Holding Onto the Things that Slip Through Your Fingers (19- 56)
Chapter 19, In which John and Paul enjoy the weather.
Previous chapters are HERE~
A HUGE thank you to Beagle_agent and mollybeakers for making this story SOO much better and fluid.
And thanks for the comments~
*
Paul stood awkwardly at the door, staring at the dripping rain that fell around the eave. Good old-fashioned British weather. It wouldn’t be home without it. The drops sounded in a soothing and consistent pattering, and he almost wished he could stay out here instead of going inside. Paul half-heartedly debated running back home. This was his last chance at backing out. His vague notions were dashed as Cynthia finally answered the door. He put on his best smile.
“Hello Cyn, how are you?” He greeted her fondly. His expression grew more genuine at her warm smile. When he saw Julian tottering out of the door, his face lit up with entire sincerity.
“Jules!” He picked up the three year old and gave him a quick twirl, igniting a squeal of laughter.
“Unc’a Paul!” He screeched with delight.
“How are you today?” he asked affectionately.
“Good! Me and Mummy are goin’ to auntie.” He informed Paul. Looking over Julian’s head, the bassist could see John approach the doorway and lean against the frame casually.
Ah, John had no doubt thought of a brilliant excuse for his family to leave the house. Then again, perhaps he had told Cyn and asked her to go away for the day. From the unhappy look she shot him before opening her umbrella, Paul would place his money on the latter.
“That sounds lovely. Don’t get too wet,” the bassist said lightly. Julian just smiled behind his hands and ran out into the rain.
“Julian!” Cynthia was quick to follow the energetic boy. Before she left, Cynthia gave Paul a parting smile from under her umbrella, which he returned. A sopping three-year-old. She certainly had her hands busy.
His own smile faltered slightly when he turned to John and saw the ecstatic grin for what was to come.
“Well, are you coming in then?”
Paul nodded, steeling his resolve before he followed John into the house and to the kitchen. He took a seat at the table and accepted the calming tea happily from John. Anything to help settle his unsteady nerves. He was waiting on the edge for John to finally initiate the trip but he just puttered about the kitchen casually before he sat down and sipped his tea quietly. The stillness of it all hackled his emotions. Standing on the precipice made Paul twitchy, and he didn’t like twitchy one bit.
“So are we going to start?” Paul blurted. He could tell immediately that all of his anxiety had been relayed clearly from his hasty words.
“Calm down Macca, all in good time,” John’s grin made Paul frown. The rhythm guitarist seemed to enjoy Paul’s fidgety state.
“You’re right, I know.” Paul agreed letting out a tense breath. “I guess I’m just nervous is all.”
“Nothing to worry about.” John said easily.
Paul nodded, but his fingers couldn’t stop tapping on the wood of the table.
“So are we going to do it here?” Paul’s unease was clear. He really didn’t want to be in a room with knives. God knew what would happen. LSD did strange things to their perceptions. A perfect example was George and Pattie who had picked up a maid thinking she was a sacred gate-keeper and that they needed to do sacred rituals and an assortment of other strange things which Paul really didn’t want to think about too hard. It was unsettling stuff like that which sent alarms going off in his head that told him to stay far away from the stuff. But John was going and wherever he went, Paul wanted to be there too.
“We can move to the living room if you want,” John shrugged noncommittally.
“Please,” Paul answered with relief.
They picked up their tea and moved along to the couches.
“Ooh!” John exclaimed with delight as he found his copy of Alice and Wonderland in the cushions where he’d left if last week when reading. Pulling it open he read aloud the first line on the page.
“In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.”
Paul shivered. “Fuck, John!”
“What?” He asked irritably.
“Just- are we going to do this?” Paul asked impatiently, trying to shake the eerie quote from his head. He just wanted it to start so it could be over. That had been his mindset from the moment he had woken up this morning. The words sat heavily in his mind though. His already anxious feelings were further set on edge.
“Yes.” John spoke plainly.
“Well, you know. Go get it. I’m ready,” Paul took a soothing breath and finished off his tea. He was ready. He could do this. He just needed to start. If he had to wait again, he’d still want to chicken out.
“I already put it in the tea.” John continued to sip on his own as Paul’s brain shut down.
“John!” No, no he took everything back. He didn’t want to do this. It was too fast. He didn’t want to melt!
“What?”
“Haven’t you learned anything the other night?! I think it’s pretty safe to say I don’t like being drugged!”
“I didn’t want you to be all stressed about taking it.”
“I’m stressed now!” He gasped. “John I’m not ready.” His breathing had grown erratic.
“Paul, Paul, you need to calm down.” John said urgently as he pulled himself next to Paul.
“I’m trying!” His heart continued to beat frantically. Images of melting candles were flitting through his mind and his panic spiked through the roof. His breathing was short and he knew he was beginning to hyperventilate. He wasn’t prepared for this.
- “Oh God, I’m melting!”-
“Paul!” John grabbed him firmly. “Breathe.”
“I know but!” His voice was high in panic. “What if I melt again?”
“Look, if you panic too much you’re definitely gonna go on a bad trip, so you need to settle- Shit!” John cursed. From Paul’s widened gaze he realized that was decidedly the wrong thing to say.
- trying to collect the pieces of him that had melted away-
“Close your eyes,” John ordered, holding Paul’s forearms tightly. “Listen to my voice okay.”
It took Paul a few minutes to compute it and he stutteringly complied. His eyes still darted beneath his lids anxiously.
-every drag erased more and more of his arms-
“You aren’t going to melt, alright?”
“You can’t say that, it’s- You can’t predict this sort of stuff and you can’t promise these things!” Paul ranted. The upset echoed clearly in his voice.
- he was steadily disappearing-
“Yes I can. I won’t let you,” John solidly. “Last time I helped you pull yourself back together again, I’ll be there, it won’t happen.”
Paul wanted to believe him. He really did. The bassist held onto John’s words desperately, and used them to bat away the bad memories.
“Breathe Macca, just breathe. It’ll be fine.”
The bassist nodded following as best as he could.
“Okay, so think about the colors we saw in the hotel,” he encouraged. Paul tried to follow along, imagining the surreal palate they had been treated to previously. John’s words painted rainbows, and he tried to focus on that.
“Now, think about the stars, do you remember them?”
“Yes,” he said nodding, remembering the fine dust they had crushed them into and the giddy feeling of utter confidence in their seemingly limitless power.
“And uh, what was that bird you were talking about? The one with the squares.”
Paul laughed finally at that one, and his eyes flicked open as some of the tension drained. “You mean diamonds.” Paul corrected, “It was Lucy in the sky with diamonds,” he informed him, with a secretive grin. John’s eyes widened in sudden inspiration.
“Hey Macca, that’s brilliant. I’m gonna write that down. That’s some good shit. Lucy in the sky with diamonds.” John’s brain was flying in thousands of directions. “Fuck, that’s stellar.”
Paul shook his head at his word choice, feeling much more peaceful than before. That had been John’s, and he felt okay about giving it to him. When John stood to get the paper, Paul felt a jolt of worry.
“John-“ he backtracked, hating the desperation he was feeling. He was aware of John’s curious eyes.
“Just, uh, don’t be too long.” He tried to make it casual, though he knew John would see right through it. For whatever reason, his words made John’s eyes light up and a gently pleased expression took root on his face.
“I’m not one to keep a lady waiting, I’ll be right back,” John replied with an honest smile before he ducked out the room. Paul could hear the quick thumps of his running feet that informed Paul that he truly meant what he said. The bassist smiled. His friend was a really caring guy when it came down to it. It was plain for Paul to see.
The bassist took another deep breath. Paul had decided to do this, so now he needed to commit to his decision. He had the strength to do it, or so he told himself.
To occupy his mind, he pulled Alice closer and peered through the worn pages. John had read through this book too many times to count.
“At any rate I'll never go THERE again!' said Alice as she picked her way through the wood. “It's the stupidest tea-party I ever was at in all my life!”
Paul snorted; he agreed with that one. The time traveler idly flipped through the pages but he didn’t have to wait very long, because in no time at all John had come back with a notebook firmly in hand. Paul felt a burst of relief. It was so much easier to face this with his friend.
“What do you think?” John asked with eager eyes.
Paul paused. He already had a set direction for how this song was supposed to go from his memory of his initial timeline, and he didn’t feel quite right working on this song half and half with John because he would probably change things to be his way. Even if he tried not to, he knew that subconsciously he’d be drawn to the original. After all, John’s song was truly and image.
“Picture yourself in a boat on a river, with tangerine trees and marmalade skies-“
Paul shook it from his head with a soft smile.
Besides that, he really wanted to see what else John would come up with.
The bassist held his hands up with a shrug. “Beats me, it’s all yours Johnny boy.”
John shivered and Paul peeked to see if there was a window open somewhere.
“You sure?” John asked, drawing back his friend’s gaze.
“Yeah, nothings come up in me head.” Paul tried to make it seems as casual and insignificant as he could. “Why don’t you give it a try?”
Paul smothered a smile as he saw how bright John’s eyes were. He wanted this song badly. These kinds of phrases sparked John’s imagination and bred fantastical ideas within his mind. The cogs were already turning and Paul was eager to watch what they would produce.
Immediately as John sat down, his pen was flying over the paper with squiggles. His eyes were entirely focused on the paper and he scratched rapidly at it with his nib. For the first couple minutes Paul was content to watch him, finding his expressions amusing to say the least. He peered over the paper John was writing on and observed the strange new direction John was taking the song. It was similar, yet different. Paul began to wonder how many different variations could be sprung from the one line, “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds.” The endless possibilities astonished the time traveler. How it would this song be, he wondered, without the Carroll-esque influence? After a little while, John began to slow down his writing, losing steam rapidly like a slowing train. Eventually he halted entirely. The rhythm guitarist bit his lip now and went backwards crossing things out, and scratching new ideas on the margins. That carried on for a few moments until it also eventually wound down. He slapped the pen to the paper as he looked over what he had written.
He looked dismayed. Without a word he passed it over to Paul who blinked and passed it right back.
“I told you, I haven’t got any ideas.”
“That’s a load of rubbish Paul,” John snapped in frustration. Writer’s-block was extremely taxing on the nerves, and very few people handled it well.
Paul gave a tiny smile, his expression hapless. He didn’t want to taint this new version. It probably would only take a little while for John to overcome this little hurdle, and Paul was patient. If it went on for a long time, then perhaps he’d step in, but this song was John’s, and Paul wanted it to be that way.
“You’re no help,” He snipped. Biting the tip of the pen, John raked his eyes over the words again, hoping another path would reveal itself. The bassist smiled and pulled Alice back over and flipped to the beginning. It had been a while since he’d read it.
“Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank-“
Not even halfway through the first sentence on the page, the book was snatched out of his hands.
“Yes!” John gave a somewhat manic grin as he flipped through the pages.
Startled by the suddenness, Paul cursed. “What the hell John?”
“I’ve got it!” John ignored his friend’s outcry. “How about something much more muchier?”
Paul stared at him, a smile growing over his face. Some things were simply as they should be. John’s gift for word play was still intact, something neither time nor space could hinder.
In long strokes, John crossed out chunks of his stanzas. This time he began again, mumbling an assortment of strange phrases he was thinking up on the fly. Paul didn’t feel too worried that he would taint things a different direction, as it was heading in a fairly similar direction. He made absolutely certain to clear the melody he knew so well from his mind and keep it focused on John’s words and only those. He was matching himself to John, and he tried to treat this matter entirely separate. Time flew by as they worked on the song, and finally, they had an acceptable rough draft to build from. It was more of an outline for what they wanted to say. There were plenty of scribbles in the margin and fillers in the lyrics that would have to be sorted out later when they had the time.
“Macca,” the rhythm guitarist tapped the paper, elation shone through his eyes. “This is gonna be different.” There was no question about whether different was a good or bad thing.
Paul was also excited and absolutely giddy. He couldn’t even imagine how drastically this would change things. The revolutionary style of this song was being created nearly a year earlier than it had in his initial timeline. He couldn’t help but think about what this would mean for the upcoming album. A matching grin spread over Paul’s face. This was going to be big. They could both sense it.
“I’m going to grab me guitar,” John jumped up and dashed from the room. Paul smiled after him. John’s excitement was almost childish in how pure it was.
Something niggled in the back of his mind, something he had bushed to the backburner as they were writing.
John entered into the room with steps like thunder. It was strangely bewitching, because Paul could see John move fully and then seemingly months later the sound would travel to his ears.
Paul blinked as the realization of what was happening gradually occurred to him. John stood across the room from him and he saw the understanding fill his shifting facial features. Paul blinked once more and when his lids flicked open, the shapes of the room were new. The angles poked oddly against each other in such a haphazard fashion that he couldn’t help but laugh aloud. What were they doing? Couldn’t they see how ridiculous they looked?
John smiled, and the clean snow that sat on his teeth sparkled merrily. “We’re tripping.”
“No we aren’t,” Paul asserted. “We’re not hitting the floor. So we’re falling.”
“Or flying.” The feeling of weightlessness that spread through the bones in Paul’s body inspired a delighted patch of laughter. They were floating around the uneven air idly. They crashed together repeatedly, mixing particles and emotions each time.
The stringed wood in John’s hands clattered to the floor like a tap-dancing shoe, and the bungled notes drew both Paul and John to it. Hesitantly, Paul tried to reach for the neck. The shimmering instrument shied away and Paul spoke calming cerulean, promising he wouldn’t hurt it. Slowly, the magical item relaxed and allowed Paul to pull on its spidery threads.
Wheels of color blew out like bubbles from the hollow center. John and he stared at their path, captivated by the kaleidoscopic quality. They pulled at the taut material, repeatedly, and yet as gently as they could, for if they were not careful, surely the whimsical creature would be scared away and thus deny them the gracious gift of its many pigments.
The gleaming surface of sugar spun glass earned Paul’s attention and the French doors drew him like children to a faire. Paul liked doors. They led places, and he liked places even more than he liked doors. He flew delicately to the latch, and he could hear the colors around John shifting, revealing that he was moving along with Paul.
The surface of the gold handle was slippery, shining, ice and it evaded Paul’s attempts to grab it many times. When he did grab it, the snowflakes tickled his receptors and he almost let go. He knew what the handle was doing though, so he held fast. Paul shot the knob a knowing look before he pressed down.
The outside air swept the duo up in her flighty embrace. She pushed and pulled them around like a wave did to the shore. Paul and John were all too willing to be her sand particles. Gently, she lowered them to the ground, surrendering her possession of their spirits.
They fell onto the wet earth which received them eagerly, rolling like a sea as it rocked against them. The rain fell in spiraling drops, and Paul could swear that he could see every trail of the thousands of raindrops and their decent. Within every orb of liquid which had slowed down to snails-pace, he found a rainbow hovering on the edges. One approached his eyes and as it fell he caught his own reflection. Suddenly, a part of him was within the raindrop, and he himself was falling through the air, and delivering the live-giving quality of his own make. It was beautiful, and he felt connected with every part that the rain touched. He existed everywhere at once.
“John, I’m in the rain.” His voice was far away and it resounded like a drum. John crawled closer. Instead of moving across the grass, he pushed against it, moving the earth around him to reach the spot where Paul was. Upon arrival, he twisted their fingers together in a complex braid.
“You’re splattering on me.” The sound of John’s voice was a whisper in his eardrum, as thin as a dewy web.
“I am.” The light was gentle lavender and it swirled out of Paul’s voice.
John closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the torrent of the pieces of Paul falling from heaven. Every drop tingled and spurred on incandescent amazement.
“You’re falling.” The sentence wasn’t spoken fearfully, it was more a statement of an undeniable fact in the wide plains of grass.
“Can’t you see? You’re falling too,” He stated in casual maroon.
The words sent shivers of indigo and inexpressive joy through John’s body like a shot of adrenaline. The apple-shaped clouds watched their decent with unearthly guidance that neither felt they deserved. John mixed with Paul, feeling his friend’s presence consume him gradually and purify him the way they purified the ground below with each and every one of the wet pieces of themselves which drifted like clouds to the sun.
John blinked and suddenly, they were not falling upward, their descent inverted and pulled into the atmosphere.
“Can you see the galaxy?”
They watched their trip through space for years, until they softly, and slowly, fell asleep in the rain.
+
“Honestly! You two are ridiculous!” Cynthia declared furiously as she wrapped Paul in another layer of blankets. Despite this, he still shivered violently. As he did, it sent a ripple through the cloth, like tiny, dripping leaves on a lake.
He and John had been awakened to Cyn’s shattering scream as she found them sleeping out in the cold rain where they clearly had been for several hours. John and he were soaked to the bone, they could both feel the water within them, and it sloshed around unsettlingly. She had pulled their dazed bodies into the house and stripped them to their briefs immediately without a second thought. If Paul wasn’t so disoriented, he probably would have been embarrassed. As it was, he enjoyed the lack of constriction. His bare skin was now free to spread out and feel every strange sensation within the mysterious thread that covered him.
He and John were side-by side on the couch, each wrapped up in multiple layers of blankets like old women. Their linens conglomerated and they were nestled in a communal wrap of heated brown. Cynthia was cussing quietly as she bustled around the kitchen to fix them tea to further warm them up.
“Use a different kettle,” John rasped beside him. Of the two, he was most lucid. Cynthia shot him an unhappy look and quickly rummaged through the cupboards for the spare.
His friend’s wife moved in slow motion. A trail of her actions traced behind her like a disconcerting picture show. After he blinked, Cynthia had moved right in front of him. How had she done that?
“I didn’t do anything,” Cynthia said in a somewhat distressed tone. The bassist hadn’t meant to speak aloud. Paul chewed and swallowed his words to make sure they wouldn’t escape again.
She thrust the cup into his hands and Paul swayed with the new addition, following the sloshing movement of the liquid inside. It tasted like calm and he smiled at her. She frowned even more at his blissful face.
“You need to be more careful! What would have happened if I hadn’t come home when I did?” Cynthia asked. Her upset was easy to read. “You ought to know better than to sleep in the rain,” She murmured, the concern was finally revealing itself.
The rain.
Paul met John’s galactic gaze.
“We couldn’t stay away when the weather was as good as it was.” John’s tone left it up for interpretation on the sincerity and potential sarcasm of his words.
“Paul, I’m going to call Jane and let her know you’re going to stay here. I don’t trust you to get home in one piece,” she informed him sternly and Paul felt the hints of blue pity. Poor Cyn. He paused. He hadn’t told Jane what he’d done today but there was little doubt in his mind that Cynthia would probably rant about it as she vented. He wondered distantly what Jane would think of it.
Jane. Her hair was red like copper. He would have to ask Linda to make pennies of it. She was an American, surely she would know how.
“Rain, rain, go away, come again every-other day,” John sung quietly with a grin, and Paul was unable to resist his own smile. They were the rain, and both of them knew that.
He hummed for a few minutes as they both gathered their bumpy heat back.
“Daddy,” Julian announced himself with a happy smile as he ran over to them. Paul could smell the strange odor of children’s hands. “Why’re you so covered in blankets?”
“We’re playing eskimos. Want to help me kill a whale?” John grinned. He was mostly over the high.
Arctic images dipped in and out of Paul’s vision, drifting through the walls of John’s house, as though they were a regular fixture. After some thought, it suddenly occurred to him that it wasn’t right. Paul sighed. “Your daddy’s kidding.” Hm. That was an odd word. Kid-ding. Like baby goats. That was always in his crosswords . . .
Julian pulled himself onto the couch between them and then frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Well, you see, we’re wrapping your daddy up in a cocoon,” Paul explained.
“Like buttonflys!” Julian exclaimed, quite proud of his knowledge. A smile broke over the bassists face. Flying buttons whirled around the room.
“Yes, exactly like that,” Paul agreed.
“Why?” Julian asked.
“Why what?”
“Why are you playing buttonflys.” Paul grinned. It was that age where questions were rampant and he had a feeling that John and Cyn would have to adjust to the constant stream of ‘Whys’ their son would prepare for them. “Oh, like Bea.”
“Like what?”
“Like Bea,” Paul restated, thinking they hadn’t heard him properly. “We’re hoping your dad will emerge a beautiful butterfly.” The bassist allowed his mind to dwell on this bizarre image for a few moments before he continued. “Cross your fingers with me.” Paul pretend-whispered the last part conspiratorially to Julian, eliciting a snort from his writing partner. The bassist liked whispering. His breath was visible like exhales on a December day.
“Then why are you coconoconed too?” Julian asked, muddling the big word, and Paul’s mind was momentarily twisted up as it tried to follow the convoluted path of vowels and consonants.
Finally, he answered, “I don’t want your daddy to be alone. So I’m keeping him company.”
“Oh.” The young boy paused for a long time. “Can I come with?”
“We aren’t going anywhere Julian,” John informed his son with amusement.
“I wanna help you become a buttonfly daddy!” he said determinedly, as though that changed the fact that they really weren’t moving from that spot. John’s deadpanned expression sent Paul into giggles.
“Of course you can!” The bassist spoke cheerfully. “Sit here and keep us company, won’t you.”
Julian’s serious nod only made Paul smiled wider. God, he couldn’t wait to have kids. Maybe he should start now. No reason not to . . . First he needed to find Linda, and then ask her to help him have a child. Where was she? Maybe he should try and find her right now.
“Is it gonna be soon?” Julian asked after a long thirty seconds of silence, making Paul put his plans for baby-making on hold momentarily.
“We, dunno Julian-“ Paul was cut off by a:
“Why?”
“Because your Mummy’s the one who gets to decide when John’s pretty enough to leave,” Paul said warmly.
John gave a wry grin. “Be careful you don’t simmer in here too long, Macca. You’ll look even more like a girl than you already do.”
“It’s impossible to improve perfection John,” Paul informed him with overdramatic narcissism.
“Then why am I in here, eh?” John asked, returning with an effeminate pout that was ruined by his all-too-toothy grin. Like a pouty wolf. With his granny-glasses, John would look like the big bad wolf that had blown little red-riding hood’s grandmother of straw down. Paul stopped. That didn’t seem quite right.
“What isn’t right?” Julian asked.
“My words aren’t listening,” The bassist replied.
“Oh. I didn’t know they had ears.”
“They do.”
This made the child pause, and Paul glowed with pride at having taught the boy something new.
“Macca, you’re still tripping pretty bad, huh?”
“Am not, you’re the tripper.” Ah, that was another crossword clue. ‘Are too, reply.’
John laughed aloud, like tinkling champagne glasses. Hm, glasses, and glasses. What if John changed his buddy-holly glasses for drinking glasses? If they got the right prescription Paul didn’t see why it wouldn’t work. They’d work underwater too. It seemed they were far superior to their framed counterparts.
“You should wear shot glasses,” He informed the other man.
“You should go back to sleep for a while Macca, until it wears off all the way.” John smiled.
“Wear off your glasses and I will,” Paul shot back nonsensically.
John said nothing, but he did pull his mate closer. Paul smiled at the rhythm guitarist’s rubber band arms. Julian made a small noise of protest before he moved into Paul’s lap like a cat.
No he’d be a kitten, Paul thought to himself. Then again, three was fairly old in cat years. So maybe a young-adult kitten. Medium-old. Medium-rare. He wasn’t cooking cat though. Cats had faces after all.
While Paul was pondering these subjects, John had managed to position them flush against each other, bare skin to bare skin. His friend’s hand remained around Paul, like a loose grip on a snowman. The men of ice were too cold to hug all the way. Paul knew this to be true because it sent a ripple of goosebumps and shivers. John responded in kind by pulling his fingers lightly over Paul’s skin. Colors burst and Paul uttered a half-sound in surprise.
“Macca, go to sleep,” his friend urged. His words weighed heavily on Paul’s lids, dragging them down.
“That’s cheating.” Not even he understood what he was saying.
“Right.”
“Unca’ Paul’s silly.”
“Am not.”
“Julian!” Cynthia exclaimed as she dashed over to pick up her boy from the couch.
Paul frowned. “I wasn’t gonna eat him. I don’t eat cats,” He mumbled. The blonde’s expression grew more panicked and upset. John popped the bubble with his rancorous laughter.
His wife sighed before she began to walk away, Julian still firm in hand. “Why don’t we take a bath Julian, hmm?” She cooed.
Paul heard the clatter of her steps and his head drew up an image of falling hail.
“I wasn’t gonna eat him,” Paul repeated. John’s shoulders trembled with repressed giggles. The older man eventually calmed himself and stroked his friend’ back, relishing the heat below. The strangest sensations were spread over Paul’s skin like a coat of paint, and he felt the sudden need to respond in kind, he wanted John to know how it felt. John sucked in a deep bubble of breath and Paul grinned. He traced figures over the edges of John’s shoulder, enjoying the captivating maroon that was slowly building around his friend’s neck. Bit by bit John’s hand drifted over to Paul’s chest, there was a casual air to his actions, but the emotion in his eyes said something else that Paul couldn’t quite discern. They strayed over to one of Paul’s nipples; the tips wavered and hesitated at the edge of the darker skin. Paul felt curiosity arise about what new game they were playing. John locked eyes on him, and it made the bassist stare at him curiously in response to the conflicted expression on his face. A face which was now spinning in mini-vortices.
“You have whirlpools on your face,” Paul informed him. John let out a long sigh and grimaced as he dropped his hand from Paul. He seemed almost in pain, though Paul couldn’t explain why.
“Sleep Macca.”
“I’m older than you so I get to stay up later,” Paul said.
All John did was laugh.
It wasn’t funny, but Paul was glad John had gotten the joke.
*
Well! Here we are. I hope you enjoyed it. Ah, special thanks to pivoltalmoments. Her story "I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then," gave me the idea to use Alice earlier than I had thought to. :}
Comment and let me know what you think . . .
Previous chapters are HERE~
A HUGE thank you to Beagle_agent and mollybeakers for making this story SOO much better and fluid.
And thanks for the comments~
*
Paul stood awkwardly at the door, staring at the dripping rain that fell around the eave. Good old-fashioned British weather. It wouldn’t be home without it. The drops sounded in a soothing and consistent pattering, and he almost wished he could stay out here instead of going inside. Paul half-heartedly debated running back home. This was his last chance at backing out. His vague notions were dashed as Cynthia finally answered the door. He put on his best smile.
“Hello Cyn, how are you?” He greeted her fondly. His expression grew more genuine at her warm smile. When he saw Julian tottering out of the door, his face lit up with entire sincerity.
“Jules!” He picked up the three year old and gave him a quick twirl, igniting a squeal of laughter.
“Unc’a Paul!” He screeched with delight.
“How are you today?” he asked affectionately.
“Good! Me and Mummy are goin’ to auntie.” He informed Paul. Looking over Julian’s head, the bassist could see John approach the doorway and lean against the frame casually.
Ah, John had no doubt thought of a brilliant excuse for his family to leave the house. Then again, perhaps he had told Cyn and asked her to go away for the day. From the unhappy look she shot him before opening her umbrella, Paul would place his money on the latter.
“That sounds lovely. Don’t get too wet,” the bassist said lightly. Julian just smiled behind his hands and ran out into the rain.
“Julian!” Cynthia was quick to follow the energetic boy. Before she left, Cynthia gave Paul a parting smile from under her umbrella, which he returned. A sopping three-year-old. She certainly had her hands busy.
His own smile faltered slightly when he turned to John and saw the ecstatic grin for what was to come.
“Well, are you coming in then?”
Paul nodded, steeling his resolve before he followed John into the house and to the kitchen. He took a seat at the table and accepted the calming tea happily from John. Anything to help settle his unsteady nerves. He was waiting on the edge for John to finally initiate the trip but he just puttered about the kitchen casually before he sat down and sipped his tea quietly. The stillness of it all hackled his emotions. Standing on the precipice made Paul twitchy, and he didn’t like twitchy one bit.
“So are we going to start?” Paul blurted. He could tell immediately that all of his anxiety had been relayed clearly from his hasty words.
“Calm down Macca, all in good time,” John’s grin made Paul frown. The rhythm guitarist seemed to enjoy Paul’s fidgety state.
“You’re right, I know.” Paul agreed letting out a tense breath. “I guess I’m just nervous is all.”
“Nothing to worry about.” John said easily.
Paul nodded, but his fingers couldn’t stop tapping on the wood of the table.
“So are we going to do it here?” Paul’s unease was clear. He really didn’t want to be in a room with knives. God knew what would happen. LSD did strange things to their perceptions. A perfect example was George and Pattie who had picked up a maid thinking she was a sacred gate-keeper and that they needed to do sacred rituals and an assortment of other strange things which Paul really didn’t want to think about too hard. It was unsettling stuff like that which sent alarms going off in his head that told him to stay far away from the stuff. But John was going and wherever he went, Paul wanted to be there too.
“We can move to the living room if you want,” John shrugged noncommittally.
“Please,” Paul answered with relief.
They picked up their tea and moved along to the couches.
“Ooh!” John exclaimed with delight as he found his copy of Alice and Wonderland in the cushions where he’d left if last week when reading. Pulling it open he read aloud the first line on the page.
“In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.”
Paul shivered. “Fuck, John!”
“What?” He asked irritably.
“Just- are we going to do this?” Paul asked impatiently, trying to shake the eerie quote from his head. He just wanted it to start so it could be over. That had been his mindset from the moment he had woken up this morning. The words sat heavily in his mind though. His already anxious feelings were further set on edge.
“Yes.” John spoke plainly.
“Well, you know. Go get it. I’m ready,” Paul took a soothing breath and finished off his tea. He was ready. He could do this. He just needed to start. If he had to wait again, he’d still want to chicken out.
“I already put it in the tea.” John continued to sip on his own as Paul’s brain shut down.
“John!” No, no he took everything back. He didn’t want to do this. It was too fast. He didn’t want to melt!
“What?”
“Haven’t you learned anything the other night?! I think it’s pretty safe to say I don’t like being drugged!”
“I didn’t want you to be all stressed about taking it.”
“I’m stressed now!” He gasped. “John I’m not ready.” His breathing had grown erratic.
“Paul, Paul, you need to calm down.” John said urgently as he pulled himself next to Paul.
“I’m trying!” His heart continued to beat frantically. Images of melting candles were flitting through his mind and his panic spiked through the roof. His breathing was short and he knew he was beginning to hyperventilate. He wasn’t prepared for this.
- “Oh God, I’m melting!”-
“Paul!” John grabbed him firmly. “Breathe.”
“I know but!” His voice was high in panic. “What if I melt again?”
“Look, if you panic too much you’re definitely gonna go on a bad trip, so you need to settle- Shit!” John cursed. From Paul’s widened gaze he realized that was decidedly the wrong thing to say.
- trying to collect the pieces of him that had melted away-
“Close your eyes,” John ordered, holding Paul’s forearms tightly. “Listen to my voice okay.”
It took Paul a few minutes to compute it and he stutteringly complied. His eyes still darted beneath his lids anxiously.
-every drag erased more and more of his arms-
“You aren’t going to melt, alright?”
“You can’t say that, it’s- You can’t predict this sort of stuff and you can’t promise these things!” Paul ranted. The upset echoed clearly in his voice.
- he was steadily disappearing-
“Yes I can. I won’t let you,” John solidly. “Last time I helped you pull yourself back together again, I’ll be there, it won’t happen.”
Paul wanted to believe him. He really did. The bassist held onto John’s words desperately, and used them to bat away the bad memories.
“Breathe Macca, just breathe. It’ll be fine.”
The bassist nodded following as best as he could.
“Okay, so think about the colors we saw in the hotel,” he encouraged. Paul tried to follow along, imagining the surreal palate they had been treated to previously. John’s words painted rainbows, and he tried to focus on that.
“Now, think about the stars, do you remember them?”
“Yes,” he said nodding, remembering the fine dust they had crushed them into and the giddy feeling of utter confidence in their seemingly limitless power.
“And uh, what was that bird you were talking about? The one with the squares.”
Paul laughed finally at that one, and his eyes flicked open as some of the tension drained. “You mean diamonds.” Paul corrected, “It was Lucy in the sky with diamonds,” he informed him, with a secretive grin. John’s eyes widened in sudden inspiration.
“Hey Macca, that’s brilliant. I’m gonna write that down. That’s some good shit. Lucy in the sky with diamonds.” John’s brain was flying in thousands of directions. “Fuck, that’s stellar.”
Paul shook his head at his word choice, feeling much more peaceful than before. That had been John’s, and he felt okay about giving it to him. When John stood to get the paper, Paul felt a jolt of worry.
“John-“ he backtracked, hating the desperation he was feeling. He was aware of John’s curious eyes.
“Just, uh, don’t be too long.” He tried to make it casual, though he knew John would see right through it. For whatever reason, his words made John’s eyes light up and a gently pleased expression took root on his face.
“I’m not one to keep a lady waiting, I’ll be right back,” John replied with an honest smile before he ducked out the room. Paul could hear the quick thumps of his running feet that informed Paul that he truly meant what he said. The bassist smiled. His friend was a really caring guy when it came down to it. It was plain for Paul to see.
The bassist took another deep breath. Paul had decided to do this, so now he needed to commit to his decision. He had the strength to do it, or so he told himself.
To occupy his mind, he pulled Alice closer and peered through the worn pages. John had read through this book too many times to count.
“At any rate I'll never go THERE again!' said Alice as she picked her way through the wood. “It's the stupidest tea-party I ever was at in all my life!”
Paul snorted; he agreed with that one. The time traveler idly flipped through the pages but he didn’t have to wait very long, because in no time at all John had come back with a notebook firmly in hand. Paul felt a burst of relief. It was so much easier to face this with his friend.
“What do you think?” John asked with eager eyes.
Paul paused. He already had a set direction for how this song was supposed to go from his memory of his initial timeline, and he didn’t feel quite right working on this song half and half with John because he would probably change things to be his way. Even if he tried not to, he knew that subconsciously he’d be drawn to the original. After all, John’s song was truly and image.
“Picture yourself in a boat on a river, with tangerine trees and marmalade skies-“
Paul shook it from his head with a soft smile.
Besides that, he really wanted to see what else John would come up with.
The bassist held his hands up with a shrug. “Beats me, it’s all yours Johnny boy.”
John shivered and Paul peeked to see if there was a window open somewhere.
“You sure?” John asked, drawing back his friend’s gaze.
“Yeah, nothings come up in me head.” Paul tried to make it seems as casual and insignificant as he could. “Why don’t you give it a try?”
Paul smothered a smile as he saw how bright John’s eyes were. He wanted this song badly. These kinds of phrases sparked John’s imagination and bred fantastical ideas within his mind. The cogs were already turning and Paul was eager to watch what they would produce.
Immediately as John sat down, his pen was flying over the paper with squiggles. His eyes were entirely focused on the paper and he scratched rapidly at it with his nib. For the first couple minutes Paul was content to watch him, finding his expressions amusing to say the least. He peered over the paper John was writing on and observed the strange new direction John was taking the song. It was similar, yet different. Paul began to wonder how many different variations could be sprung from the one line, “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds.” The endless possibilities astonished the time traveler. How it would this song be, he wondered, without the Carroll-esque influence? After a little while, John began to slow down his writing, losing steam rapidly like a slowing train. Eventually he halted entirely. The rhythm guitarist bit his lip now and went backwards crossing things out, and scratching new ideas on the margins. That carried on for a few moments until it also eventually wound down. He slapped the pen to the paper as he looked over what he had written.
He looked dismayed. Without a word he passed it over to Paul who blinked and passed it right back.
“I told you, I haven’t got any ideas.”
“That’s a load of rubbish Paul,” John snapped in frustration. Writer’s-block was extremely taxing on the nerves, and very few people handled it well.
Paul gave a tiny smile, his expression hapless. He didn’t want to taint this new version. It probably would only take a little while for John to overcome this little hurdle, and Paul was patient. If it went on for a long time, then perhaps he’d step in, but this song was John’s, and Paul wanted it to be that way.
“You’re no help,” He snipped. Biting the tip of the pen, John raked his eyes over the words again, hoping another path would reveal itself. The bassist smiled and pulled Alice back over and flipped to the beginning. It had been a while since he’d read it.
“Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank-“
Not even halfway through the first sentence on the page, the book was snatched out of his hands.
“Yes!” John gave a somewhat manic grin as he flipped through the pages.
Startled by the suddenness, Paul cursed. “What the hell John?”
“I’ve got it!” John ignored his friend’s outcry. “How about something much more muchier?”
Paul stared at him, a smile growing over his face. Some things were simply as they should be. John’s gift for word play was still intact, something neither time nor space could hinder.
In long strokes, John crossed out chunks of his stanzas. This time he began again, mumbling an assortment of strange phrases he was thinking up on the fly. Paul didn’t feel too worried that he would taint things a different direction, as it was heading in a fairly similar direction. He made absolutely certain to clear the melody he knew so well from his mind and keep it focused on John’s words and only those. He was matching himself to John, and he tried to treat this matter entirely separate. Time flew by as they worked on the song, and finally, they had an acceptable rough draft to build from. It was more of an outline for what they wanted to say. There were plenty of scribbles in the margin and fillers in the lyrics that would have to be sorted out later when they had the time.
“Macca,” the rhythm guitarist tapped the paper, elation shone through his eyes. “This is gonna be different.” There was no question about whether different was a good or bad thing.
Paul was also excited and absolutely giddy. He couldn’t even imagine how drastically this would change things. The revolutionary style of this song was being created nearly a year earlier than it had in his initial timeline. He couldn’t help but think about what this would mean for the upcoming album. A matching grin spread over Paul’s face. This was going to be big. They could both sense it.
“I’m going to grab me guitar,” John jumped up and dashed from the room. Paul smiled after him. John’s excitement was almost childish in how pure it was.
Something niggled in the back of his mind, something he had bushed to the backburner as they were writing.
John entered into the room with steps like thunder. It was strangely bewitching, because Paul could see John move fully and then seemingly months later the sound would travel to his ears.
Paul blinked as the realization of what was happening gradually occurred to him. John stood across the room from him and he saw the understanding fill his shifting facial features. Paul blinked once more and when his lids flicked open, the shapes of the room were new. The angles poked oddly against each other in such a haphazard fashion that he couldn’t help but laugh aloud. What were they doing? Couldn’t they see how ridiculous they looked?
John smiled, and the clean snow that sat on his teeth sparkled merrily. “We’re tripping.”
“No we aren’t,” Paul asserted. “We’re not hitting the floor. So we’re falling.”
“Or flying.” The feeling of weightlessness that spread through the bones in Paul’s body inspired a delighted patch of laughter. They were floating around the uneven air idly. They crashed together repeatedly, mixing particles and emotions each time.
The stringed wood in John’s hands clattered to the floor like a tap-dancing shoe, and the bungled notes drew both Paul and John to it. Hesitantly, Paul tried to reach for the neck. The shimmering instrument shied away and Paul spoke calming cerulean, promising he wouldn’t hurt it. Slowly, the magical item relaxed and allowed Paul to pull on its spidery threads.
Wheels of color blew out like bubbles from the hollow center. John and he stared at their path, captivated by the kaleidoscopic quality. They pulled at the taut material, repeatedly, and yet as gently as they could, for if they were not careful, surely the whimsical creature would be scared away and thus deny them the gracious gift of its many pigments.
The gleaming surface of sugar spun glass earned Paul’s attention and the French doors drew him like children to a faire. Paul liked doors. They led places, and he liked places even more than he liked doors. He flew delicately to the latch, and he could hear the colors around John shifting, revealing that he was moving along with Paul.
The surface of the gold handle was slippery, shining, ice and it evaded Paul’s attempts to grab it many times. When he did grab it, the snowflakes tickled his receptors and he almost let go. He knew what the handle was doing though, so he held fast. Paul shot the knob a knowing look before he pressed down.
The outside air swept the duo up in her flighty embrace. She pushed and pulled them around like a wave did to the shore. Paul and John were all too willing to be her sand particles. Gently, she lowered them to the ground, surrendering her possession of their spirits.
They fell onto the wet earth which received them eagerly, rolling like a sea as it rocked against them. The rain fell in spiraling drops, and Paul could swear that he could see every trail of the thousands of raindrops and their decent. Within every orb of liquid which had slowed down to snails-pace, he found a rainbow hovering on the edges. One approached his eyes and as it fell he caught his own reflection. Suddenly, a part of him was within the raindrop, and he himself was falling through the air, and delivering the live-giving quality of his own make. It was beautiful, and he felt connected with every part that the rain touched. He existed everywhere at once.
“John, I’m in the rain.” His voice was far away and it resounded like a drum. John crawled closer. Instead of moving across the grass, he pushed against it, moving the earth around him to reach the spot where Paul was. Upon arrival, he twisted their fingers together in a complex braid.
“You’re splattering on me.” The sound of John’s voice was a whisper in his eardrum, as thin as a dewy web.
“I am.” The light was gentle lavender and it swirled out of Paul’s voice.
John closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the torrent of the pieces of Paul falling from heaven. Every drop tingled and spurred on incandescent amazement.
“You’re falling.” The sentence wasn’t spoken fearfully, it was more a statement of an undeniable fact in the wide plains of grass.
“Can’t you see? You’re falling too,” He stated in casual maroon.
The words sent shivers of indigo and inexpressive joy through John’s body like a shot of adrenaline. The apple-shaped clouds watched their decent with unearthly guidance that neither felt they deserved. John mixed with Paul, feeling his friend’s presence consume him gradually and purify him the way they purified the ground below with each and every one of the wet pieces of themselves which drifted like clouds to the sun.
John blinked and suddenly, they were not falling upward, their descent inverted and pulled into the atmosphere.
“Can you see the galaxy?”
They watched their trip through space for years, until they softly, and slowly, fell asleep in the rain.
+
“Honestly! You two are ridiculous!” Cynthia declared furiously as she wrapped Paul in another layer of blankets. Despite this, he still shivered violently. As he did, it sent a ripple through the cloth, like tiny, dripping leaves on a lake.
He and John had been awakened to Cyn’s shattering scream as she found them sleeping out in the cold rain where they clearly had been for several hours. John and he were soaked to the bone, they could both feel the water within them, and it sloshed around unsettlingly. She had pulled their dazed bodies into the house and stripped them to their briefs immediately without a second thought. If Paul wasn’t so disoriented, he probably would have been embarrassed. As it was, he enjoyed the lack of constriction. His bare skin was now free to spread out and feel every strange sensation within the mysterious thread that covered him.
He and John were side-by side on the couch, each wrapped up in multiple layers of blankets like old women. Their linens conglomerated and they were nestled in a communal wrap of heated brown. Cynthia was cussing quietly as she bustled around the kitchen to fix them tea to further warm them up.
“Use a different kettle,” John rasped beside him. Of the two, he was most lucid. Cynthia shot him an unhappy look and quickly rummaged through the cupboards for the spare.
His friend’s wife moved in slow motion. A trail of her actions traced behind her like a disconcerting picture show. After he blinked, Cynthia had moved right in front of him. How had she done that?
“I didn’t do anything,” Cynthia said in a somewhat distressed tone. The bassist hadn’t meant to speak aloud. Paul chewed and swallowed his words to make sure they wouldn’t escape again.
She thrust the cup into his hands and Paul swayed with the new addition, following the sloshing movement of the liquid inside. It tasted like calm and he smiled at her. She frowned even more at his blissful face.
“You need to be more careful! What would have happened if I hadn’t come home when I did?” Cynthia asked. Her upset was easy to read. “You ought to know better than to sleep in the rain,” She murmured, the concern was finally revealing itself.
The rain.
Paul met John’s galactic gaze.
“We couldn’t stay away when the weather was as good as it was.” John’s tone left it up for interpretation on the sincerity and potential sarcasm of his words.
“Paul, I’m going to call Jane and let her know you’re going to stay here. I don’t trust you to get home in one piece,” she informed him sternly and Paul felt the hints of blue pity. Poor Cyn. He paused. He hadn’t told Jane what he’d done today but there was little doubt in his mind that Cynthia would probably rant about it as she vented. He wondered distantly what Jane would think of it.
Jane. Her hair was red like copper. He would have to ask Linda to make pennies of it. She was an American, surely she would know how.
“Rain, rain, go away, come again every-other day,” John sung quietly with a grin, and Paul was unable to resist his own smile. They were the rain, and both of them knew that.
He hummed for a few minutes as they both gathered their bumpy heat back.
“Daddy,” Julian announced himself with a happy smile as he ran over to them. Paul could smell the strange odor of children’s hands. “Why’re you so covered in blankets?”
“We’re playing eskimos. Want to help me kill a whale?” John grinned. He was mostly over the high.
Arctic images dipped in and out of Paul’s vision, drifting through the walls of John’s house, as though they were a regular fixture. After some thought, it suddenly occurred to him that it wasn’t right. Paul sighed. “Your daddy’s kidding.” Hm. That was an odd word. Kid-ding. Like baby goats. That was always in his crosswords . . .
Julian pulled himself onto the couch between them and then frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Well, you see, we’re wrapping your daddy up in a cocoon,” Paul explained.
“Like buttonflys!” Julian exclaimed, quite proud of his knowledge. A smile broke over the bassists face. Flying buttons whirled around the room.
“Yes, exactly like that,” Paul agreed.
“Why?” Julian asked.
“Why what?”
“Why are you playing buttonflys.” Paul grinned. It was that age where questions were rampant and he had a feeling that John and Cyn would have to adjust to the constant stream of ‘Whys’ their son would prepare for them. “Oh, like Bea.”
“Like what?”
“Like Bea,” Paul restated, thinking they hadn’t heard him properly. “We’re hoping your dad will emerge a beautiful butterfly.” The bassist allowed his mind to dwell on this bizarre image for a few moments before he continued. “Cross your fingers with me.” Paul pretend-whispered the last part conspiratorially to Julian, eliciting a snort from his writing partner. The bassist liked whispering. His breath was visible like exhales on a December day.
“Then why are you coconoconed too?” Julian asked, muddling the big word, and Paul’s mind was momentarily twisted up as it tried to follow the convoluted path of vowels and consonants.
Finally, he answered, “I don’t want your daddy to be alone. So I’m keeping him company.”
“Oh.” The young boy paused for a long time. “Can I come with?”
“We aren’t going anywhere Julian,” John informed his son with amusement.
“I wanna help you become a buttonfly daddy!” he said determinedly, as though that changed the fact that they really weren’t moving from that spot. John’s deadpanned expression sent Paul into giggles.
“Of course you can!” The bassist spoke cheerfully. “Sit here and keep us company, won’t you.”
Julian’s serious nod only made Paul smiled wider. God, he couldn’t wait to have kids. Maybe he should start now. No reason not to . . . First he needed to find Linda, and then ask her to help him have a child. Where was she? Maybe he should try and find her right now.
“Is it gonna be soon?” Julian asked after a long thirty seconds of silence, making Paul put his plans for baby-making on hold momentarily.
“We, dunno Julian-“ Paul was cut off by a:
“Why?”
“Because your Mummy’s the one who gets to decide when John’s pretty enough to leave,” Paul said warmly.
John gave a wry grin. “Be careful you don’t simmer in here too long, Macca. You’ll look even more like a girl than you already do.”
“It’s impossible to improve perfection John,” Paul informed him with overdramatic narcissism.
“Then why am I in here, eh?” John asked, returning with an effeminate pout that was ruined by his all-too-toothy grin. Like a pouty wolf. With his granny-glasses, John would look like the big bad wolf that had blown little red-riding hood’s grandmother of straw down. Paul stopped. That didn’t seem quite right.
“What isn’t right?” Julian asked.
“My words aren’t listening,” The bassist replied.
“Oh. I didn’t know they had ears.”
“They do.”
This made the child pause, and Paul glowed with pride at having taught the boy something new.
“Macca, you’re still tripping pretty bad, huh?”
“Am not, you’re the tripper.” Ah, that was another crossword clue. ‘Are too, reply.’
John laughed aloud, like tinkling champagne glasses. Hm, glasses, and glasses. What if John changed his buddy-holly glasses for drinking glasses? If they got the right prescription Paul didn’t see why it wouldn’t work. They’d work underwater too. It seemed they were far superior to their framed counterparts.
“You should wear shot glasses,” He informed the other man.
“You should go back to sleep for a while Macca, until it wears off all the way.” John smiled.
“Wear off your glasses and I will,” Paul shot back nonsensically.
John said nothing, but he did pull his mate closer. Paul smiled at the rhythm guitarist’s rubber band arms. Julian made a small noise of protest before he moved into Paul’s lap like a cat.
No he’d be a kitten, Paul thought to himself. Then again, three was fairly old in cat years. So maybe a young-adult kitten. Medium-old. Medium-rare. He wasn’t cooking cat though. Cats had faces after all.
While Paul was pondering these subjects, John had managed to position them flush against each other, bare skin to bare skin. His friend’s hand remained around Paul, like a loose grip on a snowman. The men of ice were too cold to hug all the way. Paul knew this to be true because it sent a ripple of goosebumps and shivers. John responded in kind by pulling his fingers lightly over Paul’s skin. Colors burst and Paul uttered a half-sound in surprise.
“Macca, go to sleep,” his friend urged. His words weighed heavily on Paul’s lids, dragging them down.
“That’s cheating.” Not even he understood what he was saying.
“Right.”
“Unca’ Paul’s silly.”
“Am not.”
“Julian!” Cynthia exclaimed as she dashed over to pick up her boy from the couch.
Paul frowned. “I wasn’t gonna eat him. I don’t eat cats,” He mumbled. The blonde’s expression grew more panicked and upset. John popped the bubble with his rancorous laughter.
His wife sighed before she began to walk away, Julian still firm in hand. “Why don’t we take a bath Julian, hmm?” She cooed.
Paul heard the clatter of her steps and his head drew up an image of falling hail.
“I wasn’t gonna eat him,” Paul repeated. John’s shoulders trembled with repressed giggles. The older man eventually calmed himself and stroked his friend’ back, relishing the heat below. The strangest sensations were spread over Paul’s skin like a coat of paint, and he felt the sudden need to respond in kind, he wanted John to know how it felt. John sucked in a deep bubble of breath and Paul grinned. He traced figures over the edges of John’s shoulder, enjoying the captivating maroon that was slowly building around his friend’s neck. Bit by bit John’s hand drifted over to Paul’s chest, there was a casual air to his actions, but the emotion in his eyes said something else that Paul couldn’t quite discern. They strayed over to one of Paul’s nipples; the tips wavered and hesitated at the edge of the darker skin. Paul felt curiosity arise about what new game they were playing. John locked eyes on him, and it made the bassist stare at him curiously in response to the conflicted expression on his face. A face which was now spinning in mini-vortices.
“You have whirlpools on your face,” Paul informed him. John let out a long sigh and grimaced as he dropped his hand from Paul. He seemed almost in pain, though Paul couldn’t explain why.
“Sleep Macca.”
“I’m older than you so I get to stay up later,” Paul said.
All John did was laugh.
It wasn’t funny, but Paul was glad John had gotten the joke.
*
Well! Here we are. I hope you enjoyed it. Ah, special thanks to pivoltalmoments. Her story "I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then," gave me the idea to use Alice earlier than I had thought to. :}
Comment and let me know what you think . . .