All over Bubbles

[macca44552]

Title: All over Bubbles (Chapter 29)

Author: macca44552
Pairings: J/P, P/G
Rating: NC-17

Warnings: sexual situations, drug and alcohol use, language

Summary: John notices something that pisses him off: George has a thing for Macca. So John settles this in the only way he knows how: a bet. Who will win Paul’s heart: John or George? And how does Ringo feel about this whole thing?

A/N: Remember how I told you last week that I was going to be pushing out three updates for that week? Yeah…sorry about that. My laptop broke, and it was extremely difficult trying to snag other people’s computers…to write a slash story. O.O Then I had a huge midterm this week …grr…things just kept piling up. While my midterms are over, my computer is still busted (no one seems to know what is wrong with it!). Next week I have a huge research paper to write, as well as a very in-detailed lab report. Long story short, I have no idea when the next update will be. Probably sometime after Easter. I’m really sorry about this, but with the double forces of school and computer fail, I really can’t do any better. I’ll still dish out updates when I can, though. I’m not abandoning this fic. :D

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Beatles, nor do I claim to. This is a fictional story and is not written to be libelous.

Chapters 1-28


Chapter 29

Mind games were great.

But they couldn’t last forever.  John knew this. Fucking around with Paul was one of his favorite pastimes, but if he was going to get anywhere with him, then he needed to kick things up a notch. If he dragged things out too long, he could wind up sending Paul straight into the arms of Harrison and that was un-fucking-acceptable.

John whistled as he gently tossed Philip up in the air. He was bored, happy, and horny. All of which were a lethal combination.

“What’s that?” Ringo mumbled from his bed. John looked over at Ringo, who was staring at him with blue, questioning eyes.

“That’s just your nose, love. It’s obscuring your vision,” John joked. Ringo smiled.

“Ha ha. I’m talking about that song you were whistling! What was that?” he asked. John frowned and tried to recreate the tune that had nestled into his head at one point, but found that he couldn’t summon it again. Fuck his shoddy memory!

“Dunno. Some worthless bit,” John answered as he sat up in his bed and put Philip in his pocket.

“It wasn’t worthless. It sounded really good! You should bring that one to Paul,” Ringo said. John shrugged off Ringo’s praise as his mind zeroed in on one thing: Paul.

“Is Macca awake?” John asked, his mind tossing out images of Paul naked, sweating, and panting beneath him. His prick twitched excitedly.

“I dunno, why?”

“Cause I’m as fucking stiff as a tree, that’s why!” John declared as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Ringo chuckled.

“Sorry, John. A bit small you know…I can’t tell.”

“Small? Oi! I’ll fucking pull my pants down right now, son,” John said. Ringo looked horrified.

“No no!” he held up his hands as he scooted back in his bed (as if that would save him), “Only a joke. Bloody fucking hell!”

John laughed and stood up. He ran his calloused fingers down a small crack on the peach-colored hotel wall. He idly wondered if he could deepen the crack by fucking Paul so bloody hard right against that part of the wall. He’d have to get Paul a helmet first. Maybe Eppy had some hel-

“What’s been going on with you and Paul anyway?” Ringo asked. John smirked as he turned away from the wall. He had been keeping their kissing interactions a secret for numerous reasons. The biggest one was torture. He knew that he could torture George by not saying anything-by leaving just the right clues-by giving George those knowing stares…it was all certain to drive him mad. And it was. After all, people were afraid of the unknown, right? The paranoia and uncertainty were mind-fucking George to death, and that made for a weaker opponent. Paul, well, he certainly wouldn’t tell George. Paul could convince himself that he wasn’t going to tell Harrison because he didn’t want to hurt him and all that shite, but John knew better. Paul was saving his own arse by not telling him. On this occasion, Paul’s selfishness was alright with John-it worked better for his plan anyway.

On the other end of it, keeping their brief kisses a secret was also torturing Macca. John knew that Paul was just biding his time; he was waiting for John to run right up to George, tell him everything, and then have to deal with the backlash. The fact that John wasn’t saying anything was probably nerve-wracking as fuck for the neurotic bassist. Excellent. And why tell Ringo? John didn’t want to run the risk of the drummer turning around and telling his best mate all about Paul’s whorish ways! He was having way too much fun with his mind games. Plus, if George were to find out too soon, John’s chances of winning the bet could run the risk of dropping dramatically.

But John was way too fucking happy to care about any of that shite. He needed to tell someone!

“The little fucker pushed me against the wall and assaulted me with his mouth,” John said. Ringo’s jaw dropped.

“WHAT?!” he blurted out. John sighed.

“It was horrible! I didn’t have the chance to run!” John said dramatically as he put a hand over his heart.

“Wait…wait…let me get this straight. Paul…kissed you?” Ringo said as he rubbed his forehead in an effort to grasp the situation. John smirked.

“Oh yeah. Up against the wall, you remember.”

“Wait!” Ringo started as he crawled to the edge of the bed like a five year old getting ready to hear a particularly exciting bedtime story, “Tell me what happened!”

“Jesus Ringo! Do you want to do our nails after?” John teased.

“I’m the moderator! I should know!”

“Fine…alright. This is what happened,” John said in his granny voice as he took a seat next to Ringo, “I was knitting a hat when I-”

“Corr, come off it!” Ringo said as he nudged him in the side. John laughed.

“Alright! No need to get physical. Fucking rapist. Anyroad, I was coming back from spending the night with Amber and Philip. Eppy was being his typical queer self, ordering everyone to take away the jobs of the cleaning staff by making the suite as presentable as possible before we leave. Fucking pointless. So I ignored him and walked away…he obviously drooled over my nice arse as I did this,” John whispered the last bit and Ringo laughed hysterically. “After that, I went into Paul’s room all cool-like. I showed him Philip. And then, you know, Paul was just so fucking happy, that he grabbed me shoulders and pushed me against the wall! Really, Rings. That bloke is a fucking animal. You saw what he did with those cotton balls!” John explained vividly as he took out a ciggie and tossed one to Ringo. The drummer sighed and laughed.

“So…I’m guessing, and I might be wrong, that you were the one who was so excited over Philip that you pushed Paul against the wall and snogged him?” Ringo asked as his cigarette hung out of the side of his mouth. John snickered.

“That is always a possibility.”

“I’m guessing that it’s more than just a possibility.”

“Right well…he followed suit eventually. He really did throw me against the wall at one point! Fuck, that was hot,” John reminisced as he took a long drag of his cigarette. Ringo scrunched his nose up comically.

“Sounds charming,” he deadpanned. John tapped him on the back.

“Don’t worry, Rings! You’ll get fucked one day. You might have to go to a charity event to do it, but it’s possible,” John joked. Ringo stared at the wall. John studied him once he realized that his joke was being ignored. Ringo looked…contemplative and torn. John sighed and stood up.

“Harrison’s a big boy. He agreed to this…he agreed to everything. He’s going to have to deal with not getting his way, for once,” John said bitterly. Ringo lifted up his head to look at John.

“I’m happy for you; I really am. I’m just…”

“I know, Rings. Fuck, save some of that compassion for the Chinese government, yeah?” John responded as Ringo stood up, stretched, and went over to his suitcase. John watched him for a few seconds before turning to the cracked wall once more and trying to figure out just how he was going to go about luring Paul into his room. Talking seemed like a good start…

“I’m going to-”

“Yeah, I don’t care what you’re going to do. Just stay out of this room for the next few hours, yeah? I’ve got to use it for me schemes,” John interrupted Ringo, who was holding a pile of clothes in his hands as well as a box of American graham crackers. John was almost curious enough to ask what the bleedin’ hell he was planning on doing with that shite, but he decided that it was irrelevant.

“Sure. That won’t be an inconvenience to me whatsoever,” Ringo said cheekily as he made his way to the door.

“Appreciate it,” John drawled and he turned around to face the wall again, “Another thing… try not to go tattling off to George, yeah?” he demanded more than asked. Ringo nodded and left the room. Once John heard the door close behind him, he took a final drag of his ciggie before crushing it against the wall and watching the gray ashes float to the ground. John swore.

He knew that Paul wanted him, but there was an invisible hand on his shoulder-something was holding him back. John’s insecurities were still running deep-what if Paul really didn’t want him? What if the kissing that had gone on between them had only reiterated Paul’s feelings for George? John was a fantastic fucking kisser…with women. What if he was shoddy when it came to kissing men? An even more horrible thought; what if George was better than him?? What if Macca was now surer than ever that he wanted George, not him?

Well there’s no use sitting about and dwelling on it, John thought. He had to take a chance, another one, to try and see if things could work out between him and Paul.

Turning away from the cracked wall, he left and marched on over to Paul and George’s room. John knocked briefly, if one would count flicking the door irritably as knocking, before turning the knob and letting himself in. Disgust swam through his body; George was red, sweaty, and his breathing was coming out in uneven pants as he threw a shirt on over his head and looked at John with extreme irritation. Macca was on the other side of the room, bass in hand, and a look of cold indifference spread out on his features. Oddly enough, Paul didn’t look disheveled at all. What the fuck was up with George!??!

“Corr, Harrison! Been looking at photos of Ringo’s scrotum?” John bit with a smirk. George gave him the middle finger.

“Sod you. Paul dared me to do one hundred push-ups,” George said, angry with John, yet still trying to come off as friendly and make amends. Lennon was having none of that.

“I’m surprised you can count that high. How many did you actually do? Five?” John sneered. George opened his mouth to make an angry comeback but Paul interrupted him.

“Go away, John,” he said in an even voice. John looked over at Paul and their eyes met. A whirlwind of energy passed between them and John actually had to catch himself, lest he stumble from the force of it. Paul looked away.

“Actually,” John wheezed as he tried to regulate his breathing, “I have a song I want you to listen to.”

Paul raised his brows. “Really?” he asked. John rolled his eyes.

“Yes really, you git! It’s what we do, isn’t it?” John retorted. Paul licked his lips and stared off into space for a few seconds before returning his attentions to his bass.

“I’m busy here, John,” he clipped. John growled in annoyance-an emotion that didn’t become any easier to control when he saw a grin smothered all over Harrison’s face. Mother fucking cunt.

“You’re not busy, Paul!” John started, choosing to ignore George, “Cut the shite! I don’t care how pissed off you are at me, the point is I’ve got a song and this is our careers! Are you going to help me with it or are you just going to muck about like a miserable tosser?!” John yelled. Paul sighed and covered his face with his hands while John crossed his arms with superiority. He knew he had him. Paul wouldn’t put his own emotions in front of something for the group.

“Okay,” Paul responded. He put down his bass, picked up his acoustic, and followed John out of the room. He let Paul walk ahead of him so that he could turn around and rightfully smirk in George’s mildly irritated countenance.

“So,” Paul started as soon as he entered John’s room, “what are you working on?” Despite the fact that Paul was still angry with John, the latter could so easily sense how excited he was to be working on a song. Such a shame that John was going to have to destroy his dreams.

John leaned against the door, arms crossed, and stared at Paul pointedly. “Do you remember the blue shirt that you used to wear? The really tight one that I hated?” John asked as he let his mind fill with the images of Paul in his favorite skin-tight blue shirt.

Paul put his guitar down and crossed his arms, miming John without even realizing it.

“Do you have a song or what?” he demanded. John smirked.

“After I told you that I thought you looked like a fucking ponce in that shirt, you never wore it again,” John voiced. Paul shuffled around uncomfortably.

“Look, if you haven’t got a song then I’m going to leave,” he threatened.  John sighed dramatically.

“I hate that you got rid of it. I quite liked that shirt on you.”

Paul threw his hands up in the air.

“Well sorry if you didn’t exactly make that opinion clear! I’ll go out right now and search through all the rubbish for it!” Paul yelled. John looked down.

“You looked really good in that shirt, you know. Made me hard every time I saw you. That’s why I had to make you get rid of it,” John explained in a small voice, his vulnerability on display. Paul stared at him in shock for a moment before he shook his head violently.

“No…don’t do that! Don’t say things like that!” Paul shouted. John felt himself fill with anger. That was the thanks he got for letting his guard down? Paul was going to fucking accuse him of being a liar?!

“Don’t say things like what, Paul? The truth?!”

“You’re not saying the truth! You’re just trying to get me to…forgive you so you can use me as one of your bleedin’ experiments!” Paul shouted. John snorted.

“Yeah Paul, that’s right! ‘Cause I’ve got nothing to do but to sit around and contemplate how I can experiment with my best mate! Really spot-on with that conclusion, you are!”

“Well how else do you explain it!? When you found out that George and I were…doing stuff…you didn’t talk to me for days!! But now, all of a sudden, you’re coming up and snogging me?!?!” Paul explained loudly.

“You’re not a fucking experiment!!!” John shouted.

“It bloody well seems like it!!”

“Well you’re wrong!”

“A joke, then!!?! Maybe this is all a joke!?!”

“IT’S NOT A FUCKING JOKE!!!” John screamed. He pushed himself away from the door and stood in front of Paul-close enough to smell his anger, but far enough away so as to not be able to do what he so desperately wanted. To punch him in the face. “How many more times do I have to say it before it penetrates through that thick fucking skull of yours!?!? Did you ever think that the reason I was pissed off about you and George had nothing to do with you two being queer!?! Did you ever think that, I don’t know here’s a thought, that I was jealous!?!” John yelled, laying it all out there. That was the only way that he was going to make Paul understand.

Paul’s mouth hung open comically as he searched for words. “No no no no no no! John…just stop!”

“I’m telling you the fucking truth!” John said strongly. Paul backed away from him and started pacing.

“No no no. It’s not the truth! Stop-”

“I’ve fucking wanted you for a long time, Paul. For longer than anyone else! And that includes Harrison!”

“No..no!”

“No what, Paul?!!? You can’t honestly tell me that you don’t feel it!”

Paul stopped pacing at once and looked at John with wide eyes.

“Feel what?” he questioned stupidly.

John stepped forward, “This thing between us! This connection,” John said as he pointed to both of them in turn, “We can fucking look at each other and know what we’re feeling and thinking! God, Paul…you can’t tell me that you don’t feel that,” John urged desperately. What if Paul didn’t feel it? What if the connection between them-the connection that allowed John to open up to Paul more than anybody else-what if it really was just…one-sided?

Paul gulped and looked away. “It doesn’t…it might not…It doesn’t mean that the connection is a…sexual sort of thing…it might just be because of the music!” Paul tried. A mixture of intense relief and frustration flooded John’s chest. He was ecstatic that their connection wasn’t one-sided, but really! How fucking stupid was Paul!?!

“For fuck’s sake, Paul! You can’t be that thick!! It’s not just through music and you fucking know it!!”

“What else am I supposed to say, John?! That I’m madly fucking in love with you!?! I’m not a fucking queer!” Paul shouted, his face red. John stepped back and examined him closely.

“Is that what this is all about, Paul? You’re afraid of being queer?” John asked with a chuckle. Apparently Paul was ignorant as to what gender George was.

“I’m not afraid of being queer because I’m not queer! End of the story!” Paul shouted stubbornly. John sighed. He knew that he was going to have a tough time trying to get Paul to come to terms with his fucked up sexuality. Now was not the time, though. Not if he wanted him soon.

John sighed and looked at Macca with resolve.

“Paul,” he said quietly as he opened his arms and prepared to take out his oldest weapon, “where are we going?”

Paul stared at him unblinkingly. A long stretch of time passed between them before John saw a tug at the corner of Paul’s mouth. “To the toppermost.”

“Of the…?” John asked as he stepped forward and put a hand behind his ear.

“Poppermost,” Paul said quietly. John smiled.

“And who’s ‘we’ referring to in this scenario? Is it The Beatles…is it...who?” John asked, stepping closer.  Paul licked his lips.

“Us. You and me.”

“That’s right Paul. You,” John stepped closer to Paul (now he was close enough to do what he wanted to do. Though that no longer included punching) and gently laced his fingers in Macca’s dark locks, “and me,” John let their noses touch, “It’s always been about us, Paul.  Always,” he whispered.  They were still staring into each other’s eyes and the close proximity made John’s blood race. A gush of hot air sizzled up his body and, in a momentary act of weakness, John’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. Paul let out a shaky breath.

“J-john?” he stuttered. John massaged Paul’s scalp gently while his other hand came up and cupped Paul’s cheek. A ferocious tightness was eclipsing John’s chest and he was breathing more heavily than normal.

“Yeah?” he asked, trying not to devour every inch of Paul as he felt the bassist’s hands circling around his waist.

“I…want…” but that was all that Paul said before he connected his lips with John’s.

It was soft, genuine, and experimental-as if their lips were trying to figure out if this could work between them.  John moved his thumb in small circles on Paul’s face. He felt as if the world was exploding all around him-was he really kissing Paul McCartney? Paul, his best friend, his equal, his long-time fantasy? When they had kissed before it was different. Quick and unfocused. But this…this was real.

Their lips moved in unhurried strokes. It was intense with emotion and building passion. John gasped as he continued to softly press against Paul’s lips. They separated naturally to look into each other’s eyes. Macca’s orbs were dark and his face was glowing. His mouth was open, guarded by swollen lips, and he silently begged for more. With an embarrassing start, John realized that his own mouth was opened just as eagerly. John tilted his head up and felt his groin twitch dramatically when Paul tilted his head upwards as well-ready to meet him. The fingers that John had intertwined in Paul’s dark roots suddenly clung to his partner’s hair as he shoved their lips together again, a hot chill sweeping his body. Paul moaned and snuck his tongue inside John’s mouth.

John groaned and breathed heavily through his nose as he tasted Paul completely.  Paul’s small noises filled his ears and, at one point, John thought that his dick was going to explode. He parted from Paul momentarily and focused his actions on Paul’s neck.  With gentle strokes, John swiveled his tongue in well-measured circles, focusing on Paul’s collarbone.  The bassist jumped and groaned obscenely. John gasped and dragged his hands away from Paul’s face, reaching his lean chest and circling around his pert nipples.

“Fuck,” Paul quietly breathed before he dislodged his neck from John’s mouth and roughly shoved his lips onto the older man. There was no mistaking it now, there were no tentative strokes or insecure pressings-this kiss was driven by pure, passionate lust. The kind that made John dizzy. He felt like his entire body was on fire; the need to release was pressing on his very core. It was better than the first time they had kissed, stronger. John growled.

A whimper escaped from Paul’s mouth and he tightly gripped John’s lower back and smashed their midsections together.

“Oh fuck,” John gasped when he felt Paul’s hardness pressing against his own. Making a split-second decision, John pulled away from Paul. Through Paul’s lust-craven eyes, he managed to conjure up a look of confusion before John grabbed his shirt, the black cotton bunching up in his hands.

“C’mere,” John said, his voice full of gravel.

Paul shuddered. John moved them over to the bed and shoved Paul on top of it. He bounced briefly before John crawled over him and resumed the passionate kissing. Paul’s arms wrapped around him possessively. John placed his hands under Paul’s shirt, gracing and pressing against Macca’s warm skin before he completely lost control and shoved his head beneath Paul’s shirt, trailing the skin with hot kisses. The most delicious noises were escaping from Paul’s lips as John swirled and sucked on Paul’s nipples. Once those were wonderfully attended to, John moved down along his stomach. Down and down and down and down. Paul swore and wriggled and panted and blinked when John lapped at the patch of hair that led down to his erection. John’s nose was right at the begging of Paul’s pants and he so fucking longed to pull them off and take what he wanted. Based on his overzealous reaction, he could tell that Harrison never did that to Paul. A wave of superiority passed through John and he bit the fabric of Paul’s jeans. The latter thrusted wildly.

John should have known that George wouldn’t have sucked Paul off. George was kinky and rough (John had had the unfortunate experience of watching George have at it a couple of times), but he didn’t seem to be too experimental when it came to sex. A bit of a prude, really. Oh well. That could only mean good things for John, who was willing to fulfill all of Paul’s needs.

Wasn’t he?

Yes, but he was fucking nervous! He didn’t want to be shoddy at it and have Paul run right back to Harrison! As John unbuttoned Paul’s jeans, he noticed that they were both shaking-Paul was twitching about in anticipation, tossing his head around spastically, jerking his hips, and mumbling ‘fuck’ every few seconds; John was shaking out of apprehension. But fuck…if he could do this-he would be miles ahead of Harrison!! And he wanted it too, badly. Plus, he had sucked cock before!! If he really was awful at it, at least he could take comfort in the fact that he’d certainly be better than Harrison!

John stared at the erection that was tenting Paul’s pants-that had been tenting John’s imagination. Fuck.

It was now or never.

To be continued…

Smiley Face loves comments! =) (Anyone wanna take a guess at how many push-ups George did? XD)