To George chapter 6
Title: To George
Author: withalittlewit
Pairing: Paul/John, George/Paul
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Swearing is all.
Summary: George loves Ringo, but he's starting to like John and Paul. John loves George, but thinks Paul loves him. Paul loves George, but is using John to make George jealous. Ringo loves Rory, but starts to like George after he finds out about John liking George.
Author’s Notes: JESUS. This took me so long. I have no clue why. I guess I've just become so self-conscious about how I write Paul now, and I'm starting to just write actions and thoughts and no real great descriptions and that makes me sad. D: This is just all about Paul. Paul being Paul otherwise known as Paul. Paul Paul Paul Paul, sometimes called Paul, mostly called Paul, and never once called Reginald.
Oh yeah, and a bit about that one guy. John, I think his name is? :O
Disclaimer: I do not, nor intend to imply to own the Beatles and any of the individuals' lives or history.
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Paul felt hurt.
Paul felt more than hurt. The entire day, every single moment in the day, George had been avoiding him like he was the plague, and he had no idea why. After all, the night before was amazing; they just sat and talked and ate and laughed. Paul had been very proud of his libido, too- he hadn’t tried anything with George to make him feel uncomfortable. Not only that, but George had asked to sleep in the same room with him! But now it felt like they had taken leaps backwards in their relationship.
After George had suddenly ran off during breakfast, he had made stupid excuses to not be in the same room with him, and only seemed to relax when John and Ringo were there as well. Whenever they were left alone, George would look at the ground and mumble something and rush off, and it was starting to piss Paul off.
Of course, George could always turn off and on like that, too. George was so contradictory sometimes; he could be clingy and affectionate one minute and then act like he didn’t know the person the next and be perfectly fine. Paul knew this. He knew it very well. That wasn’t the problem that bugged him so much.
The thing that bugged him was that he could feel George’s eyes on him whenever he turned around. Paul could sense George had something to say to him, like it was threatening to spill, but when he pushed even a bit, George would get too nervous and leave. It was frustrating to say the least, and Paul, though deciding he wouldn’t let it bother him, was very bothered.
(Not to mention bothered in other ways; he hadn’t had sex in a few days, and sleeping right next to George made him hornier than fuck. Paul was still a male, after all.)
However, as the concert was only moments away, Paul tried to put on a happy face and deal through it. They were doing a show after all, and George was pretty much forced to look all buddy-buddy with Paul for the sake of the band’s reputation. After all, what was George going to do? Turn his back on Paul and just share a microphone with John?
When Paul ran onstage, beaming at the screaming crowd, he really, really wished he hadn’t thought that. Because following after him was George, who made a beeline straight to John’s side of the stage. Paul knew he must have looked incredulous, and John copied his look, but just gave Paul an evil grin. Paul took in a deep breath and forced himself to smile at the crowd.
“Hello, we are the Beatles!”
Thousands of girls, young and old, screamed, and Paul gripped the neck of his guitar tightly. God, it felt so empty with no one to bump guitars with anymore, and as he began to sing into the microphone (“Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you, tomorrow I’ll miss you!”) he didn’t bother to check himself as he began to stare at George from across the stage.
----
“Oh, c’mon, Macca, cheer up! It’s not like it’s the end of the fuckin’ world. They loved us out there!” John said as he took the seat next to Paul. He slung an arm around the younger Beatle, only to be ignored. John frowned deeply. “Paul, God, you’re acting like a sod.”
Paul pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m fine,” he answered coldly, and John rolled his eyes. He swung his legs over the couch arm and placed his head on Paul’s laps, looking up at him.
“Well, lassie, don’t ya worry, I’ll thrash the fucker who messed with ya,” John said, fluttering his eyes up at Paul. At this Paul couldn’t help but laugh, and John grinned wildly. George entered the room at the moment with Ringo by his side, but tensed as he saw the scene before him.
Paul glanced at George, did a double take when he saw the expression on the younger Beatle’s face. It was… jealousy? Over what, though? Paul looked back down at John, and an evil idea popped into his head. He ran his fingers through John’s hair, massaging the other man’s scalp lightly. John, though surprised at his friend’s sudden display of affection, enjoyed it nonetheless; he smiled contently.
“Please, sir, may I have some more?” John joked in a timid voice, and Paul nodded, moving to rub John’s belly tenderly. He glanced up at George again and rejoiced when he saw George blush in anger. Paul knew that one more little thing would be enough to tell him that George was indeed jealous.
So as smoothly and casually as he could, Paul laid his hand over John’s lower stomach and leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. His hair fell over John’s face, brushing against the older man’s cheeks, and Paul gave him a small pout. “Hey, Johnny, can we go out drinking today? We haven’t had time alone in a long, long while,” he said sweetly. He could see John’s eyes visibly widen and a blush uncharacteristically spread over the Beatle’s cheeks. Paul quickly looked up, shocked when he saw George stand suddenly.
“Why don’t you guys just get a room?” George said angrily before stalking out. Ringo looked between the two on the couch and his friend before rushing after George, leaving John and Paul alone. Paul straightened, allowing John to sit up as well, and they sat in silence for a while. Finally John found his voice.
“So, ahem, drinks, then?”
Paul turned, almost looking confused before remembering what he had asked of John. George’s sudden outburst had been more than enough proof that he was jealous, and Paul had been caught up in his own thoughts. After he had nodded and followed John out the door, his thoughts overtook him once more.
’What will I do if George really does like me… like that?’
Paul remembered George’s flustered face as he angrily ran off and he smiled against his will. ’He might just be discovering his feelings for me,’ he thought elatedly, ’So I don’t want to accost him… But…’ He glanced at John, who’s back was still tense from the moment before. ’But if I use John, George might be jealous enough to act on his feelings.’
Paul stepped out into the street with John and grinned. “So that’s the plan,” he said to himself. However, John overheard, and turned to look at his friend.
“What’s the plan?” he asked, almost sounding frightened to hear the answer.
“Oh, nothing, Johnny. Nothing to concern yourself with.” At the words he linked arms with the older man. Though George wasn’t around, he figured he might as well get used to it. It was an added bonus when John’s face grew red again and Paul laughed inwardly.
------
John squirmed on the couch uncomfortably. He had sat down to watch the telly, just to see what was on (nothing good, of course) when Paul sat down next to him. Paul hadn’t attempted to move closer to him or anything, but John knew it was inevitable. After all, ever since the concert, Paul had been acting very affectionate.
Being the expert in birds as he was, John knew there was only one real reason for the sudden change of heart. Paul was clearly in love with him.
And who wouldn’t be? John was good-looking, smart, witty, funny, about to be incredibly rich. He had birds hanging off him all the time, and it was about damn time some men confessed their undying love to him.
Still, it was Paul. And Paul was John’s best mate. And it was bound to get awkward eventually.
“So, John, I was thinking-“
John started at Paul’s sudden words, then tried to play it off like he was cold and shivering. He rubbed a hand against his arm. “Wow, is it cold here, or is it just me?” he asked. Paul looked concerned for a moment and he reached up and placed a hand against John’s forehead. John’s face grew red from the close contact, though it never would have effected him if he hadn’t come into the new information about how Paul was queer and after his man-meats.
Paul drew back quickly and waved his hand off. “God, John, you’re burning! Do you think maybe you have a fever?”
John’s eyes widened, but he didn’t want Paul to know the truth. He nodded. “Yeah, I think I caught something yesterday, actually,” he said. He gave a few fake coughs to seal the deal, and Paul frowned.
“You really have to take better care of yourself, Johnny. What happens if you get really sick?”
John gave him a grin. “Well, I guess you boys’ll have to go on without me, then.”
“Oh, no, whatever shall we do without the Great John Lennon?” Paul joked and rolled his eyes. John relaxed and laughed lightly.
“It’s alright, we’ll have Ringo dress up like me and sing a few songs. Not like the crowd’ll even hear us, eh? Might as well sing some ‘Ode to Hitler’ out there. You know I’d do anything for the party.”
It was Paul’s turn to laugh, and John’s mind eased. Maybe Paul wasn’t in love with him. Maybe he was just interpreting things wrong. After all, Paul hadn’t tried anything funny with him during this time. Whether it was his sudden ease or routine, when Paul fell against his shoulder, John swung his arm over the top of the sofa, allowing Paul to lean against his chest.
The younger Beatle pretended to fan a hand in front of his face. “Eww, you smell, Johnny. When’s the last time you took a shower?”
John feigned anger. “Well, unfortunately, Mr. McCartney, not everyone can afford to wash their shirts everyday! I practically live off of food stains now, what with my fourteen children and three wives to feed now. It’s a horrible life, it really is, sir. So perchance I might get just one ha-penny?” he asked, voice reverting to one of an old, tired man. Paul fell into a fit of laughter once more, and John pretended to scowl. “Oh, you think I’m lying, do you laddie?! Well, take this then!”
John reached down and began to attack Paul’s sides, his fingers brushing and roughly tickling the younger man’s stomach. Paul continued to laugh, his hands out in front of him as he fell back on the couch. John loomed over him, unwilling to stop, and Paul began to have tears in his eyes. He tried to push John away, but the leader was much too strong and much too determined, and John began to laugh as well.
Finally Paul began to cough harshly, tears of laughter streaking down his face. John stopped his advances and put both hands on either side of Paul’s head, staring down at him.
“You alright?” he asked, allowing genuine worry to enter his voice.
Paul nodded; it was all he could manage between his fits of coughing. John continued to stare down at Paul, noting his flushed cheeks, the glossy eyes, the red lips-
“Why don’t you get a fucking room!?”
John’s head snapped up, saw the furiousness on George’s face and quickly moved off of Paul. God, that was not the impression he wanted to give George, especially since they had been on good terms as of late. He looked away from George and turned his attention back at the telly. Paul slowly sat up next to him and began to deliver an explanation.
“We weren’t doing anything, just-“
“Don’t fucking give him an explanation. He doesn’t need to know what we were doing; we can do whatever the fuck we want,” John quickly said and turned to look at George. He was pissed that Paul had even tried to give George a reason to their behavior as if George owned them. As if George needed to know what they were doing at all times of day.
John glared at George out of habit, routine. George stared back, biting his lip, trying hard not to tear up. John could see the pain in the younger man’s eyes; the years of being put down welling up into one, single, heartbreaking look. George quickly ran off.
Ringo took the opportunity to walk in, and, seeing George slam the door, he looked between the two groups of people. Without a word he ran after his best mate, leaving John and Paul alone.
John felt Paul quietly move away. He didn’t try to look at the younger Beatle; after all, it was Paul’s advances that made this happen, wasn’t it? Paul gently touched John’s shoulder, trying to comfort him, but John moved away violently. He bit his tongue and imagined Paul’s shocked and upset face as he slipped into his room. Their room, the room they had to share.
John let his head fall into his hands. God, what had he done? Why did he have to be so mean to George all the time? He hadn’t meant to, he never did, but… But it was in John’s nature, wasn’t it?
“Fuck me,” he cursed lowly, clutching his hair with his hands. The look George had given him, like he had died and John was the one who killed him, that was the worst. George looked so pained, so hurt, so full of bitter sadness…
John reached out, threw over the nearby lampshade in a fit of frustration and anger. He watched as it crashed to the ground, the light bulb shattering and scattering across the carpeted floor.
He stared at the random pattern the glass made, feeling his heart do the same thing. “Fuck me,” he repeated before leaning back and closing his eyes.
Author: withalittlewit
Pairing: Paul/John, George/Paul
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Swearing is all.
Summary: George loves Ringo, but he's starting to like John and Paul. John loves George, but thinks Paul loves him. Paul loves George, but is using John to make George jealous. Ringo loves Rory, but starts to like George after he finds out about John liking George.
Author’s Notes: JESUS. This took me so long. I have no clue why. I guess I've just become so self-conscious about how I write Paul now, and I'm starting to just write actions and thoughts and no real great descriptions and that makes me sad. D: This is just all about Paul. Paul being Paul otherwise known as Paul. Paul Paul Paul Paul, sometimes called Paul, mostly called Paul, and never once called Reginald.
Oh yeah, and a bit about that one guy. John, I think his name is? :O
Disclaimer: I do not, nor intend to imply to own the Beatles and any of the individuals' lives or history.
Archive
Paul felt hurt.
Paul felt more than hurt. The entire day, every single moment in the day, George had been avoiding him like he was the plague, and he had no idea why. After all, the night before was amazing; they just sat and talked and ate and laughed. Paul had been very proud of his libido, too- he hadn’t tried anything with George to make him feel uncomfortable. Not only that, but George had asked to sleep in the same room with him! But now it felt like they had taken leaps backwards in their relationship.
After George had suddenly ran off during breakfast, he had made stupid excuses to not be in the same room with him, and only seemed to relax when John and Ringo were there as well. Whenever they were left alone, George would look at the ground and mumble something and rush off, and it was starting to piss Paul off.
Of course, George could always turn off and on like that, too. George was so contradictory sometimes; he could be clingy and affectionate one minute and then act like he didn’t know the person the next and be perfectly fine. Paul knew this. He knew it very well. That wasn’t the problem that bugged him so much.
The thing that bugged him was that he could feel George’s eyes on him whenever he turned around. Paul could sense George had something to say to him, like it was threatening to spill, but when he pushed even a bit, George would get too nervous and leave. It was frustrating to say the least, and Paul, though deciding he wouldn’t let it bother him, was very bothered.
(Not to mention bothered in other ways; he hadn’t had sex in a few days, and sleeping right next to George made him hornier than fuck. Paul was still a male, after all.)
However, as the concert was only moments away, Paul tried to put on a happy face and deal through it. They were doing a show after all, and George was pretty much forced to look all buddy-buddy with Paul for the sake of the band’s reputation. After all, what was George going to do? Turn his back on Paul and just share a microphone with John?
When Paul ran onstage, beaming at the screaming crowd, he really, really wished he hadn’t thought that. Because following after him was George, who made a beeline straight to John’s side of the stage. Paul knew he must have looked incredulous, and John copied his look, but just gave Paul an evil grin. Paul took in a deep breath and forced himself to smile at the crowd.
“Hello, we are the Beatles!”
Thousands of girls, young and old, screamed, and Paul gripped the neck of his guitar tightly. God, it felt so empty with no one to bump guitars with anymore, and as he began to sing into the microphone (“Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you, tomorrow I’ll miss you!”) he didn’t bother to check himself as he began to stare at George from across the stage.
----
“Oh, c’mon, Macca, cheer up! It’s not like it’s the end of the fuckin’ world. They loved us out there!” John said as he took the seat next to Paul. He slung an arm around the younger Beatle, only to be ignored. John frowned deeply. “Paul, God, you’re acting like a sod.”
Paul pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m fine,” he answered coldly, and John rolled his eyes. He swung his legs over the couch arm and placed his head on Paul’s laps, looking up at him.
“Well, lassie, don’t ya worry, I’ll thrash the fucker who messed with ya,” John said, fluttering his eyes up at Paul. At this Paul couldn’t help but laugh, and John grinned wildly. George entered the room at the moment with Ringo by his side, but tensed as he saw the scene before him.
Paul glanced at George, did a double take when he saw the expression on the younger Beatle’s face. It was… jealousy? Over what, though? Paul looked back down at John, and an evil idea popped into his head. He ran his fingers through John’s hair, massaging the other man’s scalp lightly. John, though surprised at his friend’s sudden display of affection, enjoyed it nonetheless; he smiled contently.
“Please, sir, may I have some more?” John joked in a timid voice, and Paul nodded, moving to rub John’s belly tenderly. He glanced up at George again and rejoiced when he saw George blush in anger. Paul knew that one more little thing would be enough to tell him that George was indeed jealous.
So as smoothly and casually as he could, Paul laid his hand over John’s lower stomach and leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. His hair fell over John’s face, brushing against the older man’s cheeks, and Paul gave him a small pout. “Hey, Johnny, can we go out drinking today? We haven’t had time alone in a long, long while,” he said sweetly. He could see John’s eyes visibly widen and a blush uncharacteristically spread over the Beatle’s cheeks. Paul quickly looked up, shocked when he saw George stand suddenly.
“Why don’t you guys just get a room?” George said angrily before stalking out. Ringo looked between the two on the couch and his friend before rushing after George, leaving John and Paul alone. Paul straightened, allowing John to sit up as well, and they sat in silence for a while. Finally John found his voice.
“So, ahem, drinks, then?”
Paul turned, almost looking confused before remembering what he had asked of John. George’s sudden outburst had been more than enough proof that he was jealous, and Paul had been caught up in his own thoughts. After he had nodded and followed John out the door, his thoughts overtook him once more.
’What will I do if George really does like me… like that?’
Paul remembered George’s flustered face as he angrily ran off and he smiled against his will. ’He might just be discovering his feelings for me,’ he thought elatedly, ’So I don’t want to accost him… But…’ He glanced at John, who’s back was still tense from the moment before. ’But if I use John, George might be jealous enough to act on his feelings.’
Paul stepped out into the street with John and grinned. “So that’s the plan,” he said to himself. However, John overheard, and turned to look at his friend.
“What’s the plan?” he asked, almost sounding frightened to hear the answer.
“Oh, nothing, Johnny. Nothing to concern yourself with.” At the words he linked arms with the older man. Though George wasn’t around, he figured he might as well get used to it. It was an added bonus when John’s face grew red again and Paul laughed inwardly.
------
John squirmed on the couch uncomfortably. He had sat down to watch the telly, just to see what was on (nothing good, of course) when Paul sat down next to him. Paul hadn’t attempted to move closer to him or anything, but John knew it was inevitable. After all, ever since the concert, Paul had been acting very affectionate.
Being the expert in birds as he was, John knew there was only one real reason for the sudden change of heart. Paul was clearly in love with him.
And who wouldn’t be? John was good-looking, smart, witty, funny, about to be incredibly rich. He had birds hanging off him all the time, and it was about damn time some men confessed their undying love to him.
Still, it was Paul. And Paul was John’s best mate. And it was bound to get awkward eventually.
“So, John, I was thinking-“
John started at Paul’s sudden words, then tried to play it off like he was cold and shivering. He rubbed a hand against his arm. “Wow, is it cold here, or is it just me?” he asked. Paul looked concerned for a moment and he reached up and placed a hand against John’s forehead. John’s face grew red from the close contact, though it never would have effected him if he hadn’t come into the new information about how Paul was queer and after his man-meats.
Paul drew back quickly and waved his hand off. “God, John, you’re burning! Do you think maybe you have a fever?”
John’s eyes widened, but he didn’t want Paul to know the truth. He nodded. “Yeah, I think I caught something yesterday, actually,” he said. He gave a few fake coughs to seal the deal, and Paul frowned.
“You really have to take better care of yourself, Johnny. What happens if you get really sick?”
John gave him a grin. “Well, I guess you boys’ll have to go on without me, then.”
“Oh, no, whatever shall we do without the Great John Lennon?” Paul joked and rolled his eyes. John relaxed and laughed lightly.
“It’s alright, we’ll have Ringo dress up like me and sing a few songs. Not like the crowd’ll even hear us, eh? Might as well sing some ‘Ode to Hitler’ out there. You know I’d do anything for the party.”
It was Paul’s turn to laugh, and John’s mind eased. Maybe Paul wasn’t in love with him. Maybe he was just interpreting things wrong. After all, Paul hadn’t tried anything funny with him during this time. Whether it was his sudden ease or routine, when Paul fell against his shoulder, John swung his arm over the top of the sofa, allowing Paul to lean against his chest.
The younger Beatle pretended to fan a hand in front of his face. “Eww, you smell, Johnny. When’s the last time you took a shower?”
John feigned anger. “Well, unfortunately, Mr. McCartney, not everyone can afford to wash their shirts everyday! I practically live off of food stains now, what with my fourteen children and three wives to feed now. It’s a horrible life, it really is, sir. So perchance I might get just one ha-penny?” he asked, voice reverting to one of an old, tired man. Paul fell into a fit of laughter once more, and John pretended to scowl. “Oh, you think I’m lying, do you laddie?! Well, take this then!”
John reached down and began to attack Paul’s sides, his fingers brushing and roughly tickling the younger man’s stomach. Paul continued to laugh, his hands out in front of him as he fell back on the couch. John loomed over him, unwilling to stop, and Paul began to have tears in his eyes. He tried to push John away, but the leader was much too strong and much too determined, and John began to laugh as well.
Finally Paul began to cough harshly, tears of laughter streaking down his face. John stopped his advances and put both hands on either side of Paul’s head, staring down at him.
“You alright?” he asked, allowing genuine worry to enter his voice.
Paul nodded; it was all he could manage between his fits of coughing. John continued to stare down at Paul, noting his flushed cheeks, the glossy eyes, the red lips-
“Why don’t you get a fucking room!?”
John’s head snapped up, saw the furiousness on George’s face and quickly moved off of Paul. God, that was not the impression he wanted to give George, especially since they had been on good terms as of late. He looked away from George and turned his attention back at the telly. Paul slowly sat up next to him and began to deliver an explanation.
“We weren’t doing anything, just-“
“Don’t fucking give him an explanation. He doesn’t need to know what we were doing; we can do whatever the fuck we want,” John quickly said and turned to look at George. He was pissed that Paul had even tried to give George a reason to their behavior as if George owned them. As if George needed to know what they were doing at all times of day.
John glared at George out of habit, routine. George stared back, biting his lip, trying hard not to tear up. John could see the pain in the younger man’s eyes; the years of being put down welling up into one, single, heartbreaking look. George quickly ran off.
Ringo took the opportunity to walk in, and, seeing George slam the door, he looked between the two groups of people. Without a word he ran after his best mate, leaving John and Paul alone.
John felt Paul quietly move away. He didn’t try to look at the younger Beatle; after all, it was Paul’s advances that made this happen, wasn’t it? Paul gently touched John’s shoulder, trying to comfort him, but John moved away violently. He bit his tongue and imagined Paul’s shocked and upset face as he slipped into his room. Their room, the room they had to share.
John let his head fall into his hands. God, what had he done? Why did he have to be so mean to George all the time? He hadn’t meant to, he never did, but… But it was in John’s nature, wasn’t it?
“Fuck me,” he cursed lowly, clutching his hair with his hands. The look George had given him, like he had died and John was the one who killed him, that was the worst. George looked so pained, so hurt, so full of bitter sadness…
John reached out, threw over the nearby lampshade in a fit of frustration and anger. He watched as it crashed to the ground, the light bulb shattering and scattering across the carpeted floor.
He stared at the random pattern the glass made, feeling his heart do the same thing. “Fuck me,” he repeated before leaning back and closing his eyes.