Two posts in one day! *dramatic gasp.*
Okay so it's a little redundant of me to post twice in one the same day, but this one has been a long time in coming. It's my first time at an actual lengthy fic and it will have three parts. Beta'd by
windowscreen , and cross posted to
johnheartpaul. Here is the first. I hope you enjoy, I hope I actually finish this, and comments are love children.
Title: Crash Into Me: Part 1
Pairing: John and Paul
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 1,737
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Warning: It has drunk driving, which I don't condone but it was necessary.
Title: Crash Into Me: Part 1
Pairing: John and Paul
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 1,737
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Warning: It has drunk driving, which I don't condone but it was necessary.
Dreams. Dreams are the things that your mind clings to. Things that your soul worships. Dreams are the items that hover above your normal everyday life, to make it-bearable. But not for John Lennon. For John Lennon, dreams were bringing him down, and in bad way. They all started the same, and they all ended the same. It was the middle parts that really got him going. The subtle beginnings, with Paul, entering a room. Lighting a cigarette. Talking about food. The beginnings with Paul getting high, and then trying to philosophize about the world and it's 'Seven levels.'
The beginnings of these dreams felt, so normal, so fluid. Everything touching the way it would in real life. Everything going smoothly, into the next movement. The dream, would lull John into an easy drift. Making him think things wouldn't, 'go there', again. And then Paul would turn his head a certain way. His lips would lift in the corners, and that soft voice would come rippling out. "But what do you want Johnny?" This dream Paul would ask. "What do you really want?" Paul would slide next to him, folding into John's lap, and catch his lips up in a fevered kiss.
And it would go on from there. The rough touches. The heady smell of aftershave. Light stubble, scraping over cheeks. It would go on, and on. Until they were both naked, and Paul was begging for John to fuck him, to just touch him. And oh God yes, right there. Fuck yeah, John. And then the end. Paul would stop moving. He would look at John, he'd place a hand on John's cheek and say, "Don't be such a git." And then Paul would disappear. John would awake from these dreams, sweaty; hard, and choking. His engorged cock so sore it burned. He would be able to do nothing else, but pull the sheets off his body. Use his hand, and bring himself to a crushing orgasm. His mouth dry, his teeth grinding, as cum spread over his fingers. When the morning came, he had to look at Paul like his normal friend. Not like he wanted to strip the boy down, and have birthday cake off his nether regions. Dreams, it seemed, were not what they were cracked up to be.
So John would sit off to the side of the room, lost in his own personal reverie. Watching the coming and goings, of his band mates; but not really seeing them. Paul noticed John's distanced attitude and decided to wander over, and enquire as to what John found so fascinating in the walls around them. Paul came to sit next to John, jokingly blowing smoke in his face.
"How's it hangin' there Johnny? Ol' boy, Ol' sonny, Old pal." Paul asked.
"It's hangin' a quarter to the left , son."
"That's unhealthy! Push it to the right every now and then. It'll get the circulation going." Paul's eyes, twinkled with hidden laughter.
"What if I don't want it circulatin'?" John ignored their conversation. The witty innuendos falling by his wayside.
"Well everyone wants it to circulate! How else will you sew your oats?"
John stared at Paul in sudden shock. John was sure he must not have been listening to Paul at all because that comment was certainly far too random. "What are you talking about?"
Paul laughed and shook his head. " No idea. What are you talking about?"
John's eyes lingered over Paul's lips. "I don't have any clue."
Paul laughed, settling in closer to John as he inhaled more nicotine. "I didn't think you did. So, what are we doing tonight?"
John groaned, burying his face in his hands. " I don't want to do anything tonight."
"No? What, you just want to go home and go to bed? You're like an old lady."
John peeked over his arm, staring into the odd design on the carpet. No, he definitely did not want to go to bed. Going to sleep would only add to his increasingly bad mood. He wanted to get drunk. Effervescently drunk. He didn't even want to be able to remember his own name. Or Paul's for that matter. "No. Let's all go out. Lets get drinks. Let's go and get really smashed. Like we used to in Hamburg." John said, suddenly feeling a little more animated. George came and sat on the floor in front of them.
"Do you think we can? I mean, that's really quite a feat if you think about it." George began playing with his nails. Ringo leaned on the wall, staring down at his seated friends.
"I don't know about the rest of you. But I certainly can get that drunk again."
Paul laughed and shook his head. "I don't know. I guess we'll have to see."
The four broke into maniacal laughter, with John, leading the choir in the highest screeching pitch. They all tore out of the room, eagerly settling into their cars, and speeding off towards the high class bars of London. Determined to leave the haughty patrons shocked. Now, The Beatles being simply The Beatles; would not have found this a hard thing to do. Even without the help of liquor. But with it, and their hysterics became more-eccentric. John tried dancing on tables, Paul talked some guy into buying condoms off of him. Claiming he had four kids to feed at home. George got two girls to sit happily, while he felt them up. The whole while looking incredibly simple, and innocent. Ringo sang at the top of his lungs, holding onto lobster claws as microphones.
The Maitre’ de of the restaurant quickly became annoyed with the boys. Beatlemania had taken it’s toll on them and they had absolutely no problem with escorting the young men out of their restaurant. The boys made it to the street and headed to their cars. George and Ringo in one, and John and Paul in another. And that’s when it started again. John’s mind clouded with liquor soon began to drift. As he sat behind the wheel of the borrowed car he caught himself looking at Paul from the corner of his eyes. The man’s hair was mussed and Paul was laughing heartily. His thick lips spread invitingly as the intoxicating sound rippled forth and filled the car.
“Johnny, I’m so drunk. Are you as drunk as me?” Paul turned and laid a hand on John’s shoulder. The simple touch sent an electric reaction shooting through John’s body. He felt warm and senseless.
“Of course not. I’m never as drunk as you, Paul. I’m drunker.” John started to cackle madly.
Paul laughed along with John, and fell back against his leather seat. He turned into the leather and gave it a sniff. Paul murmured happily and ran his fingers over the leather. John looked at him and almost forgot he was driving. The sight of Paul’s fingers running over the seat of the car magnified by ten in his mind. He could see nothing but Paul’s fingers moving, tracing, curving over the leather. John gasped and tore his eyes away. Gluing them to the road ahead. It was just in time too, for he had almost run a stop light. The car screeched to a halt, and Paul fell forward. He caught himself with his arm held up against the dashboard. John swore and breathed heavily, adrenaline rushing through him.
“Fucking a, John!” Paul shouted. He scrambled back into his seat and stared out the window blearily. “What were you doing?” Paul demanded. John only shook his head in silence, staring out the window at the traffic that now steadily moved.
“Nothing. Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention I guess.” John kept his gaze away from Paul and the sound of his heartbeat filled his ears. Paul shook his head and reached for his seatbelt.
“Buckle up. If you’re going to drive like an idiot, we best both be buckled.” Paul clicked his buckle and stared with demanding eyes at John. His gaze burning holes into the side of John’s face as if he was trying to make the man move with his mind. John felt the heavy gaze and sighed.
“Fine, fucking fine, alright?” John snapped and reached for his seat belt. He clicked it into place and then looked at Paul. Paul only grinned, ‘I have super powers.’ Paul thought drunkenly and then sputtered off into a quiet laugh. John gritted his teeth and moved the car on as the light changed to green. Paul continued to chuckle and John looked at him expectantly; wondering if Paul was going to share just what was so funny. He waited, but no explanation came. Paul’s laughter began to die off and the man sighed again melting into the passenger seat.
“What was so funny?” John asked. They had now moved out of the city and they were heading out to the main country highway that headed to their part of town. Away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Safely tucked away in the rich end of the countryside of London’s outskirts. Paul shook his head. He wasn’t sure he could remember what had been funny.
“Nothing, John.” Paul grinned at the windshield as if he shared a special secret with it. John made an uncommitted sound in his throat and looked from the road to Paul. For awhile there was silence in the car and then it was broken by Paul. He began to lazily sing “Nowhere Man.” It was their current favorite song as they had just recorded it. John listened to the soft tones of Paul’s voice and as he did he began to see the road opening and closing. It was rolling sideways, growing wider and then becoming small again. The road moved in time to Paul’s voice and a feeling of utter calm fell over John. His hands were softly holding the wheel and the car almost seemed to move of it’s own accord.
A soft rain began to fall over the windshield and the sound of rain hitting the glass only added to the inviting sound of Paul’s voice. The road continued to wind and John felt as if his eyes were almost straining to keep up with it’s movements. Suddenly, John felt panicked. Paul’s voice had faded and it seemed that for some reason the car was turning.
“John! John watch out for…” Paul shouted frantically. And then-there was nothing but silence.