(no subject)
Title: Pretty Damn Special
Author: Lucy
Rating: PG-13.
Pairing: John/Paul.
Genre: Slash.
Warnings: Language.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Beatles and make no aspersions toward their sexualities.
Summary: Funny, how love can be.
Author's Note: My attempt at writing Paul's point of view, hope it's alright :)
It's a funny thing, John Lennon having a crush on you.
Paul's not sure when he realized all the brushes and nudges and glances for what they were.
It isn't so much different from a bird having a crush on him, really, except it's John. And John doesn't blush or titter or bat his eyelashes.
It's not a queer kind of crush, despite the fact that he's a bloke. In fact, it's sort of endearing. Paul would call it sweet, even. If he were suicidal.
John doesn't know he knows, at least, Paul doesn't think he does. Paul's not even sure John knows it's a crush he's got. But he does recognize the signs.
When suddenly, one day, John won't meet his eyes. Usually, they'll just sit and stare at each other, tossing lyrics and glances back and forth. But recently, John has begun conversing with his left shoulder instead.
Except he keeps staring. It never stops. John won't look in his eyes, but he's got no problem with all his other body parts.
Paul can't just not notice, with John just... staring all the time! When he licks his lips, John stares. When he bends over to pick something up, he stares. When he fucking breathes, John stares. It's almost unbearable.
He caught him, once. John had stayed over the night of Paul's sixteenth birthday, and, well, he only has the one bed. Besides, at the time, Paul had thought they were just mates. No big deal.
He slept well that night, only waking the next morning when the sun streamed cheerfully through his window. He had blinked his eyes open slowly, stretching, and caught John's stare before he could turn away.
At the time, Paul had simply thought it a bit odd.
"You been up long?" he asked awkwardly.
John's head had turned away and he had shrugged a shoulder carefully.
"No, not long," but the lie was obvious.
Paul hadn't called him out on it. Maybe he sensed it even then.
The idea that John was probably watching him sleep gives him a sort of shiver, but he's not sure if it's of disgust (he's pretty sure it isn't, actually) or... Well, he's not sure about that, either.
'... And why not?' a niggling voice asks in Paul's head. 'Why can't you just admit it? You've got a crush on him right back, you great poof. You practically cream your trousers every time he bloody looks at you.'
But really, Paul thinks that shouldn't count against him. Anyone would be affected like that if John looked at them that way, all dark hooded eyes and debauchery. It's a lethal mix.
'And you can't say it doesn't give you a little thrill when you moisten your lips and he doesn't stop staring. Because you just know he wants to kiss you. And you wouldn't quite mind... Would you?'
Well, you can't blame him for that, either. Who wouldn't want to kiss John Lennon? Paul's seen him kiss girls, he's seen the way they melt under his lips, the way they cling to him, eager for more.
It's not strange to want that, is it?
'But, and you can't worm your way out of this one, what about that stare when you bend over to pick up your guitar? There's only one thing that could mean, love, you know what queers do. How they shag. And he can't take his eyes off you, off your arse. Explain that.'
... Paul can't explain that, not really.
'Maybe... He...' he offers tentatively, wondering if talking to the voice in his head makes him mad.
'He wants to fuck you.' That voice holds only cold amusement. 'He wants to shove his prick into you. Is that what you want? To be some queer's bum-boy?"
Except John isn't "some queer". Paul doesn't think he's queer at all, in fact. He only wants him, just Paul. He's never seen him with another bloke.
... It makes Paul feel pretty damn special, as long as he's being honest with himself.
Maybe even special enough to let John fuck him.
Someday. If he's lucky.
'Queer,' his mind throws at him with apparent disgust, but Paul can't bring himself to care.
So now they're sitting here in silence, each working on a song. Well, pretending, at least, he certainly isn't and he's seen John glance up at him enough times that he's almost positive he isn't, either.
He stands, watches John pretend not to watch him, and walks over to him, standing there until John looks up at him questioningly.
Paul leans down and kisses him.
For a terrifying, heart-stopping moment, as John's lips remain unresponsive under his, Paul thinks he's made a terrible mistake and, in the process, lost his best mate.
And then he feels John smile against his lips, kissing him back.
Maybe it's not a funny thing at all, John Lennon having a crush on you.
Maybe it's just... special.