Beatles Fic: Studio Sessions
Title: Studio Sessions
Author: florfina
Pairing: Paul/George
Rating: PG13
Warnings: The usual swears, though nothing beyond what's usual
Timeframe: Pre-John, 50's
Word count: 2,849
Summary: He's only doing this to help George, honest!
Arthur's Note: The concept is nothing new (first kiss/bedroom fic right here!) though I am going a different rout with characterization. It may also be a four part mini series... =/
Disclaimer: This is possible as characters, not real people. Of course this never happened. :/
**********************************
George ran his thumb over a worn piece of paper.
"Did you draw this?"
Paul, mindlessly, nodded his head.
"It's nice; I like it."
"You can keep it if you want."
He expected George to smile and lose interest, though Paul could not be too surprised when the object in question was neatly folded and tucked away.
Lifting his eyebrows in a mock what-do-you-think-you're-doing fashion, Paul removed himself from the window and said, "I might be needing that back, actually. I've got an assignment on the other side."
George smiled as he wriggled deeper between the blanket and wall. "Too late; it's mine now,"
"You'll be the death of me school career, you know that?"
"S'all in my pockets, your music career too if we keep wastin' time."
"You're right," Paul agreed, reaching for his guitar. "What was that chord you showed me earlier?"
George sat up straighter and positioned his fingers over the frets, but Paul had already stopped paying attention.
He was so small and yet his eyebrows were so big.
His teeth also looked funny.
He's got long skinny fingers like a skeleton. His entire body, really, though his hair was thick.
George's voice was also weird now that Paul thought about it. Flat at times with a miraculous twinge of laughter to it. Husky, quiet...
"... play it like this..."
Loud, soft and repetitive...
"...like I showed you last ti..."
Impatient.
"Paul."
Though very soft. Very comforting and familiar. But also...
"Paul!"
Loud!
Looking dumbly at the floor, Paul had not noticed George's glaring eyes.
"Yeah, what?"
"I asked if you would marry me and you answered "Yes" by remaining silent. I'm very excited."
"Oh... 'm sorry George. My mind keep going off on its own." Paul shook the clouds from his head. "Maybe today's not the best day for this, eh?"
George sighed audibly and slid the guitar from his lap. "That's fine, Paul. We can do something else if you want."
"Like sitting on our arses all day eating biscuits? You don't need to look so disappointed, you know."
As though he hadn't a care in the world, for his friend's words or his own skin, George Harrison simply shrugged his shoulders and continued to aimlessly pluck at cheap guitar strings.
"I could always go home," he suggested. "You're no fun since you started acting like this all the time."
"Look, George, I'm sorry for bein' short with you 'n all that, but--"
Paul "I'm So Sorry" McCartney happened to catch George's eyes at the right angle, the right moment and in the completely wrong state of mind, for he could not help when his cheeks suddenly puffed out and a laugh burst from his mouth.
George, now very nervous, scrutinized this swing of emotion.
"You're off the deep end," he muttered under his breath.
"Me? George, anyone ever tell you--" another chuckle, dangerous, "That at some angles you look like yer lookin' in two different directions??"
Paul tried to throw off the horrified look on George's face by rolling over on his side.
"Bugger off, McCartney! I don't need you of all people saying shit like that to me!"
"You mean there're others?"
George, now furious, kicked Paul as hard as he could in the shoulder, causing the other boy to howl in pain.
"OW-- What the fuck's your problem??" he hissed with tears streaming down his cheeks. "I was only kidding! Christ, George, you're completely mental sometimes!"
"I hear that enough from everyone else, Paul, I don't want to hear it from you too!"
The sound quickly subsided as a tiny crack in George's voice pounded through Paul's ears. He fully turned to watch as George struggled to untangle himself from the blankets.
He looked furious, but he also looked very, very small.
Paul immediately jumped to his feet and grabbed George's wrist, pulling them face-to-face. His grip loosened until his hands were barely touching the other boy.
"You can stop petting me' arm, Paul."
"Are there really others? Is somebody saying things to you?"
"No," George replied, shaking off the worried comfort.
"No one's allowed to slag you off but me,"
"Not even you," he corrected. George could see how awkward Paul was getting and that he looked truly very sorry, even if he was avoiding having to say it. Again. George pursed his lips and decided to spare his friend, turning back toward the bed and plopping in his spot.
His eyes did not leave Paul as the older boy dared not budge.
"What's got you, Paul? I know I'm younger than you are, but you can tell me things, you know. I'll listen."
"I know you will."
"I also won't tell anybody."
"I know, I know."
"So?"
"I... well, I worry sometimes, you know?" George nodded as Paul came back to the bed. "You never know what's out there, who, whatever. And I guess it's because I'm older than you I feel the need to keep an eye out."
"I can handle myself," was the suspicious reply.
"That's what I'm worried about. You're so... weird, George."
George thought about it for a minute. Within that minute he decided that Paul was no longer angering him.
"You're not typical yourself," he said assuringly.
"Ta."
Again there was silence.
Paul snuck a glance toward his friend, watching as George lightly fingered a thread on the sheet.
George was weird. He acted as though he and Paul weren't two years or nine months apart. George was very different...
Paul slid off the bed as curious eyes followed him to the door.
George raised an inquisitive eyebrow at its locking.
"And what's all that about?"
Paul ignored him as he jumped back at George's feet.
"Have you ever kissed a girl, George?"
The latter blinked at such a drastic change in subject. "What's that got--"
"It might help!" Paul was quick to say. "With the teasing, I mean. 'Cause if everyone knew you had a girl, they would, you know, they might leave you alone."
George shrugged at the suggestion. "It's really not a problem,"
"Yes or no?" Paul demanded.
"No, I haven't. Don't much care to, either."
"What?" Paul laughed. "What d'you mean, you 'don't care to'?"
"I just don't, I dunno. Would rather talk to you than some girl. They're not me mates."
"You don't kiss them because they're your mates, George."
"Then why?"
"Because... well, because! And if you had one--"
"I already have one."
Paul choked. "W-what? Since when!"
"Since whenever I want to tell you, that's when."
His heart calmed as he forced out a smile. "Oh yeah? And does she know she's your girl yet?"
"Does it matter?"
It felt good to hear themselves both laughing for a chance. Once they collected themselves, Paul scooted closer.
"I know you said you didn't want to kiss her, but... do you?"
His smile broadened as George averted his eyes.
"Dunno."
"C'mon, Georgie, of course you do! Unless you're, you know... queer or something."
Again he expected one thing, but got another. He expected George to blush and sputter, to get angry and to fervently deny it; he didn't expect George to actually take the time to consider....
George looked up and caught Paul staring. He smiled, the corners of his lips turning in a way Paul did not like.
"I'll tell you if you tell me!"
Paul swallowed hard, the nervous laugh a giveaway to his beating heart.
" 'Course 'm not, George. I've kissed girls before."
"I'm not satisfied, McCartney."
"Not satisfied?" he repeated to himself. "George, I'm not queer. And I know that you're not either."
"I don't see what the problem is, either way. I don't know why you've locked the door, why you've asked me about kissing and whatnot. I don't even know why we're so completely alone in your room." All this was said with a smirk and an air of superiority.
And Paul, he bit that bait good.
"I-- Okay, I'm trying to help you out, George. You say you don't need me to, but I think you do! And I'm only offering to do this because I want you to be good when you do it with a girl, you know? Because no one ever teases a bloke if he's got himself a girl, is all I'm saying."
"I'm sorry Paul, but you're showing me how to do... what, with a girl?"
Paul's face dropped at the admission. But it was too late now, wasn't it? Besides, he and George were best mates.
"I, uh, I meant that I could give you advice. About girls, and... y'know, all that."
"I don't need any advice."
"George, please, just... lay down, won't you? I'm helping."
Against the flutter in his own chest, George shook his head. "I don't want to lie down."
Paul nodded. "Okay. That's okay. Close your eyes then."
George looked down at Paul's knees, then his face, his lips. There was a bitter swell in his stomach as he imagined them against his own, but he could not figure why. But all that disappeared when he met Paul's eyes. The apprehension was replaced with trust, and so he did as he was told.
Paul slowly blinked as he considered the next step. Should he hold George's hand? His knee? Girls liked all that gentle touching, but would George? They've hugged before, sure, even spooned a bit in bed. But they only did those kinda things because George was like a younger brother to him and it was okay because Paul knew that that's all it was.
Here was that kid sitting on his bed with his eyes closed. Here was a kid that did not pull away, like expected, when Paul grasped his shoulder with a hesitant hand. Here was George, who purposefully opened his eyes to look into Paul's.
"So..." he said softy, shattering the silence. "What are we doing?"
"This is... um, this is where you touch her shoulder, or her waist."
"Her waist?"
"Yeah, like... here."
"Okay,"
"Right. And then you can touch her chin, too, if you like."
"Not always, though."
"No, but... George, your eyes're s'posed to be closed."
"But then I won't be able to see you."
"Well, you're not supposed to see me. I'm just trying to help you out, okay?"
"D'you want to kiss me, Paul?"
"George-- I don't want to, I'm helping!"
George suddenly pulled away. "I don't want you to kiss me if you don't mean it."
A twinge of anger sparked in Paul's eyes. "Don't make this personal, will ya? I'm only--"
"You can't help me if you're not real."
"George. I'm not queer!"
"Y' don't hafta, just be honest about it!"
"You don't... you don't want to kiss me, do you George? Because you're really not, you know?"
George rolled his shoulders and, unapologetically, said, "I kind of do."
The feelings that warred in Paul's mind were indescribable. He stared down at his friend, his mouth hung open with disbelief.
"Say that again?" he mumbled.
"We almost did, Paul. It was nice."
Nice?
"Do you know what you're even saying? What nonsense? You don't want to kiss me, you want to kiss that girl."
He wouldn't mind kissing that girl, true, but he also wouldn't mind kissing his best mate, either. Maybe if Paul knew that he would stop acting so foolish.
"We get on together, Paul. I don't mind you being the one to teach me how to kiss. Even if you are older than me."
George didn't get it. He was too young for this, so why did Paul even bother? Besides, no one ever taught him how to kiss and he does it just fine now. And George? Well, George probably didn't even have a girl. Probably too busy drawing guitars and shit like that. Stupid things, because he was still a boy and boys did stupid things like that. I mean, doesn't he understand that this is a normal thing for guys to do together? It doesn't make them anymore gay than teaching each other how to dance, or throw a ball or whatever the fuck boys do. They didn't think about the other as they did it; they imagined beautiful women like Bridgit Bardot. Anyway, the only reason Paul was here in the first place was because George had learned a new chord form an uncle or whoever the fuck it was.
Even now George had the look of someone who wasn't being completely insane. Paul tsk'd, averting his gaze and sweeping it round his room instead.
"Forget I mentioned anything, alright? Besides, you're not old enough to even know what's going on."
"I'm being smarter about this than you are," George sneered. "You're the one who thinks you're so much wiser than I am because your a bit older than me. You're really not!"
"Shut up and teach me to play."
So he did. They swallowed their anger and picked off exactly where they left off.
George sat waiting to embrace the world while Paul kept denying it.
After several moments of this, George, without looking up, said: "I still want to kiss you."
It was stunning how easily he said this.
"And I still want you to teach me this bleeding chord."
He sighed in defeat. "You've almost got it. You just need to position your little finger a bit lower, there, so it doesn't get in the way of that one."
"I've been doing that,"
"You're not concentrating enough. Here, I'll show you aga--"
George bit back a yelp as he felt Paul's mouth suddenly press against his. His mind was in total turmoil as it tried so desperately to sort out what the fuck was going on. He could feel hands gripping his hair as hot breath caressed his face, an eager heaviness on his chest crushing his pounding heart. He could hear tiny moans escape Paul's lips, and so-- not knowing what else to do-- he ventured to kiss him back. And for the briefest of moments, he did.
Though as soon as it had started, so soon had it unfortunately been over.
Paul was now out of reach and on the other end of the bed, brushing his hair back and sniffling.
"Right, so... I hold my fingers--"
"Paul--"
"George, I'm trying to figure this out, okay? If you don't want to be a guitarist when you grow up, fine, but I still do."
George timidly brushed his lip. "Did you... did you mean that?"
Paul shook his head when met with that silly question. "Of course I didn't," he scoffed. "We're still in this together, I promised that from the start. You 'n me will get a band together, getting good and famous, and then maybe we'll be able to afford some instruments that aren't complete and utter crap."
Inexplicable fear began creeping into his gut. "Paul, please tell me--"
"Oh for Pete's sake, George! You said you wanted me to kiss you, so I did! You can get over it or you won't. Now you can kiss that girl-- or a boy, whatever. I don't even fucking know when it comes to you."
George met Paul's gaze wondering if this moment was born of pure curiosity or else a genuine need for satisfaction, but ultimately got the impression that it was neither of the two.
So what was he supposed do when in a situation as muddled up as this?
When it came down to simply not wanting to give Paul unwanted opportunities, George hopped off the bed and gathered his shoes.
Expecting to have had more time, Paul was horrified to see his friend trying to escape.
"What're you doin'?" he forwardly asked.
"I'm going home."
"I thought you were gonna stay for supper,"
"Not anymore."
Shit!
"Look, I'm sorry for calling you queer, okay? You know I didn't mean it."
George's hand stilled over his shoelace. "I think you did..."
"Listen-- put your bag back down, please? You shouldn't leave."
But he was already at the door.
"Bye, now."
Paul's heart jumped into his mouth as words struggled to come through. Hastily looking round, not knowing what he could say to fix things, he blurted, "You'll have to take this guitar back from me if you want it!!"
George looked at it, then at Paul. He was definitely not the type to be convinced in that moment.
"Or I could, you know, hold on to it for you...."
George spat out a meaningless thanks without looking back.
And Paul, with not much else to say, watched as the door shut between them.
Author: florfina
Pairing: Paul/George
Rating: PG13
Warnings: The usual swears, though nothing beyond what's usual
Timeframe: Pre-John, 50's
Word count: 2,849
Summary: He's only doing this to help George, honest!
Arthur's Note: The concept is nothing new (first kiss/bedroom fic right here!) though I am going a different rout with characterization. It may also be a four part mini series... =/
Disclaimer: This is possible as characters, not real people. Of course this never happened. :/
**********************************
George ran his thumb over a worn piece of paper.
"Did you draw this?"
Paul, mindlessly, nodded his head.
"It's nice; I like it."
"You can keep it if you want."
He expected George to smile and lose interest, though Paul could not be too surprised when the object in question was neatly folded and tucked away.
Lifting his eyebrows in a mock what-do-you-think-you're-doing fashion, Paul removed himself from the window and said, "I might be needing that back, actually. I've got an assignment on the other side."
George smiled as he wriggled deeper between the blanket and wall. "Too late; it's mine now,"
"You'll be the death of me school career, you know that?"
"S'all in my pockets, your music career too if we keep wastin' time."
"You're right," Paul agreed, reaching for his guitar. "What was that chord you showed me earlier?"
George sat up straighter and positioned his fingers over the frets, but Paul had already stopped paying attention.
He was so small and yet his eyebrows were so big.
His teeth also looked funny.
He's got long skinny fingers like a skeleton. His entire body, really, though his hair was thick.
George's voice was also weird now that Paul thought about it. Flat at times with a miraculous twinge of laughter to it. Husky, quiet...
"... play it like this..."
Loud, soft and repetitive...
"...like I showed you last ti..."
Impatient.
"Paul."
Though very soft. Very comforting and familiar. But also...
"Paul!"
Loud!
Looking dumbly at the floor, Paul had not noticed George's glaring eyes.
"Yeah, what?"
"I asked if you would marry me and you answered "Yes" by remaining silent. I'm very excited."
"Oh... 'm sorry George. My mind keep going off on its own." Paul shook the clouds from his head. "Maybe today's not the best day for this, eh?"
George sighed audibly and slid the guitar from his lap. "That's fine, Paul. We can do something else if you want."
"Like sitting on our arses all day eating biscuits? You don't need to look so disappointed, you know."
As though he hadn't a care in the world, for his friend's words or his own skin, George Harrison simply shrugged his shoulders and continued to aimlessly pluck at cheap guitar strings.
"I could always go home," he suggested. "You're no fun since you started acting like this all the time."
"Look, George, I'm sorry for bein' short with you 'n all that, but--"
Paul "I'm So Sorry" McCartney happened to catch George's eyes at the right angle, the right moment and in the completely wrong state of mind, for he could not help when his cheeks suddenly puffed out and a laugh burst from his mouth.
George, now very nervous, scrutinized this swing of emotion.
"You're off the deep end," he muttered under his breath.
"Me? George, anyone ever tell you--" another chuckle, dangerous, "That at some angles you look like yer lookin' in two different directions??"
Paul tried to throw off the horrified look on George's face by rolling over on his side.
"Bugger off, McCartney! I don't need you of all people saying shit like that to me!"
"You mean there're others?"
George, now furious, kicked Paul as hard as he could in the shoulder, causing the other boy to howl in pain.
"OW-- What the fuck's your problem??" he hissed with tears streaming down his cheeks. "I was only kidding! Christ, George, you're completely mental sometimes!"
"I hear that enough from everyone else, Paul, I don't want to hear it from you too!"
The sound quickly subsided as a tiny crack in George's voice pounded through Paul's ears. He fully turned to watch as George struggled to untangle himself from the blankets.
He looked furious, but he also looked very, very small.
Paul immediately jumped to his feet and grabbed George's wrist, pulling them face-to-face. His grip loosened until his hands were barely touching the other boy.
"You can stop petting me' arm, Paul."
"Are there really others? Is somebody saying things to you?"
"No," George replied, shaking off the worried comfort.
"No one's allowed to slag you off but me,"
"Not even you," he corrected. George could see how awkward Paul was getting and that he looked truly very sorry, even if he was avoiding having to say it. Again. George pursed his lips and decided to spare his friend, turning back toward the bed and plopping in his spot.
His eyes did not leave Paul as the older boy dared not budge.
"What's got you, Paul? I know I'm younger than you are, but you can tell me things, you know. I'll listen."
"I know you will."
"I also won't tell anybody."
"I know, I know."
"So?"
"I... well, I worry sometimes, you know?" George nodded as Paul came back to the bed. "You never know what's out there, who, whatever. And I guess it's because I'm older than you I feel the need to keep an eye out."
"I can handle myself," was the suspicious reply.
"That's what I'm worried about. You're so... weird, George."
George thought about it for a minute. Within that minute he decided that Paul was no longer angering him.
"You're not typical yourself," he said assuringly.
"Ta."
Again there was silence.
Paul snuck a glance toward his friend, watching as George lightly fingered a thread on the sheet.
George was weird. He acted as though he and Paul weren't two years or nine months apart. George was very different...
Paul slid off the bed as curious eyes followed him to the door.
George raised an inquisitive eyebrow at its locking.
"And what's all that about?"
Paul ignored him as he jumped back at George's feet.
"Have you ever kissed a girl, George?"
The latter blinked at such a drastic change in subject. "What's that got--"
"It might help!" Paul was quick to say. "With the teasing, I mean. 'Cause if everyone knew you had a girl, they would, you know, they might leave you alone."
George shrugged at the suggestion. "It's really not a problem,"
"Yes or no?" Paul demanded.
"No, I haven't. Don't much care to, either."
"What?" Paul laughed. "What d'you mean, you 'don't care to'?"
"I just don't, I dunno. Would rather talk to you than some girl. They're not me mates."
"You don't kiss them because they're your mates, George."
"Then why?"
"Because... well, because! And if you had one--"
"I already have one."
Paul choked. "W-what? Since when!"
"Since whenever I want to tell you, that's when."
His heart calmed as he forced out a smile. "Oh yeah? And does she know she's your girl yet?"
"Does it matter?"
It felt good to hear themselves both laughing for a chance. Once they collected themselves, Paul scooted closer.
"I know you said you didn't want to kiss her, but... do you?"
His smile broadened as George averted his eyes.
"Dunno."
"C'mon, Georgie, of course you do! Unless you're, you know... queer or something."
Again he expected one thing, but got another. He expected George to blush and sputter, to get angry and to fervently deny it; he didn't expect George to actually take the time to consider....
George looked up and caught Paul staring. He smiled, the corners of his lips turning in a way Paul did not like.
"I'll tell you if you tell me!"
Paul swallowed hard, the nervous laugh a giveaway to his beating heart.
" 'Course 'm not, George. I've kissed girls before."
"I'm not satisfied, McCartney."
"Not satisfied?" he repeated to himself. "George, I'm not queer. And I know that you're not either."
"I don't see what the problem is, either way. I don't know why you've locked the door, why you've asked me about kissing and whatnot. I don't even know why we're so completely alone in your room." All this was said with a smirk and an air of superiority.
And Paul, he bit that bait good.
"I-- Okay, I'm trying to help you out, George. You say you don't need me to, but I think you do! And I'm only offering to do this because I want you to be good when you do it with a girl, you know? Because no one ever teases a bloke if he's got himself a girl, is all I'm saying."
"I'm sorry Paul, but you're showing me how to do... what, with a girl?"
Paul's face dropped at the admission. But it was too late now, wasn't it? Besides, he and George were best mates.
"I, uh, I meant that I could give you advice. About girls, and... y'know, all that."
"I don't need any advice."
"George, please, just... lay down, won't you? I'm helping."
Against the flutter in his own chest, George shook his head. "I don't want to lie down."
Paul nodded. "Okay. That's okay. Close your eyes then."
George looked down at Paul's knees, then his face, his lips. There was a bitter swell in his stomach as he imagined them against his own, but he could not figure why. But all that disappeared when he met Paul's eyes. The apprehension was replaced with trust, and so he did as he was told.
Paul slowly blinked as he considered the next step. Should he hold George's hand? His knee? Girls liked all that gentle touching, but would George? They've hugged before, sure, even spooned a bit in bed. But they only did those kinda things because George was like a younger brother to him and it was okay because Paul knew that that's all it was.
Here was that kid sitting on his bed with his eyes closed. Here was a kid that did not pull away, like expected, when Paul grasped his shoulder with a hesitant hand. Here was George, who purposefully opened his eyes to look into Paul's.
"So..." he said softy, shattering the silence. "What are we doing?"
"This is... um, this is where you touch her shoulder, or her waist."
"Her waist?"
"Yeah, like... here."
"Okay,"
"Right. And then you can touch her chin, too, if you like."
"Not always, though."
"No, but... George, your eyes're s'posed to be closed."
"But then I won't be able to see you."
"Well, you're not supposed to see me. I'm just trying to help you out, okay?"
"D'you want to kiss me, Paul?"
"George-- I don't want to, I'm helping!"
George suddenly pulled away. "I don't want you to kiss me if you don't mean it."
A twinge of anger sparked in Paul's eyes. "Don't make this personal, will ya? I'm only--"
"You can't help me if you're not real."
"George. I'm not queer!"
"Y' don't hafta, just be honest about it!"
"You don't... you don't want to kiss me, do you George? Because you're really not, you know?"
George rolled his shoulders and, unapologetically, said, "I kind of do."
The feelings that warred in Paul's mind were indescribable. He stared down at his friend, his mouth hung open with disbelief.
"Say that again?" he mumbled.
"We almost did, Paul. It was nice."
Nice?
"Do you know what you're even saying? What nonsense? You don't want to kiss me, you want to kiss that girl."
He wouldn't mind kissing that girl, true, but he also wouldn't mind kissing his best mate, either. Maybe if Paul knew that he would stop acting so foolish.
"We get on together, Paul. I don't mind you being the one to teach me how to kiss. Even if you are older than me."
George didn't get it. He was too young for this, so why did Paul even bother? Besides, no one ever taught him how to kiss and he does it just fine now. And George? Well, George probably didn't even have a girl. Probably too busy drawing guitars and shit like that. Stupid things, because he was still a boy and boys did stupid things like that. I mean, doesn't he understand that this is a normal thing for guys to do together? It doesn't make them anymore gay than teaching each other how to dance, or throw a ball or whatever the fuck boys do. They didn't think about the other as they did it; they imagined beautiful women like Bridgit Bardot. Anyway, the only reason Paul was here in the first place was because George had learned a new chord form an uncle or whoever the fuck it was.
Even now George had the look of someone who wasn't being completely insane. Paul tsk'd, averting his gaze and sweeping it round his room instead.
"Forget I mentioned anything, alright? Besides, you're not old enough to even know what's going on."
"I'm being smarter about this than you are," George sneered. "You're the one who thinks you're so much wiser than I am because your a bit older than me. You're really not!"
"Shut up and teach me to play."
So he did. They swallowed their anger and picked off exactly where they left off.
George sat waiting to embrace the world while Paul kept denying it.
After several moments of this, George, without looking up, said: "I still want to kiss you."
It was stunning how easily he said this.
"And I still want you to teach me this bleeding chord."
He sighed in defeat. "You've almost got it. You just need to position your little finger a bit lower, there, so it doesn't get in the way of that one."
"I've been doing that,"
"You're not concentrating enough. Here, I'll show you aga--"
George bit back a yelp as he felt Paul's mouth suddenly press against his. His mind was in total turmoil as it tried so desperately to sort out what the fuck was going on. He could feel hands gripping his hair as hot breath caressed his face, an eager heaviness on his chest crushing his pounding heart. He could hear tiny moans escape Paul's lips, and so-- not knowing what else to do-- he ventured to kiss him back. And for the briefest of moments, he did.
Though as soon as it had started, so soon had it unfortunately been over.
Paul was now out of reach and on the other end of the bed, brushing his hair back and sniffling.
"Right, so... I hold my fingers--"
"Paul--"
"George, I'm trying to figure this out, okay? If you don't want to be a guitarist when you grow up, fine, but I still do."
George timidly brushed his lip. "Did you... did you mean that?"
Paul shook his head when met with that silly question. "Of course I didn't," he scoffed. "We're still in this together, I promised that from the start. You 'n me will get a band together, getting good and famous, and then maybe we'll be able to afford some instruments that aren't complete and utter crap."
Inexplicable fear began creeping into his gut. "Paul, please tell me--"
"Oh for Pete's sake, George! You said you wanted me to kiss you, so I did! You can get over it or you won't. Now you can kiss that girl-- or a boy, whatever. I don't even fucking know when it comes to you."
George met Paul's gaze wondering if this moment was born of pure curiosity or else a genuine need for satisfaction, but ultimately got the impression that it was neither of the two.
So what was he supposed do when in a situation as muddled up as this?
When it came down to simply not wanting to give Paul unwanted opportunities, George hopped off the bed and gathered his shoes.
Expecting to have had more time, Paul was horrified to see his friend trying to escape.
"What're you doin'?" he forwardly asked.
"I'm going home."
"I thought you were gonna stay for supper,"
"Not anymore."
Shit!
"Look, I'm sorry for calling you queer, okay? You know I didn't mean it."
George's hand stilled over his shoelace. "I think you did..."
"Listen-- put your bag back down, please? You shouldn't leave."
But he was already at the door.
"Bye, now."
Paul's heart jumped into his mouth as words struggled to come through. Hastily looking round, not knowing what he could say to fix things, he blurted, "You'll have to take this guitar back from me if you want it!!"
George looked at it, then at Paul. He was definitely not the type to be convinced in that moment.
"Or I could, you know, hold on to it for you...."
George spat out a meaningless thanks without looking back.
And Paul, with not much else to say, watched as the door shut between them.