(no subject)
Title: Smoking of All Things
Author: Lucy and Ramona
Rating: PG.
Pairing: John/Paul.
Genre: Slash.
Warnings: Nothing. Yeah, no warnings at all. Wow.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Beatles and make no aspersions toward their sexualities.
Summary: Paul gets grounded. John wants to see him anyway.
Author's Note: I quite enjoy this one. I was supposed to post another one, but lost my jump drive. Since I've found it, might post that one later...
John walks swiftly toward Paul's house. He's been itching to play. After Paul left Tuesday, a tune had popped into his head and he was worried that if he didn't do something with it, it would disappear.
He quickly closes the distance to Paul's front door, knocking on the wood firmly three times.
Paul's father hears a rapping at his door and hurries to answer it.
"Hold on. I'm coming."
He opens the door and is met by the face of an anxious John Lennon.
"Hullo, Mr. McCartney. Is Paul in, by any chance?" John decides politeness might be the way to go after viewing the vague irritation on the older man's face.
"He is, but he's been grounded. Sorry, Lennon, but he's not going to be available for the next week, if he's lucky. Caught him smoking, of all things."
John rushes to cover a snort. "Er... Paul? Never, sir..."
Paul's father simply eyes him suspiciously.
"Are you sure I wouldn't be able to see him? I'd only be a minute, I swear."
"No. It's not much of a punishment if I don't enforce it, is it?"
"I suppose that's true..." John answers reluctantly. "Still-"
"He's got to learn his lesson."
John grumbles, turning away slowly. "Bugger..."
"Language, young man," he is reprimanded before the door sharply closes.
John huffs his way home, throwing himself onto his bed. He's got to see Paul. Somehow.
-~-~-~-
Paul sits on his bed, feeling like the great git he is.
"I can't believe I got caught! smoking! Of all things! How could I have been so daft?"
Paul kicks his pillow off of his bed roughly.
"I was supposed to practise today! See John! Arsehole..." he thinks to himself bitterly.
A sudden storm of stones scatters against his window.
"Holy-"
Paul rushes over to his window, opening it hesitantly.
"What the - John?" Paul has to force himself not to smile too widely.
"No, bloody Father Christmas, who d'you think?" John whisper-calls to him grumpily. "I've come to rescue you!"
"What... John, I can't leave my room! I'm... Grounded..." Paul frowns at himself.
"I know that, git! Doesn't mean I can't come up there. Well, I suppose that's not allowed either. But I don't care much for rules, you know that."
Paul stares down at him, smile spreading across his face. "Why didn't you say so? Come on!"
John grins, looking around before making his way to the drainpipe and beginning a slow and arduous trek up it.
"Be careful!" Paul shouts at him. "Don't want my dad hearin' you!" he giggles loudly. "Might not let me ever leave the house then!"
"About that," John grunts, halfway up. "'Ow were you so abominably STUPID to let him catch you smoking? Of all things? All the shite you get up to, and you got in trouble for having a fag?"
"Shurrup..." Paul frowns again, this time more noticeably. "Not my fault he decided to come home early..."
John finally clambers to the top of the pipe. "Guess not..." he mutters, holding out his hand. "Gimme a pull, wouldja?"
Paul reaches his hand out and pulls John into his room, nearly knocking over the lamp on his bedside table in the process.
"Jesus..." he huffs out.
"Clumsy..." John chastises teasingly, quickly dodging Paul's attempted shove.
Paul smiles at him. "Shh, he'll hear us!"
John makes an exaggerated motion of zipping his lips.
"So... What brought you over here to break my dad's rules anyway?" Paul grins.
"My evil ways, corrupting young boys everywhere and teaching them 'ow to smoke," John deadpans.
Paul giggles. "Okay, okay. So why're you really over here?"
John shrugs. "Had a bit, y'know... Thought you could help."
"Yeah? Let's hear it!" Paul says excitedly.
John looks at him in confusion. "Er... Guitars are a bit hard to carry while shimmying up drainpipes. Can I use yours?"
Paul lets out a laugh, getting up to grab his guitar. "Since when do you ask?" he jokes.
"Since you didn't just hand it to me like a good boy. That Lennon's getting to you, I'd say. Turning you into a ruffian."
Paul lets out another burst of giggles. "Yes, just because you haven't trained me completely, you think I'm a ruffian." He hands him the guitar.
John strums. "It's not done, obviously," he warns.
"That's alright, we are partners for a reason." He grins at him.
John nods. "That we are." He falls silent, strumming quietly before he begins to sing softly.
Paul listens closely, watching John carefully as he does.
"Imagine I'm in love with you, it's easy 'cause I know, do do do dah do do do dah do, la la la la la la la la la..."
Paul keeps listening, trying to put words together in his mind to figure out what would fit in the spots where John hasn't come up with any words.
"So I'm telling you my friend, I'll get you, I'll get you in the end, yes I will, I'll get you in the end..." John stops. "That's all I've got."
"Hmm... I like it. Can you sing the first bit again?" Paul asks.
John obeys. "Imagine I'm in love with you, it's easy cause I know..."
"I've imagined I'm in love with you... Many times before?" Paul sing-asks.
"Not enough syllables..." John mutters, singing it experimentally. "Maybe... Add more manys? Many, many many times before?"
"Oh! That's good!" Paul's eyes drift to meet John's.
John grins. "Knew you'd help..."
"What I'm here for..." Paul smiles.
"It needs a middle eight." John frowns. "You're good at those."
"Okay, I'm on it!" Paul smiles. "Er... There's gonna be a time, when I'm gonna change your mind, so you might as well resign yourself to me?"
"Yeah, that's good... You got paper?"
"Yeah... Gimme a sec." Paul gets off the bed. He walks over to his desk and grabs a notebook and a pencil. "Here." He grins, handing the notebook to John.
John leans over Paul's desk, scribbling down the lyrics so far.
Paul leans in close as he does so. "So... Where did you get the idea for this?"
John shrugs a shoulder absently. "Just popped into my head after you left Tuesday."
Paul blinks at him. "Bril." He smiles.
"Yeah... Maybe you should come over more often, you inspire me," John mumbles, eyes focused on the paper.
"I... Inspire you?" Paul's smile is small on the outside, but inside he's beaming.
John freezes as he realizes how that sounds. "Er..."
"You inspire me too," Paul replies quietly, hint of a smile in his voice.
John relaxes slightly. "Not... Not, y'know, in a queer way. Just... Just like a friend, y'know."
"Yeah... Like a mate."
John nods firmly, eyes still on the paper. "Just needs another verse or two, I think..."
"How about... When I think about you I can say, I'm never... never never, never blue." Paul pauses. "So I'm telling you my friend, that I'll get you, I'll get you in the end..."
John nods frantically, writing it down. "I like it... Like it a lot." He turns to smile at Paul and suddenly realizes how close he's standing.
Paul smiles back at him, placing a hand around his shoulder and squeezing tightly before pulling it away.
John grins slowly, trying to restrain it.
Paul turns away, looking back down at the paper as John looks down at Paul looking at the paper.
"I like it too. Fab," Paul states almost dreamily.
John's smiles widens. "Really? You like it?" he asks eagerly.
"Yeah, I love it." Paul smiles.
"Gear." John's smile won't leave his face no matter how hard he tries.
"Wanna smoke?" Paul asks eagerly.
John snorts. "Haven't learned your lesson yet?" He raises an eyebrow.
"I'm sorry, my best mate just has such a bad influence on me." He grins.
"Obviously not bad enough, you still got caught," John points out, digging in his pocket for his pack. He holds one out to Paul.
"Thanks." Paul smiles, taking the cigarette from John's hand. Their fingers brush momentarily, and John grins subtly before digging in his other pocket for a lighter, flicking it open and holding it up to the cigarette at Paul's lips. Paul nods thankfully, puffing the smoke into his lungs.
John lights his own, taking a deep drag. "Hmm... Haven't had one since yesterday."
"'aven't had one since Monday. Cor, I can't believe I got caught."
"I can't either. What happened, anyway? I mean, smoking, Paul... smoking."
There is a sudden rumble of feet coming up the staircase. "Shit! It's him!" Paul drops his cigarette in his lap.
John takes his own cigarette and tosses it out the still open window. He dives under the bed just as the stomping steps reach Paul's door.
Paul smacks the burning ciggie off his lap and it in turn falls under the bed where John quickly stubs it out, silently moving against the wall, as far back as he can go. His door swings open.
"Paulie..."
"Uh... Yeah, Dad?"
Paul's father gives the room a quick onceover. "Thought I heard voices... Thought I smelled smoke." He raises an eyebrow.
"I stopped that, I told you. I won't do it again."
John covers a snicker under the bed, eyeing the cigarette that Paul wasn't ever doing again.
"Alright... Well, dinner's ready," Paul's father says in a normal tone.
"Not hungry. Maybe later?"
"Alright, Paulie..." His father leaves the room slowly, closing the door with a soft click.
"... You can come out now." Paul lies on the floor to whisper to John.
John pops his head out. "You're sure?" he hisses.
Paul stays where he is, face uncomfortably close to John's. "Yeah, he's gone."
John blinks at him. "You almost got caught again."
"I'm really bad at this ruffian stuff, I think," Paul chuckles.
"Maybe I should stop corrupting you, then," John breathes, staring at him.
"No... I like that part." Paul gives him a small smile.
John grins again. "Good. I like it too."
Paul grins back. "I should let you get up, huh?"
"Probably. Not very comfortable down here."
Paul moves, getting to his feet and letting John slip out from under the bed.
John stretches once he gets to his feet. "Cramped under there..."
"Sorry. Could've hid in the wardrobe." He shrugs with a smile.
"Aye, could've. But I don't fancy closets. Too restrictive."
"True, that is."
"How about you stop being caught, and I won't have to worry about it?"
"I can try." Paul winks.
John returns to the pad of paper, reading over the lyrics again. "You really like it?"
"I told you, it's fab." Paul rolls his eyes, smiling.
"You're not just sayin' that?" John demands to know.
"I mean it, I like it. I can hardly not, I mean, I did inspire it." He smirks playfully.
"Oh, shurrup," John grumbles, but a smile forms on his face regardless.
Paul smiles to himself. "Anything you say, Johnny."
"Nerk."
Paul smiles anyway.