Holding Onto the Things that Slip Through Your Fingers (15- 56)
Holding Onto The Things That Slip Through Your Fingers
Love to mollybeakers and beagle_agent for being my Beta's.
Previous chapters are {here}
ATTENTION! I'm bumping the rating up to NC-17 officially, because John's mind isn't exactly the cleanest place. Please, if you're too young to be reading this sort of thing, just don't. I think each of us knows if we are or aren't. Lol, I know when I was 16 I was still reading up a slash-tastic storm, but anyways, you know, if you aren't like that, or don't wanna read about it, then I advise you not to. I only say this, 'cause I was exposed to it by a friend when I was waay too young. :{
Right, so,
Phase 15, In which John learns about that river in Egypt.
*
John awoke in the low-lights of the early morning. The slight edge of light beyond the horizon was already aggravating his hang-over. He rubbed his face, feeling the scratchiness of the beginnings of a beard coming in. John frowned to himself. He didn’t recall what had led to him getting pissed last night, but honestly, he was more or less used to waking up hung-over, not knowing what happened the night before. John rose from the bed, extremely aware of the loud snoring emanating from the drummer’s bed. He paid no mind to trying to be careful, because if the sheer volume that came from his very own snoring didn’t wake Ringo, then nothing short of a sonic boom would stir the man. It was one of the many reason John enjoyed bunking with their drummer.
It wasn’t until he was scrutinizing himself in the mirror, deliberating the importance of a shave, that the events of the last night reentered his mind. He literally fell over at the remembrance of his life-altering epiphany. Shock washed over him like a bucket of ice water from the north pole. His face paled considerably as he sat on his hands and knees trying to compute this rush of new information.
He was in love with Paul.
Shaking himself fiercely like a wild dog, he tried to erase the knowledge like a kid erases an etch-a-sketch. The lines in the sand weren’t budging and when he searched himself for the answers to his immense wave of confusion, he felt the slow grip of panic take hold. Was it possible that it was a deeper and more grounded notion that had always just been there, he simply hadn’t noticed?
No . . . there was no way. He was overreacting. John would see Paul and be utterly grossed out with having even thought of being in love with his best friend. Even if he really cared about Paul, that’s all it was! It was just bonding over both their mother’s being dead, nothing more. The pang he felt in his chest which informed him that he was a dirty fat liar was pointedly ignored.
Nodding to himself, John tried to distract his thoughts as he got ready for the day. The process proved futile though, his mind returning to a similar choice of topic every time it wandered. Frustrated, he began to hum songs to prevent himself from thinking. When his tune changed into ‘Yesterday’ for the fourth time while brushing his teeth, he labeled it a lost cause and settled on just getting dressed and giving his hair a quick once-over. He would find time to shave later when he wasn’t going through a personal crisis. Besides, he was pretty sure if he tried right now, he would carve his face like a jack-o-lantern.
By the time he was done, Ringo had just come back into the room, having stepped out to talk to Brian.
“Last of the day,” he promised, shaking the half-finished cigarette and taking a deep puff. He exhaled heavily with a mournful look, before addressing John properly. He took notice of John’s agitated expression and a wry smile overtook his face.
“Beginning to regret all those shots now, aren’t you,” Ringo spoke, his normal tone making John wince.
“Yeah, I thought as much. Eppy actually just asked me to tell you he has a hang-over cure for you in the dining room. He said the other lads were already awake and having some breaky in the room he reserved for us. Should be nice and secluded hopefully,” Ringo informed him.
John nodded, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to make real conversation. Ringo just took it as part of his hang-over and patted him on the shoulder sympathetically before stepping past him to make use of the bathroom.
The morning May air was chilly though not unpleasantly so, and the crisp air and woke John up further. He kept his head down, trying not to look at the too-bright sky as he made his way to the dining area. Quickly spotting the door that led to the reserved dining area, he slipped in before anyone could spot him and recognize who he was.
Carefully shutting the door behind him, he sighed in relief.
“Tough morning, John?”
He whirled around and spotted the object of his inner turmoil.
Paul was seated in a plush leather chair, his long legs crossed. The bassist was dressed in a pair of casual jeans, which he had recently begun wearing regularly, and neat blue jumper. In one hand he had a cup of tea, and the other he held a newspaper. An eye-brow was quirked in askance and there was a look of mirth in his hazel eyes.
His heart skipped a beat.
All in all, it was too much for John to handle.
Oh, God, it was his worst fear.
It wasn’t just some fancy-of-the-moment feeling. It was still there! The warmth, the belonging, the desire to-to-!
John didn’t even know what! He just wanted to do something. The minute he caught up to his own thoughts, he shuddered and tried to pull back, but it didn’t work.
He actually . . . .really liked that bloody idiot! (He refused to use that unholy word again for all the trouble it had caused him.)
Having announced that to himself he was immensely disturbed how right it felt. It wasn’t supposed to be right! It was disgusting! Unnatural! And impossible! And-! And . . .
. . . Inexplicably perfect.
Pausing, he felt a twist of guilt wring itself tighter within him.
“Earth to John? Anyone in there?” Paul asked, knocking on his forehead.
The man with the glasses jumped, heart pounding in surprise as Paul gave him an amused half smile.
“He’s just a little hung over!” Brian shouted with sadistic glee. It was the least he could do after the difficult night John had put him through last night.
John crumpled in on himself, clutching his ears. A wave of nausea began rolling around in his stomach.
“Lay off,” Paul said firmly, helping John to the table where there was a cup of herbal tea and a glass of Brian’s suspiciously green homemade hang-over cure.
Paul nudged the green concoction towards the other musician, silently urging his friend to drink it. John picked up the tea, resolutely avoiding looking at the other drink and the bassist across from him. He took a few sips before he ventured a peek at his friend, half-hoping his first reaction was a fluke.
-Sweeping lashes and talented lips, he knew they were talented, though how talented was yet to be seen-
“Nope, nope, definitely not a fluke,” He thought, quickly looking down, absolutely mortified when his dick gave a twitch from his thoughts.
Fuck! He was attracted to- No! Definitely not. He liked tits, not dick.
“But you also like Paul,” a traitorous part of his mind informed him. John had never really thought too hard about it, but Paul was a rather good looking chap. Could he picture himself doing something sexual with his best mate?
-John’s dick cradled between those long and deft fingers, stroking up and down as smoothly as he did when playing his bass, holding and squeezing,and begging, “Come for me Jo-“
The sudden tightness in his pants snapped him out of his thoughts. “Goddamn!” he hissed aloud, making the other two start.
“What is with you this morning, Lennon?” Brian demanded.
“Er-“ He almost fell out of his chair when Paul placed a hand on his forehead.
“You’re flush, I hope you’re not coming down with something,” The bassist murmured, his face mere inches away from John’s. The harmonica player held his breath, too afraid that he’d breathe wrong and Paul would know he was queer for him.
“You are a little hot,” he said unhappily.
“For you maybe,” The traitorous part spoke again, and he cursed inwardly.
He really was a very sick man.
“Perhaps you should spend the day in bed,” the hazel-eyed man suggested kindly.
“Only if you come with.”
“Shut the fuck up!” He scolded his own dirty mind, feeling more than a little hostile towards himself.
“Too bad, a little cold isn’t good enough to get him out of our booking tonight,” the business man informed them.
“I’m okay, just suffering from a lack of kindness, Eppy. Where’s your empathy?” John asked, carefully putting space between Paul and himself, making sure not to look in that direction needlessly, lest he start staring.
“It’s in the rubbish bin, along with the property you destroyed last night,” Brain said stiffly.
“Ah, sorry about that by the way, the chin I mean,” John apologized, ignoring their manager who shook his head and returned to his breakfast of eggs Benedict and a cinnamon apple muffin..
Paul rubbed the red spot absentmindedly before shrugging.
“It’s fine mate, I think it’ll heal up in a day or so.”
“Good, I wouldn’t want some of your fans to be after me for damaging the goods,” He joked, and he felt his spirits lift when Paul gave a laugh.
“I doubt they’d hurt you, they’d be too busy trying to kiss you I think,” the younger man playfully responded.
“I think you underestimate the power of your rabid fans, Macca.” John didn’t doubt his words in all honesty.
“True. They probably would accidentally maul you while they all tried to get a piece of you, ah . . .” Paul trailed off. The joke fell flat because it honestly felt like that was a genuine possibility at times.
“Like little girls all fighting over a doll,” John resisted a shiver at the thought.
“They mean well?” Paul offered weakly. John just shook his head, deciding to lighten the topic and draw it away from the awkwardness Paul had unintentionally started. He didn’t want his friend to feel uncomforta-
Damn it!
“See, now this is why they can’t have nice things,” John said wryly with mock-sternness while chastising himself inwardly for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day. It didn’t quell the happiness he felt when Paul smiled.
“Well, I’m going to go tidy up our room a bit before we leave,” Paul announced, before folding the paper neatly and setting it on the table in case the others wanted to read it.
“You know there’s a reason they hire maids, I mean, besides so they can look very shaggable in their uniforms,” John called as Paul was leaving, and he felt another thread of warmth when the other man laughed. The warmth turned cold, as he noted with a sinking feeling how deep in he was.
He sat down heavily, belatedly realizing he had subconsciously stood up when Paul had.
John wasn’t a bloody poof! Jesus, the last guy who called him that ended having all his ribs battered in.
The only other time he had pondered the subject was a few years ago with Brian, when he was feeling experimental. Nothing ever came from it, they never even had sex, but John learned a very important fact:
Guys didn’t interest him.
. . .But Paul did. In every way. Sexually included much to his dismay. So unless Paul was secretly a girl, (John had his fingers crossed,) then John just really liked this one guy.
So he wasn’t a poof. . .
Maybe he was just Paul-sexual?
He groaned and let his head hit the table with a loud ‘thunk.’ That really wasn’t any better.
The fact of the matter remained.
He liked Paul, his very best friend, who was not only unshakably straight, but was also a guy to boot.
“John, are you alright, if you really are feeling unwell perhaps we could arrange something,” Brian offered, his ire for the destroyed property fading and true concern for one of his boys taking root in its place.
“Nooooo, ‘m not okay a’ all,” he replied miserably, not even bothering to lift his head from the desk despite the fact it muffled his words horribly.
John was screwed. That’s all there was to it.
*
Lol, poor Johnny. Anyways, thanks to everyone who commented last time!
I made a tumblr account under this name, so follow me if you so choose. :} Leave a note and I'll make sure to follow you too. It's be a fucking circle of mutual tumblr-induced McLennon Love. My username is fingersfallingupwards
Comment so I know you're out there~
Love to mollybeakers and beagle_agent for being my Beta's.
Previous chapters are {here}
ATTENTION! I'm bumping the rating up to NC-17 officially, because John's mind isn't exactly the cleanest place. Please, if you're too young to be reading this sort of thing, just don't. I think each of us knows if we are or aren't. Lol, I know when I was 16 I was still reading up a slash-tastic storm, but anyways, you know, if you aren't like that, or don't wanna read about it, then I advise you not to. I only say this, 'cause I was exposed to it by a friend when I was waay too young. :{
Right, so,
Phase 15, In which John learns about that river in Egypt.
*
John awoke in the low-lights of the early morning. The slight edge of light beyond the horizon was already aggravating his hang-over. He rubbed his face, feeling the scratchiness of the beginnings of a beard coming in. John frowned to himself. He didn’t recall what had led to him getting pissed last night, but honestly, he was more or less used to waking up hung-over, not knowing what happened the night before. John rose from the bed, extremely aware of the loud snoring emanating from the drummer’s bed. He paid no mind to trying to be careful, because if the sheer volume that came from his very own snoring didn’t wake Ringo, then nothing short of a sonic boom would stir the man. It was one of the many reason John enjoyed bunking with their drummer.
It wasn’t until he was scrutinizing himself in the mirror, deliberating the importance of a shave, that the events of the last night reentered his mind. He literally fell over at the remembrance of his life-altering epiphany. Shock washed over him like a bucket of ice water from the north pole. His face paled considerably as he sat on his hands and knees trying to compute this rush of new information.
He was in love with Paul.
Shaking himself fiercely like a wild dog, he tried to erase the knowledge like a kid erases an etch-a-sketch. The lines in the sand weren’t budging and when he searched himself for the answers to his immense wave of confusion, he felt the slow grip of panic take hold. Was it possible that it was a deeper and more grounded notion that had always just been there, he simply hadn’t noticed?
No . . . there was no way. He was overreacting. John would see Paul and be utterly grossed out with having even thought of being in love with his best friend. Even if he really cared about Paul, that’s all it was! It was just bonding over both their mother’s being dead, nothing more. The pang he felt in his chest which informed him that he was a dirty fat liar was pointedly ignored.
Nodding to himself, John tried to distract his thoughts as he got ready for the day. The process proved futile though, his mind returning to a similar choice of topic every time it wandered. Frustrated, he began to hum songs to prevent himself from thinking. When his tune changed into ‘Yesterday’ for the fourth time while brushing his teeth, he labeled it a lost cause and settled on just getting dressed and giving his hair a quick once-over. He would find time to shave later when he wasn’t going through a personal crisis. Besides, he was pretty sure if he tried right now, he would carve his face like a jack-o-lantern.
By the time he was done, Ringo had just come back into the room, having stepped out to talk to Brian.
“Last of the day,” he promised, shaking the half-finished cigarette and taking a deep puff. He exhaled heavily with a mournful look, before addressing John properly. He took notice of John’s agitated expression and a wry smile overtook his face.
“Beginning to regret all those shots now, aren’t you,” Ringo spoke, his normal tone making John wince.
“Yeah, I thought as much. Eppy actually just asked me to tell you he has a hang-over cure for you in the dining room. He said the other lads were already awake and having some breaky in the room he reserved for us. Should be nice and secluded hopefully,” Ringo informed him.
John nodded, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to make real conversation. Ringo just took it as part of his hang-over and patted him on the shoulder sympathetically before stepping past him to make use of the bathroom.
The morning May air was chilly though not unpleasantly so, and the crisp air and woke John up further. He kept his head down, trying not to look at the too-bright sky as he made his way to the dining area. Quickly spotting the door that led to the reserved dining area, he slipped in before anyone could spot him and recognize who he was.
Carefully shutting the door behind him, he sighed in relief.
“Tough morning, John?”
He whirled around and spotted the object of his inner turmoil.
Paul was seated in a plush leather chair, his long legs crossed. The bassist was dressed in a pair of casual jeans, which he had recently begun wearing regularly, and neat blue jumper. In one hand he had a cup of tea, and the other he held a newspaper. An eye-brow was quirked in askance and there was a look of mirth in his hazel eyes.
His heart skipped a beat.
All in all, it was too much for John to handle.
Oh, God, it was his worst fear.
It wasn’t just some fancy-of-the-moment feeling. It was still there! The warmth, the belonging, the desire to-to-!
John didn’t even know what! He just wanted to do something. The minute he caught up to his own thoughts, he shuddered and tried to pull back, but it didn’t work.
He actually . . . .really liked that bloody idiot! (He refused to use that unholy word again for all the trouble it had caused him.)
Having announced that to himself he was immensely disturbed how right it felt. It wasn’t supposed to be right! It was disgusting! Unnatural! And impossible! And-! And . . .
. . . Inexplicably perfect.
Pausing, he felt a twist of guilt wring itself tighter within him.
“Earth to John? Anyone in there?” Paul asked, knocking on his forehead.
The man with the glasses jumped, heart pounding in surprise as Paul gave him an amused half smile.
“He’s just a little hung over!” Brian shouted with sadistic glee. It was the least he could do after the difficult night John had put him through last night.
John crumpled in on himself, clutching his ears. A wave of nausea began rolling around in his stomach.
“Lay off,” Paul said firmly, helping John to the table where there was a cup of herbal tea and a glass of Brian’s suspiciously green homemade hang-over cure.
Paul nudged the green concoction towards the other musician, silently urging his friend to drink it. John picked up the tea, resolutely avoiding looking at the other drink and the bassist across from him. He took a few sips before he ventured a peek at his friend, half-hoping his first reaction was a fluke.
-Sweeping lashes and talented lips, he knew they were talented, though how talented was yet to be seen-
“Nope, nope, definitely not a fluke,” He thought, quickly looking down, absolutely mortified when his dick gave a twitch from his thoughts.
Fuck! He was attracted to- No! Definitely not. He liked tits, not dick.
“But you also like Paul,” a traitorous part of his mind informed him. John had never really thought too hard about it, but Paul was a rather good looking chap. Could he picture himself doing something sexual with his best mate?
-John’s dick cradled between those long and deft fingers, stroking up and down as smoothly as he did when playing his bass, holding and squeezing,and begging, “Come for me Jo-“
The sudden tightness in his pants snapped him out of his thoughts. “Goddamn!” he hissed aloud, making the other two start.
“What is with you this morning, Lennon?” Brian demanded.
“Er-“ He almost fell out of his chair when Paul placed a hand on his forehead.
“You’re flush, I hope you’re not coming down with something,” The bassist murmured, his face mere inches away from John’s. The harmonica player held his breath, too afraid that he’d breathe wrong and Paul would know he was queer for him.
“You are a little hot,” he said unhappily.
“For you maybe,” The traitorous part spoke again, and he cursed inwardly.
He really was a very sick man.
“Perhaps you should spend the day in bed,” the hazel-eyed man suggested kindly.
“Only if you come with.”
“Shut the fuck up!” He scolded his own dirty mind, feeling more than a little hostile towards himself.
“Too bad, a little cold isn’t good enough to get him out of our booking tonight,” the business man informed them.
“I’m okay, just suffering from a lack of kindness, Eppy. Where’s your empathy?” John asked, carefully putting space between Paul and himself, making sure not to look in that direction needlessly, lest he start staring.
“It’s in the rubbish bin, along with the property you destroyed last night,” Brain said stiffly.
“Ah, sorry about that by the way, the chin I mean,” John apologized, ignoring their manager who shook his head and returned to his breakfast of eggs Benedict and a cinnamon apple muffin..
Paul rubbed the red spot absentmindedly before shrugging.
“It’s fine mate, I think it’ll heal up in a day or so.”
“Good, I wouldn’t want some of your fans to be after me for damaging the goods,” He joked, and he felt his spirits lift when Paul gave a laugh.
“I doubt they’d hurt you, they’d be too busy trying to kiss you I think,” the younger man playfully responded.
“I think you underestimate the power of your rabid fans, Macca.” John didn’t doubt his words in all honesty.
“True. They probably would accidentally maul you while they all tried to get a piece of you, ah . . .” Paul trailed off. The joke fell flat because it honestly felt like that was a genuine possibility at times.
“Like little girls all fighting over a doll,” John resisted a shiver at the thought.
“They mean well?” Paul offered weakly. John just shook his head, deciding to lighten the topic and draw it away from the awkwardness Paul had unintentionally started. He didn’t want his friend to feel uncomforta-
Damn it!
“See, now this is why they can’t have nice things,” John said wryly with mock-sternness while chastising himself inwardly for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day. It didn’t quell the happiness he felt when Paul smiled.
“Well, I’m going to go tidy up our room a bit before we leave,” Paul announced, before folding the paper neatly and setting it on the table in case the others wanted to read it.
“You know there’s a reason they hire maids, I mean, besides so they can look very shaggable in their uniforms,” John called as Paul was leaving, and he felt another thread of warmth when the other man laughed. The warmth turned cold, as he noted with a sinking feeling how deep in he was.
He sat down heavily, belatedly realizing he had subconsciously stood up when Paul had.
John wasn’t a bloody poof! Jesus, the last guy who called him that ended having all his ribs battered in.
The only other time he had pondered the subject was a few years ago with Brian, when he was feeling experimental. Nothing ever came from it, they never even had sex, but John learned a very important fact:
Guys didn’t interest him.
. . .But Paul did. In every way. Sexually included much to his dismay. So unless Paul was secretly a girl, (John had his fingers crossed,) then John just really liked this one guy.
So he wasn’t a poof. . .
Maybe he was just Paul-sexual?
He groaned and let his head hit the table with a loud ‘thunk.’ That really wasn’t any better.
The fact of the matter remained.
He liked Paul, his very best friend, who was not only unshakably straight, but was also a guy to boot.
“John, are you alright, if you really are feeling unwell perhaps we could arrange something,” Brian offered, his ire for the destroyed property fading and true concern for one of his boys taking root in its place.
“Nooooo, ‘m not okay a’ all,” he replied miserably, not even bothering to lift his head from the desk despite the fact it muffled his words horribly.
John was screwed. That’s all there was to it.
*
Lol, poor Johnny. Anyways, thanks to everyone who commented last time!
I made a tumblr account under this name, so follow me if you so choose. :} Leave a note and I'll make sure to follow you too. It's be a fucking circle of mutual tumblr-induced McLennon Love. My username is fingersfallingupwards
Comment so I know you're out there~