Unknown Love
Title: Unknown Love
Author: Bat Spork
Pairing: John/George (for now) with somebody that's a surprise/Paul :3 (for now) and John/Paul and Ringo/George eventually!
Rating: PG, Eventual NC-17
Warnings: A bit of language
Chapter: One
Summary: Richard is a lowly poet who's merely trying to catch the eye of the one he truly loves. However, he isn't the one that's attracting his love's gaze.
Disclaimer: I, sadly, do not own The Beatles. This is just a piece of fiction, and none of it ever happened, but it's meant for fun anyway :)
A/N: So... yes, my first fiction up on Beatles Slash! Isn't that nice? Please be gentle, I know it probably sucks abysmally and is a complete and total fail, but it's there for you to enjoy anyway xD This is very -loosely- based off of Cyrano de Bergerac. Anyroad, I hope y'all enjoy C:
- - -
He had always loved him, but only from afar.
To Richard Starkey, George Harrison was the only man on earth that could do no wrong. He loved every fiber of his being. His chocolate brown eyes twinkled like the stars that shined and lit up dark night sky, his lips perfectly shaped, always curling ever-so-perfectly at the corners with his famous grin, his skin the most precious of ivory, and his hair a deep auburn sea of lusciously rich silk. He was beautiful. But alas, George did not share the same feelings with Richard.
Richard thought himself to be the ugliest man on earth. He wasn’t special in any way, nor was he extremely intelligent about many things. In fact, he thought himself to be rather stupid and plain, not a very special person in the slightest. But he did have one talent. The sweetest words of love could come nowhere other than the mouth of Richard Starkey. The words uttered from his lips could cause any man or woman to swoon. The sweet lullabies pouring from his quill onto the parchment could quicken anyone’s pace to a speed they had never experienced before. Yet… no one thought he was handsome; in fact, most of them despised him and spoke about him behind his back.
‘Why am I doomed to look like such a horrid creature?’ he thought to himself. ‘Why was I born blind in one eye… why must my face be riddled with this accursed withered look? Why was I cursed with such a large nose? Why the scars? Why?!’ The brunette slammed his hands on the writing desk, his one good eye looking out through the sheer curtains that had been drawn earlier that day. Sorrowful and brokenhearted, he watched the people that happily passed by with their loved ones. ‘Why must I look this way…?’
Richard had the rare gift of love in his heart, and a passion for poetry, sonnets, and love letters. “Why do the right words always come out of the wrong mouth?” the town’s folk would say. The man knew that he wasn’t liked by the people, and he knew that he was talked about behind his back. People whispered to their friends and families, warning them to never go near the man who lived in the old, small cottage close to the edge of town. He might infect them… or something like that. New rumors were thought up each and every day.
After taking a seat behind the old desk, Richard stared at the parchment paper and feathered quill pen that lay haphazardly on the wooden surface. “Why do people judge so harshly because of my face? Am I not entitled to the same things as any other man just because I am ugly and withered?!” he shouted to no one in particular. Sighing, Starkey looked back down at the paper as his free hand rubbed at his throbbing temples. “Let’s see here…”
Your eyes are like the ocean, I drown in the deep, dark depths. I find myself getting lost in your gaze. Your love is something that I desire most in life, yet I am not entitled to it, for I am the lowliest-
“No no no! That’s no good! Damn it all! Why can’t I... oh never mind…” The half-blind man picked up the paper and crinkled it into a wad before he tossed it in the waste bin behind him. Not being able to continue and start anew, Richard rose to his feet and grabbed his over coat. As he locked the door behind him, the blue eyed man made his way out into the snowy cobble streets of Liverpool. He soon found himself in the pub, in the furthest and darkest corner that could be found.
‘Maybe I can try this again...' he thought as ink stained fingers pulled out a small piece of parchment and quill from his pocket. He began to write again, once he soothed his nerves with a few pints of ale.
Beauty. Beauty is what I see when I look at you. Your eyes are the deepest ocean. I want to explore them from the deepest depths to the very surface. I can’t quite help myself but get lost in your stare. Your hair is so beautiful it’s almost as if it were taken right from an angel. A halo lies gently upon the top of your brunette locks. There is no mistaking it. You are an angel of the fairest kind. I long for the soft, caressing touch of our lips becoming one. Your lips are like the most rare and beautiful rose that could ever be found, hiding safely from the harm that may come.
Love. This is what I am feeling for you, yet I shall never know or have your love in return. Sorrow is all I know… I know of nothing else. I shall never know what love feels like, for I am nothing to you, and I never will be anything more. A single kiss is what I long for. I long to know what it feels like to soar with the feeling of happiness, knowing the deep secrets of your heart.
Those are my feelings. That is what I feel, and that is what I want. I will never feel that from close by… only will I feel it from afar. You are the apple of my eye… má pêche. Never will you sour or ruin, only grow sweeter and more beautiful by the day… but never will it be for me.
Setting the quill down, he looked over his written work. A small sigh escaped his lips as he looked over the sweet words again and again, never truly being satisfied with the expression of his words. Richard removed himself from the table, leaving a single ha’penny on the wooden table beside the many empty pints.
Once again he set out into the cold wind and snow, leaving his drunken pain inside the pub. On his way back to his cottage, the man passed George’s home. Blue eyes stared up at the large manor. He knew… he knew of the wonderful beauty that hid away, tucked in away from the cold. Oh how he wished to be inside with the love of his life, shielding him and protecting him from the harshness of the cold, showing him all the love he could possibly ask for. Shrugging, the brunette dropped the paper under the door, not bothering to seal it. Taking one final look at the manor, he turned on his heel and walked home as the bitterness of the winter air wickedly played around him.
He had no intention of looking back.
‘It’s better if he doesn’t know…’
- - -
Anyone possibly interested in me continuing on with this?
Author: Bat Spork
Pairing: John/George (for now) with somebody that's a surprise/Paul :3 (for now) and John/Paul and Ringo/George eventually!
Rating: PG, Eventual NC-17
Warnings: A bit of language
Chapter: One
Summary: Richard is a lowly poet who's merely trying to catch the eye of the one he truly loves. However, he isn't the one that's attracting his love's gaze.
Disclaimer: I, sadly, do not own The Beatles. This is just a piece of fiction, and none of it ever happened, but it's meant for fun anyway :)
A/N: So... yes, my first fiction up on Beatles Slash! Isn't that nice? Please be gentle, I know it probably sucks abysmally and is a complete and total fail, but it's there for you to enjoy anyway xD This is very -loosely- based off of Cyrano de Bergerac. Anyroad, I hope y'all enjoy C:
- - -
He had always loved him, but only from afar.
To Richard Starkey, George Harrison was the only man on earth that could do no wrong. He loved every fiber of his being. His chocolate brown eyes twinkled like the stars that shined and lit up dark night sky, his lips perfectly shaped, always curling ever-so-perfectly at the corners with his famous grin, his skin the most precious of ivory, and his hair a deep auburn sea of lusciously rich silk. He was beautiful. But alas, George did not share the same feelings with Richard.
Richard thought himself to be the ugliest man on earth. He wasn’t special in any way, nor was he extremely intelligent about many things. In fact, he thought himself to be rather stupid and plain, not a very special person in the slightest. But he did have one talent. The sweetest words of love could come nowhere other than the mouth of Richard Starkey. The words uttered from his lips could cause any man or woman to swoon. The sweet lullabies pouring from his quill onto the parchment could quicken anyone’s pace to a speed they had never experienced before. Yet… no one thought he was handsome; in fact, most of them despised him and spoke about him behind his back.
‘Why am I doomed to look like such a horrid creature?’ he thought to himself. ‘Why was I born blind in one eye… why must my face be riddled with this accursed withered look? Why was I cursed with such a large nose? Why the scars? Why?!’ The brunette slammed his hands on the writing desk, his one good eye looking out through the sheer curtains that had been drawn earlier that day. Sorrowful and brokenhearted, he watched the people that happily passed by with their loved ones. ‘Why must I look this way…?’
Richard had the rare gift of love in his heart, and a passion for poetry, sonnets, and love letters. “Why do the right words always come out of the wrong mouth?” the town’s folk would say. The man knew that he wasn’t liked by the people, and he knew that he was talked about behind his back. People whispered to their friends and families, warning them to never go near the man who lived in the old, small cottage close to the edge of town. He might infect them… or something like that. New rumors were thought up each and every day.
After taking a seat behind the old desk, Richard stared at the parchment paper and feathered quill pen that lay haphazardly on the wooden surface. “Why do people judge so harshly because of my face? Am I not entitled to the same things as any other man just because I am ugly and withered?!” he shouted to no one in particular. Sighing, Starkey looked back down at the paper as his free hand rubbed at his throbbing temples. “Let’s see here…”
Your eyes are like the ocean, I drown in the deep, dark depths. I find myself getting lost in your gaze. Your love is something that I desire most in life, yet I am not entitled to it, for I am the lowliest-
“No no no! That’s no good! Damn it all! Why can’t I... oh never mind…” The half-blind man picked up the paper and crinkled it into a wad before he tossed it in the waste bin behind him. Not being able to continue and start anew, Richard rose to his feet and grabbed his over coat. As he locked the door behind him, the blue eyed man made his way out into the snowy cobble streets of Liverpool. He soon found himself in the pub, in the furthest and darkest corner that could be found.
‘Maybe I can try this again...' he thought as ink stained fingers pulled out a small piece of parchment and quill from his pocket. He began to write again, once he soothed his nerves with a few pints of ale.
Beauty. Beauty is what I see when I look at you. Your eyes are the deepest ocean. I want to explore them from the deepest depths to the very surface. I can’t quite help myself but get lost in your stare. Your hair is so beautiful it’s almost as if it were taken right from an angel. A halo lies gently upon the top of your brunette locks. There is no mistaking it. You are an angel of the fairest kind. I long for the soft, caressing touch of our lips becoming one. Your lips are like the most rare and beautiful rose that could ever be found, hiding safely from the harm that may come.
Love. This is what I am feeling for you, yet I shall never know or have your love in return. Sorrow is all I know… I know of nothing else. I shall never know what love feels like, for I am nothing to you, and I never will be anything more. A single kiss is what I long for. I long to know what it feels like to soar with the feeling of happiness, knowing the deep secrets of your heart.
Those are my feelings. That is what I feel, and that is what I want. I will never feel that from close by… only will I feel it from afar. You are the apple of my eye… má pêche. Never will you sour or ruin, only grow sweeter and more beautiful by the day… but never will it be for me.
Setting the quill down, he looked over his written work. A small sigh escaped his lips as he looked over the sweet words again and again, never truly being satisfied with the expression of his words. Richard removed himself from the table, leaving a single ha’penny on the wooden table beside the many empty pints.
Once again he set out into the cold wind and snow, leaving his drunken pain inside the pub. On his way back to his cottage, the man passed George’s home. Blue eyes stared up at the large manor. He knew… he knew of the wonderful beauty that hid away, tucked in away from the cold. Oh how he wished to be inside with the love of his life, shielding him and protecting him from the harshness of the cold, showing him all the love he could possibly ask for. Shrugging, the brunette dropped the paper under the door, not bothering to seal it. Taking one final look at the manor, he turned on his heel and walked home as the bitterness of the winter air wickedly played around him.
He had no intention of looking back.
‘It’s better if he doesn’t know…’
- - -
Anyone possibly interested in me continuing on with this?