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Title: Holiday 3/?
Author: TGIMcScratchy's
Pairing: John/Paul
Rating:
PG-13 for harsh language
Time Frame: Spring 1964
Summary: The boys get some much needed relaxation time. So why is Paul missing his band mate?
Author's Note: A bit of a wordy chapter. I wanted to lead up to the eventual confrontations that will happen in the next chapter :)
Disclaimer: Still not owning/knowing the Beatles.
Spring, 1964
Paul navigated his car through the twisted back roads that led to John’s house. He had practiced what he was going to say to John over and over since he’d left London. Of course, in his daydream, John was not only understanding about Paul’s sudden feelings, but felt them right back. Paul had to reluctantly admit to himself that it probably wouldn’t go as smoothly as he’d imagined. Hell, he didn’t even know if John would let him through the door.
After another half hour that was filled with self doubt, Paul finally arrived at John’s enormous estate. Paul felt his heart begin to pound as he walked up to the door, and rang the bell. “Fuck, what am I doing? Lennon’s not even home. Or he is, and is in bed with Cyn. Why didn’t I call? God, I can be so fucking stu-”
Paul’s thoughts were cut off as the heavy door swung open, and John stood on the other side.
“Petey McCracken! This is a fuckin’ surprise. What are you doing, lurking about these parts tonight?”
Paul couldn’t help but smile at John’s play on his name. “Oh..well..there are some things I wanted to chat with you about. I’ve should have called first, how rude of me. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I’ll just be on my way..”
John let out a hearty laugh. “Fuckin’ calm down, mate. I was just watching some tv, havin’ a drink. You thirsty? Come on in!”
Paul stepped in the house and followed John through the dimly lit home. “Awfully dark in here. Where’s Cyn and Julian?”
“They’re still over with Cyn’s mum. I don’t have them come back until a few days after I get home. I need some fuckin’ quiet time to unwind after the tours. I can’t handle listening to her and the kid talking at me as soon as I walk in the door. It drives me nuts. You want a drink?”
“Yeah, that sounds good.” Paul settled in to the oversized leather couch and accepted the glass of rum and Coke that John handed him.
“So what’s up? I’m always glad for company, but I’m warning ya mate - no work talk. I don’t want to think about The Beatles for a few days.”
“No no, that’s not why I came,” Paul quickly assured him. His heart started to pound even harder. Could he really just flat out admit that he had strong feelings for his friend and band mate? To the person in question? “Actually, well..I actually wanted to talk to..well, the thing is-”
“Just spit it out, mate!” John barked, annoyed, at him.
“George told me he’s fuckin’ fallen in love with Ringo!” Paul spat out the only thing that came to mind. He instantly regretted it.
“Whaaaaaaaat?” John’s eyes were huge. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”
“Well..yeah. Since we’ve all spent..um..so much time together, George..well, he said he thinks he’s got feelings for Ringo, or at least that what he told me.” Paul felt himself dig deeper into this ridiculous lie, and silently apologized to George for dragging him into it.
“Fuck me. I am fuckin’ speechless. How the fuck does that even happen? Since when is the kid a fuckin’ queer?”
“Well..it doesn’t mean he’s a queer. I mean..maybe..maybe it just sort of happened, you know?”
John leaned forward in his chair. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about, it doesn’t mean he’s queer? He wants to fuck another bloke, for fuck’s sake! What the fuck do you call it?”
“I don’t know what you call it, Lennon, but it doesn’t matter, does it? They’re still our mates, yeah? So let’s just drop it.” Paul was crushed. At least he didn’t admit the real truth. He could have never faced John again after being rebuffed like that. He felt a physical pain in his chest. How did it all get so fuckin’ complicated?
John’s face registered surprise at Paul’s defensive response. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Whatever fuckin’ floats their boat, I guess.”
A heavy silence filled the room. The two men stared at the tv for a while, before John piped up, “So, I have a few songs that I should probably run past you for some fine tuning..”
Paul glanced over at him. “I thought you said no work talk?”
John smirked. “Well..maybe a little work talk. Come on mate, let’s go into my office.” The two men grabbed their drinks and headed to John’s work room.
After several hours of intensive working, dueling guitars, and adding lyrics, then men emerged from John’s work room looking very disheveled, and feeling very drunk.
“Oy. What time is it?” Paul slurred.
“Six in the morning, mate. You might as well stay here and sleep before heading back into the city. Do you want some breakfast?”
“Yeah, all right. Might sober me up before I pass out on your couch.”
John hobbled unsteadly into the kitchen, and started taking out breakfast items. “Need some help?” Paul volunteered. “Naw, I’ve got it.” John hiccupped.
Suddenly, John yelped out, “FUCKING HELL! My fucking hand! Goddamn these fucking eggs!”
Paul darted over to him to check out the wound. He grabbed John’s hand. “Here, you need to put it under cold water.” He led John’s hand to the sink, and turned on the faucet.
John sighed in relief. “Ahh..thanks mate. You’re the greatest.” He drunkenly smiled at Paul, and with his burned hand, stroked Paul’s hair.
Paul, even in his drunken haze, was taken aback by this unusual show of physical affection by his friend. The two men stared in silence at each other for a moment.
“Listen, uh, to be honest, Johnny, I’m not even that hungry. I think I’ll head for the couch. Thanks anyway, though.” Paul had to leave the situation. Knowing that Lennon did not feel the same way he did, and getting mixed messages like that..it was too difficult. He just wanted to sleep.
John seemed to snap out of a trance. “Suit yourself. Good night.”
Paul lumbered to the couch, and immediately fell asleep. Dinner with Jane tonight, he reminded himself.
What felt like an eternity later, Paul finally opened an eye. All was dark. Dark? How could that be? He glanced over at his watch. 8:30pm! Fuck! How the fuck did he sleep so long! He’d missed his dinner with Jane. He hadn’t even called her. “Shit.” Paul sighed. Just another problem to add to the fuckin’ list. John was nowhere in sight. Paul scribbled a note to John about having to leave, thanks for the drinks, make sure to take care of the hand, and he’d ring him in a few days.
Paul got in his car, coming back to London with more problems than when he’d left. He knew he had to face the music with blowing Jane off again. He had to admit what he’d done to George and Ringo. He pulled away from John’s house. “Now or never,” he said to no one.
Author: TGIMcScratchy's
Pairing: John/Paul
Rating:
PG-13 for harsh language
Time Frame: Spring 1964
Summary: The boys get some much needed relaxation time. So why is Paul missing his band mate?
Author's Note: A bit of a wordy chapter. I wanted to lead up to the eventual confrontations that will happen in the next chapter :)
Disclaimer: Still not owning/knowing the Beatles.
Spring, 1964
Paul navigated his car through the twisted back roads that led to John’s house. He had practiced what he was going to say to John over and over since he’d left London. Of course, in his daydream, John was not only understanding about Paul’s sudden feelings, but felt them right back. Paul had to reluctantly admit to himself that it probably wouldn’t go as smoothly as he’d imagined. Hell, he didn’t even know if John would let him through the door.
After another half hour that was filled with self doubt, Paul finally arrived at John’s enormous estate. Paul felt his heart begin to pound as he walked up to the door, and rang the bell. “Fuck, what am I doing? Lennon’s not even home. Or he is, and is in bed with Cyn. Why didn’t I call? God, I can be so fucking stu-”
Paul’s thoughts were cut off as the heavy door swung open, and John stood on the other side.
“Petey McCracken! This is a fuckin’ surprise. What are you doing, lurking about these parts tonight?”
Paul couldn’t help but smile at John’s play on his name. “Oh..well..there are some things I wanted to chat with you about. I’ve should have called first, how rude of me. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I’ll just be on my way..”
John let out a hearty laugh. “Fuckin’ calm down, mate. I was just watching some tv, havin’ a drink. You thirsty? Come on in!”
Paul stepped in the house and followed John through the dimly lit home. “Awfully dark in here. Where’s Cyn and Julian?”
“They’re still over with Cyn’s mum. I don’t have them come back until a few days after I get home. I need some fuckin’ quiet time to unwind after the tours. I can’t handle listening to her and the kid talking at me as soon as I walk in the door. It drives me nuts. You want a drink?”
“Yeah, that sounds good.” Paul settled in to the oversized leather couch and accepted the glass of rum and Coke that John handed him.
“So what’s up? I’m always glad for company, but I’m warning ya mate - no work talk. I don’t want to think about The Beatles for a few days.”
“No no, that’s not why I came,” Paul quickly assured him. His heart started to pound even harder. Could he really just flat out admit that he had strong feelings for his friend and band mate? To the person in question? “Actually, well..I actually wanted to talk to..well, the thing is-”
“Just spit it out, mate!” John barked, annoyed, at him.
“George told me he’s fuckin’ fallen in love with Ringo!” Paul spat out the only thing that came to mind. He instantly regretted it.
“Whaaaaaaaat?” John’s eyes were huge. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”
“Well..yeah. Since we’ve all spent..um..so much time together, George..well, he said he thinks he’s got feelings for Ringo, or at least that what he told me.” Paul felt himself dig deeper into this ridiculous lie, and silently apologized to George for dragging him into it.
“Fuck me. I am fuckin’ speechless. How the fuck does that even happen? Since when is the kid a fuckin’ queer?”
“Well..it doesn’t mean he’s a queer. I mean..maybe..maybe it just sort of happened, you know?”
John leaned forward in his chair. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about, it doesn’t mean he’s queer? He wants to fuck another bloke, for fuck’s sake! What the fuck do you call it?”
“I don’t know what you call it, Lennon, but it doesn’t matter, does it? They’re still our mates, yeah? So let’s just drop it.” Paul was crushed. At least he didn’t admit the real truth. He could have never faced John again after being rebuffed like that. He felt a physical pain in his chest. How did it all get so fuckin’ complicated?
John’s face registered surprise at Paul’s defensive response. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Whatever fuckin’ floats their boat, I guess.”
A heavy silence filled the room. The two men stared at the tv for a while, before John piped up, “So, I have a few songs that I should probably run past you for some fine tuning..”
Paul glanced over at him. “I thought you said no work talk?”
John smirked. “Well..maybe a little work talk. Come on mate, let’s go into my office.” The two men grabbed their drinks and headed to John’s work room.
After several hours of intensive working, dueling guitars, and adding lyrics, then men emerged from John’s work room looking very disheveled, and feeling very drunk.
“Oy. What time is it?” Paul slurred.
“Six in the morning, mate. You might as well stay here and sleep before heading back into the city. Do you want some breakfast?”
“Yeah, all right. Might sober me up before I pass out on your couch.”
John hobbled unsteadly into the kitchen, and started taking out breakfast items. “Need some help?” Paul volunteered. “Naw, I’ve got it.” John hiccupped.
Suddenly, John yelped out, “FUCKING HELL! My fucking hand! Goddamn these fucking eggs!”
Paul darted over to him to check out the wound. He grabbed John’s hand. “Here, you need to put it under cold water.” He led John’s hand to the sink, and turned on the faucet.
John sighed in relief. “Ahh..thanks mate. You’re the greatest.” He drunkenly smiled at Paul, and with his burned hand, stroked Paul’s hair.
Paul, even in his drunken haze, was taken aback by this unusual show of physical affection by his friend. The two men stared in silence at each other for a moment.
“Listen, uh, to be honest, Johnny, I’m not even that hungry. I think I’ll head for the couch. Thanks anyway, though.” Paul had to leave the situation. Knowing that Lennon did not feel the same way he did, and getting mixed messages like that..it was too difficult. He just wanted to sleep.
John seemed to snap out of a trance. “Suit yourself. Good night.”
Paul lumbered to the couch, and immediately fell asleep. Dinner with Jane tonight, he reminded himself.
What felt like an eternity later, Paul finally opened an eye. All was dark. Dark? How could that be? He glanced over at his watch. 8:30pm! Fuck! How the fuck did he sleep so long! He’d missed his dinner with Jane. He hadn’t even called her. “Shit.” Paul sighed. Just another problem to add to the fuckin’ list. John was nowhere in sight. Paul scribbled a note to John about having to leave, thanks for the drinks, make sure to take care of the hand, and he’d ring him in a few days.
Paul got in his car, coming back to London with more problems than when he’d left. He knew he had to face the music with blowing Jane off again. He had to admit what he’d done to George and Ringo. He pulled away from John’s house. “Now or never,” he said to no one.