips twisted into a ghost of a smile. “Stu and George left with the girlfriend, she left me a flask of tea—share?” He looked at Paul inquiringly and shook the flask, grinned a little when his eyes lit up.
Paul nodded eagerly, it was cold and damp and yeah, tea would be just the thing. He grabbed the cleanest mug from the little metal table that held a gas ring and some odds and ends of crockery, scrunched down next to him and held the mug out for tea. John splashed a bit in and went on, “So—why doesn’t she tell the truth, hmm? I think it’s really me she wants, don’t you? She’s always looking at me, and looking at him—she’s comparing us, don’t you think?” John looked down into his cup and slurped tea up loudly, a grin turning up the corners of his mouth.
Paul made a disgusted face, as expected, nudged him to make him stop. It took a second more for him to figure out who “she” was-oh! Astrid? and thought, ‘If she was looking, more likely she was wondering what the hell happened to Stu when she wasn’t around,’ but he wasn’t starting a fight by sayin’ that, not when faced with the possible loss of hot tea and –he sniffed, sniffed louder. “Biscuits! Crumbs! I see the crumbs-- give ‘em up,” he crowed, and shoved his hand under the blanket, feeling about and making John giggle and jerk away from him—“Stop, stop! I’ll give you some, but just a few and mind your manners.” He intoned in a posh accent. Paul grinned and pulled his hand back, sliding over John’s vest, “Why haven’t you got a pullover on? It’s too cold for just a vest”—and tried not to yank his hand away from where it rested on smooth warm stomach muscles. They slid under his hand as John reached for the tin of biscuits she’d left him along with the tea. John seemed not to notice his hand was on him, “Gave it to Stu,” he muttered and just went on about opening the little tin, handed him a couple and took a few for himself and Paul casually removed his hand.
He leaned back against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with John and they sat in silence for a bit, nibbling on the biscuits, trying to make them last by taking the smallest possible bites and sipping on the tea. The steam rose up and wrapped about his face and it felt good, his nose was always so cold and the steam warmed it, and warmed the inside of his mouth and for a bit he felt--at home, safe and sound. Not that he needed to be home of course, only a baby needed his mum or blubbed about being cold or hungry or so, so, tired….
He sighed and nestled against his mum, wrapped up so warm in her arms it was nice, she so seldom had time to just sit with him and… ‘Gosh, mum, I miss you something awful,’ and he could feel tears fill his eyes. ‘Don’t be silly, miss me why? I’m right here,’ she smiled and he woke up, tears running down his face and he felt like an idiot—and worse, he was crying all over John, shit,he hoped he was asleep, and maybe even worse than *crying* all over John—*he* was all over him, his legs twined up in his and his arms wrapped around Johns waist and his head shoved up under his chin…. how was he going to explain that. And John laughed—“awake are ya? Good, give me my arms back,” he said and pushed him back a little, untwined their legs. He grinned at him. “Mum?”
Paul got angry and tried to jump away, but John held him in place. “No- it’s nice to have a dream about your mum. You never stop having them, you know. It’s…not bad.” And that was all he said, and he didn’t let him go. Paul felt he should move, but it was too warm and he was still tired, he closed his eyes again. If John was going to be nice, he should take advantage of it.
Sometime during his nap, John had thrown the blanket over the two of them, and hadn’t he been dead to the world not to have noticed? It was warm, comfortable and he had to fight to keep his eyes open, bu he kept drifting in and out. John was talking about something---Stu. Again. Give it a rest, shit. Stu this and Stu that— plonker.
John’s voice kept droning on about Stu, “So he said that he was tired of getting shit all the time, and I told him--”
“Enough! Fuck him why don’t you and get it out of your system!” Paul snapped and immediately blushed furiously red and wished he could knock himself out. John looked shocked, and then angry. “What’re you trying to say—I haven’t— I’m not a fuckin’ fairy!” He stood and yanked the blanket away so suddenly Paul’s head hit he wall. “Ow!” He yelled and grabbed his head. He eyed John warily—not sure if he were going to punch him he was that mad, or….
John’s angry scowl slowly collapsed into a look of confusion. “I don’t talk about him that much, do I….” His voce trailed off and then his expression hardened. He shrugged. “Well, we’re mates, he’s bound to come up, right?”
Paul nodded, still rubbing the spot that’d hit the wall. He was shutting up like he should have done. Stu wasn’t his business. John wasn’t his business. If he didn’t want to be his friend like before fuckin’ Stu showed up fine, it didn’t matter, the band mattered right now. Getting some sleep mattered.
What Stu and John went around about didn’t matter at all.
John didn’t sit back down again and Paul felt a flash of disappointment—he put on his jacket and walked out and slammed the door.
Paul got up from the floor and grabbed the blanket that’d been dropped and climbed onto the bed, rolled up in it and sighed—Tired! . He drifted off almost immediately wrapped in the smell of wool and damp and John.
1-09-2005
Title: Please, Please
Fandom: Beatles Slash
Pairing: Paul & John
Rating: G
I liked the first part-- I liked the no punctuation, but I guess I should be kinder to the readers so,*sigh* I'll stop screwing around and be a good girl.
Paul let him self into the room and felt pretty good to find it empty, tired couldn’t begin to describe how he felt and he just wanted a lie-down, no talk no work just sleep. Lately there’d been a little too much yelling and arguing when they were all in the room together. Nerves were frayed and tempers short—they were hungry all the time and tired a lot and the beauties kept them up and but eventually your body started screaming for sleep –it was fun for a bit but after a while it really started to fuck with you….
He yawned and scratched hard at his ribs and arms and sighed. What the fuck…no food… he stooped to see if anyone had shoved a few bottles under the bed, with luck—something he had not a lot of, he thought —and shrieked and jumped back when a grinning face yelled “Boo!” at him.
“What the fuck—are you mad—what are you doing under there!”
John shoved out from under the bed, laughing. “I heard you come in—just wanted a bit of fun, is all. Your face, your eyes--big as saucers!”—he laughed again.
Paul rolled his eyes; such little things amuse little minds. John scooted up into a corner of the room and wrapped the thick blanket he had pulled around himself a little tighter and fished a metal container out of it’s depths. He looked up at Paul and his lips twisted into a ghost of a smile. “Stu and George left with the girlfriend, she left me a flask of tea—share?” He looked at Paul inquiringly and shook the flask, grinned a little when his eyes lit up.
Paul nodded eagerly, it was cold and damp and yeah, tea would be just the thing. He grabbed the cleanest mug from the little metal table that held a gas ring and some odds and ends of crockery, scrunched down next to him and held the mug out for tea. John splashed a bit in and went on, “So—why doesn’t she tell the truth, hmm? I think it’s really me she wants, don’t you? She’s always looking at me, and looking at him—she’s comparing us, don’t you think?” John looked down into his cup and slurped tea up loudly, a grin turning up the corners of his mouth.
Paul made a disgusted face, as expected, nudged him to make him stop. It took a second more for him to figure out who “she” was-oh! Astrid? and thought, ‘If she was looking, more likely she was wondering what the hell happened to Stu when she wasn’t around,’ but he wasn’t starting a fight by sayin’ that, not when faced with the possible loss of hot tea and –he sniffed, sniffed louder. “Biscuits! Crumbs! I see the crumbs-- give ‘em up,” he crowed, and shoved his hand under the blanket, feeling about and making John giggle and jerk away from him—“Stop, stop! I’ll give you some, but just a few and mind your manners.” He intoned in a posh accent. Paul grinned and pulled his hand back, sliding over John’s vest, “Why haven’t you got a pullover on? It’s too cold for just a vest”—and tried not to yank his hand away from where it rested on smooth warm stomach muscles. They slid under his hand as John reached for the tin of biscuits she’d left him along with the tea. John seemed not to notice his hand was on him, “Gave it to Stu,” he muttered and just went on about opening the little tin, handed him a couple and took a few for himself and Paul casually removed his hand.
He leaned back against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with John and they sat in silence for a bit, nibbling on the biscuits, trying to make them last by taking the smallest possible bites and sipping on the tea. The steam rose up and wrapped about his face and it felt good, his nose was always so cold and the steam warmed it, and warmed the inside of his mouth and for a bit he felt--at home, safe and sound. Not that he needed to be home of course, only a baby needed his mum or blubbed about being cold or hungry or so, so, tired….
He sighed and nestled against his mum, wrapped up so warm in her arms it was nice, she so seldom had time to just sit with him and… ‘Gosh, mum, I miss you something awful,’ and he could feel tears fill his eyes. ‘Don’t be silly, miss me why? I’m right here,’ she smiled and he woke up, tears running down his face and he felt like an idiot—and worse, he was crying all over John, shit,he hoped he was asleep, and maybe even worse than *crying* all over John—*he* was all over him, his legs twined up in his and his arms wrapped around Johns waist and his head shoved up under his chin…. how was he going to explain that. And John laughed—“awake are ya? Good, give me my arms back,” he said and pushed him back a little, untwined their legs. He grinned at him. “Mum?”
Paul got angry and tried to jump away, but John held him in place. “No- it’s nice to have a dream about your mum. You never stop having them, you know. It’s…not bad.” And that was all he said, and he didn’t let him go. Paul felt he should move, but it was too warm and he was still tired, he closed his eyes again. If John was going to be nice, he should take advantage of it.
Sometime during his nap, John had thrown the blanket over the two of them, and hadn’t he been dead to the world not to have noticed? It was warm, comfortable and he had to fight to keep his eyes open, bu he kept drifting in and out. John was talking about something---Stu. Again. Give it a rest, shit. Stu this and Stu that— plonker.
John’s voice kept droning on about Stu, “So he said that he was tired of getting shit all the time, and I told him--”
“Enough! Fuck him why don’t you and get it out of your system!” Paul snapped and immediately blushed furiously red and wished he could knock himself out. John looked shocked, and then angry. “What’re you trying to say—I haven’t— I’m not a fuckin’ fairy!” He stood and yanked the blanket away so suddenly Paul’s head hit he wall. “Ow!” He yelled and grabbed his head. He eyed John warily—not sure if he were going to punch him he was that mad, or….
John’s angry scowl slowly collapsed into a look of confusion. “I don’t talk about him that much, do I….” His voce trailed off and then his expression hardened. He shrugged. “Well, we’re mates, he’s bound to come up, right?”
Paul nodded, still rubbing the spot that’d hit the wall. He was shutting up like he should have done. Stu wasn’t his business. John wasn’t his business. If he didn’t want to be his friend like before fuckin’ Stu showed up fine, it didn’t matter, the band mattered right now. Getting some sleep mattered.
What Stu and John went around about didn’t matter at all.
John didn’t sit back down again and Paul felt a flash of disappointment—he put on his jacket and walked out and slammed the door.
Paul got up from the floor and grabbed the blanket that’d been dropped and climbed onto the bed, rolled up in it and sighed—Tired! . He drifted off almost immediately wrapped in the smell of wool and damp and John.
1-09-2005
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
1/10/05 02:25 am (UTC)