So, a new fic.
I don't know what this is.
Title: Brace Yourself
Author: George H.
Date: 1 June 2005
Pairing: John/George
Genre: Beatlesslash (of course)
Summary: John takes George to visit a whore.
Under the harsh neon lights of the Reeperbahn John and George studied the painted ladies while drawing ragged drags off their cigarettes. The women posed in their windows, baring shear legs and full breasts as well as giving lipsticked-impish smiles to the boys. John grunted, dropped his cigarette and ground it out under his boot. He was anxious and growled under his breath, “Christ, George, just chose one already. I’m about to pop standing here staring looking.”
George’s ears flushed pink but he mentally tried to attribute it to the cold and refused to think about what he was doing, standing in the streets of Saint Pauli picking out a whore with John. “Fine,” he quickly stated and pointed waywardly towards the building. “Her; she’ll do.” The woman in question standing in the window wore a tight lemon yellow dress complete with a matching scarf and three inch heels. She waved them up and blew at kiss at both of them.
Everything seemed off immediately after George opened the door to enter her room. It was decadent and smelled faintly of rose petals and patchouli but the lights seemed dimmed unnecessarily low. Somewhere music played softly off a scratchy record player. George stood timidly in the doorway, his hands clasped in front of him. He likely would have stood there all night if it hadn’t been for John grabbing him by the elbow and dragging him inside.
The woman was seated on a plush Victorian-style chair. It was probably red but in the light it looked burgundy, almost black. “Don’t suppose you speak English, do you?” John asked gruffly as he pulled George into the room and closed the door behind him. The outside noises immediately ceased and they found themselves ensconced in the woman’s opulent parlour.
She smiled beautifully at them, revealing some of the straightest, whitest teeth the two boys had ever seen. “Enough to get by,” she replied in a deep sultry tone, tinged with a heavy German accent. “You want me to get my friend?” she inquired after looking the two boys over. “Or is Sophia going to get two?”
George opened his mouth to say something but John shook his head and spoke first. “No, this is for just him. George. I’m just here to watch.”
Sophia, if that was her name, laughed. It was the sort of laugh that made George’s toes curl up inside his boots to hide. He wasn’t sure if it was from anxiety or fear; maybe it was from both. “You like to watch?” she asked in her sultry tone, appraising John with her eyes.
George cringed because of how it sounded but John just shrugged. “Sometimes,” he gruffly answered. “But I’m not paying you to ask questions.”
The woman tut-tutted and frowned at John. Then she promptly ignored him and waved George over, touching his small, slender hands with hers almost immediately. “So pretty,” she whispered in such a soft tone that John had to step closer to the pair to hear. “How old are you?”
George finally managed to look into her eyes and he could see she was probably ten years older than him. She felt massive and oppressive, full woman and robost, and the scents in the room were almost overpowering him. John’s presence in the room was the only comfort and even that was not much of one because it was John’s fault he was here, about to do something he had no desire to do with a woman he didn’t even know. “Seventeen,” he whispered before he thought about it.
Sophia laughed softly and if the fact that George was so young bothered her, she didn’t say anything. “Let us begin.”
Within minutes George found himself sitting on the bed amidst the posh pillows, silken covers, thick drapes and cloistering smells with Sophia on her knees between his legs, working her mouth in skilful ways, trying to coax him into relaxation. His beautiful hands were ugly now, clenching at the sheets in some desperate attempt to hold on to his views of normalcy. Worse of all, over Sophia’s laboured panting George could hear (and see) John ‘Hmm’ing to himself as he turned his head this way and that, examining some artefact or painting in the room. John would occasionally glance over at the pair of them with mild interest and seeing that no progress had been made, he’d resume his reconnaissance of the items in Sophia’s flat.
John picked up an elaborate perfume atomizer and, holding the pump bulb toward himself and the nozzle towards George and Sophia, he let it squirt a cloud of scent out. George coughed at the added aroma although Sophia didn’t seem to even notice. “You’re not helping, you know,” George muttered, casting a disapproving eye at John.
John set the atomizer back but averted his eyes from the pair, flicking a tassel on the end of a pillow instead. “What would you have me do then, George?” he asked, finally glancing over at him with a wicked grin.
George looked away immediately, embarrassed. He put his hand on Sophia’s head and stroked her hair, trying to be encouraging. It felt nice, in a way, with potential to feel much nicer. Having John standing there like a museum curator, however, wasn’t exactly putting him into the mood. “Well, don’t just stand there like I’m doing laundry, or whatever. It’s weird.” George’s tone was mumbled and Sophia glanced up at him. He caught sight of her pink-tongue for just a moment before he had to look away. His nails were beginning to shred the silken sheets.
“Sorry,” John grunted and folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve just never had a problem with ignoring the outside world when a bird’s got me pecker in her mouth.” John gave George a sly grin. “Though I guess that’s ‘cause I’ve had years of practice.”
Sophia stopped her administrations for a moment, which George was ever grateful for. It wasn’t that she wasn’t talented; he just wasn’t prepared for this. She glanced over her shoulder at John. “Perhaps you’d like to help your friend?” she asked.
The two boys both instantly said, “No!”
Their eyes met immediately afterward and they held the gaze for several seconds before George looked away. Sophia smiled to herself as she returned to her work. John, after standing beside the perfume and pillows a moment longer, made his way over.
George found his weight on the bed beside him to actually be comforting instead of even more oppressive as he had thought it would be. John just sat there for a moment before he put a hand on George’s thigh. “You’ve got to relax, son,” he explained softly. “She’s not going to hurt you.”
George thought, ‘I know’ but words weren’t coming out anymore.
John gave Sophia’s hair a fond tousle and then he got onto his knees and moved behind George. “Close your eyes,” he commanded as he reached up and began to give George a crude shoulder massage. “Don’t picture her. Think about Bridgette or Marilyn or some bird you want this with.”
George closed his eyes. The massage was distracting him from what Sophia was doing, which was actually helpful. What was more helpful, however, was the fact that the closer John got, the more George could smell him. He smelt like stale beer, sweat and cigarettes. They were all recognisable, comforting smells and in the posh dungeon he now found himself in they were like an oasis of familiarity.
He leaned back into the smell a bit more and found that when he did, his body relaxed immensely and there was suddenly a pleasurable sensation happening between his legs. Sophia gave out a moan of approval. The hands on his shoulders moved to his arms to support him as he leaned back further. Cigarettes and beer assaulted his nose again as his back leaned against something solid; he was dimly aware that it must be John’s chest.
He spread his legs a little more, his hands finally unfurling from their grip on the sheets. His breathing started picking up and he swallowed hard to try to contain it; not that it helped. The hands on his chest were comforting: rough, calloused and slender, like his own. They undressed him, or maybe he undressed himself, and for a moment his solid backing was gone. Then it was back and his skin suddenly could sense every fold and ripple in the fabric behind him. He groaned and his hands fell to his thighs where they kneaded his skin.
He heard a soft deep chuckle in his ear and John softly whispered, “Atta boy.” His hands patted George’s sides and then the fingers trickled down to his pants.
George didn’t see Bridgette Bardot when he closed his eyes but he wasn’t seeing Sophia in her chambers anymore, either. He was in his bedroom back home in Liverpool, touching himself in a way he had never imagined he could. John was dimly somewhere close but even he wasn’t exactly present. All he was really aware of was his pleasure and how bright white everything was becoming.
He let his body guide his actions and his hips started to roll a little. His hands were still on his thighs but he was rather certain he was holding himself around his middle now, too. Soft whimpers escaped his lips as he built up inside and then he opened his eyes and everything was still blindingly white. He threw his head back and moaned as he came.
The white seemed to last forever before it faded all too fast, back into the darkly light room. Several seconds, maybe even minutes, must have passed before his mind started to clear again. Sophia had rolled his condom off and stood up to throw it away. He felt lethargic and warm all over. His nose was buried against warm leather and he felt secure and safe and completely satisfied. As his senses slowly returned he became aware of John’s breath on his brow.
Immediately after that he realised John was completely holding him up. His face was buried in John’s neck and John’s arms were wrapped around his waist. Below that, his pants were unbuttoned and his body was hanging out. He immediately started up but John’s arms tugged him back. “Enjoy it,” John whispered, his tone low and soft in his ear. It was friendly for once and not teasing. “Enjoy it just a little longer,” he added. “Make it worth the money we’re spending.” He chuckled softly.
George wanted to get up but instead he closed his eyes once more. He was enjoying it. He was back in his room in Liverpool but this time satiated beyond anything he had achieved on his own before. He was in his bed and there wasn’t a German whore lighting a cigarette across the room anymore. It was just he and his bed.
And John was there too, bracing him from behind, being a strong, welcoming support and taking everything strange and unfamiliar and making it go away, replacing it with comfort, friendliness, security and warmth.
End.
I put it behind an LJ cut since my site is being fussy.
Title: Brace Yourself
Author: George H.
Date: 1 June 2005
Pairing: John/George
Genre: Beatlesslash (of course)
Summary: John takes George to visit a whore.
Under the harsh neon lights of the Reeperbahn John and George studied the painted ladies while drawing ragged drags off their cigarettes. The women posed in their windows, baring shear legs and full breasts as well as giving lipsticked-impish smiles to the boys. John grunted, dropped his cigarette and ground it out under his boot. He was anxious and growled under his breath, “Christ, George, just chose one already. I’m about to pop standing here staring looking.”
George’s ears flushed pink but he mentally tried to attribute it to the cold and refused to think about what he was doing, standing in the streets of Saint Pauli picking out a whore with John. “Fine,” he quickly stated and pointed waywardly towards the building. “Her; she’ll do.” The woman in question standing in the window wore a tight lemon yellow dress complete with a matching scarf and three inch heels. She waved them up and blew at kiss at both of them.
Everything seemed off immediately after George opened the door to enter her room. It was decadent and smelled faintly of rose petals and patchouli but the lights seemed dimmed unnecessarily low. Somewhere music played softly off a scratchy record player. George stood timidly in the doorway, his hands clasped in front of him. He likely would have stood there all night if it hadn’t been for John grabbing him by the elbow and dragging him inside.
The woman was seated on a plush Victorian-style chair. It was probably red but in the light it looked burgundy, almost black. “Don’t suppose you speak English, do you?” John asked gruffly as he pulled George into the room and closed the door behind him. The outside noises immediately ceased and they found themselves ensconced in the woman’s opulent parlour.
She smiled beautifully at them, revealing some of the straightest, whitest teeth the two boys had ever seen. “Enough to get by,” she replied in a deep sultry tone, tinged with a heavy German accent. “You want me to get my friend?” she inquired after looking the two boys over. “Or is Sophia going to get two?”
George opened his mouth to say something but John shook his head and spoke first. “No, this is for just him. George. I’m just here to watch.”
Sophia, if that was her name, laughed. It was the sort of laugh that made George’s toes curl up inside his boots to hide. He wasn’t sure if it was from anxiety or fear; maybe it was from both. “You like to watch?” she asked in her sultry tone, appraising John with her eyes.
George cringed because of how it sounded but John just shrugged. “Sometimes,” he gruffly answered. “But I’m not paying you to ask questions.”
The woman tut-tutted and frowned at John. Then she promptly ignored him and waved George over, touching his small, slender hands with hers almost immediately. “So pretty,” she whispered in such a soft tone that John had to step closer to the pair to hear. “How old are you?”
George finally managed to look into her eyes and he could see she was probably ten years older than him. She felt massive and oppressive, full woman and robost, and the scents in the room were almost overpowering him. John’s presence in the room was the only comfort and even that was not much of one because it was John’s fault he was here, about to do something he had no desire to do with a woman he didn’t even know. “Seventeen,” he whispered before he thought about it.
Sophia laughed softly and if the fact that George was so young bothered her, she didn’t say anything. “Let us begin.”
Within minutes George found himself sitting on the bed amidst the posh pillows, silken covers, thick drapes and cloistering smells with Sophia on her knees between his legs, working her mouth in skilful ways, trying to coax him into relaxation. His beautiful hands were ugly now, clenching at the sheets in some desperate attempt to hold on to his views of normalcy. Worse of all, over Sophia’s laboured panting George could hear (and see) John ‘Hmm’ing to himself as he turned his head this way and that, examining some artefact or painting in the room. John would occasionally glance over at the pair of them with mild interest and seeing that no progress had been made, he’d resume his reconnaissance of the items in Sophia’s flat.
John picked up an elaborate perfume atomizer and, holding the pump bulb toward himself and the nozzle towards George and Sophia, he let it squirt a cloud of scent out. George coughed at the added aroma although Sophia didn’t seem to even notice. “You’re not helping, you know,” George muttered, casting a disapproving eye at John.
John set the atomizer back but averted his eyes from the pair, flicking a tassel on the end of a pillow instead. “What would you have me do then, George?” he asked, finally glancing over at him with a wicked grin.
George looked away immediately, embarrassed. He put his hand on Sophia’s head and stroked her hair, trying to be encouraging. It felt nice, in a way, with potential to feel much nicer. Having John standing there like a museum curator, however, wasn’t exactly putting him into the mood. “Well, don’t just stand there like I’m doing laundry, or whatever. It’s weird.” George’s tone was mumbled and Sophia glanced up at him. He caught sight of her pink-tongue for just a moment before he had to look away. His nails were beginning to shred the silken sheets.
“Sorry,” John grunted and folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve just never had a problem with ignoring the outside world when a bird’s got me pecker in her mouth.” John gave George a sly grin. “Though I guess that’s ‘cause I’ve had years of practice.”
Sophia stopped her administrations for a moment, which George was ever grateful for. It wasn’t that she wasn’t talented; he just wasn’t prepared for this. She glanced over her shoulder at John. “Perhaps you’d like to help your friend?” she asked.
The two boys both instantly said, “No!”
Their eyes met immediately afterward and they held the gaze for several seconds before George looked away. Sophia smiled to herself as she returned to her work. John, after standing beside the perfume and pillows a moment longer, made his way over.
George found his weight on the bed beside him to actually be comforting instead of even more oppressive as he had thought it would be. John just sat there for a moment before he put a hand on George’s thigh. “You’ve got to relax, son,” he explained softly. “She’s not going to hurt you.”
George thought, ‘I know’ but words weren’t coming out anymore.
John gave Sophia’s hair a fond tousle and then he got onto his knees and moved behind George. “Close your eyes,” he commanded as he reached up and began to give George a crude shoulder massage. “Don’t picture her. Think about Bridgette or Marilyn or some bird you want this with.”
George closed his eyes. The massage was distracting him from what Sophia was doing, which was actually helpful. What was more helpful, however, was the fact that the closer John got, the more George could smell him. He smelt like stale beer, sweat and cigarettes. They were all recognisable, comforting smells and in the posh dungeon he now found himself in they were like an oasis of familiarity.
He leaned back into the smell a bit more and found that when he did, his body relaxed immensely and there was suddenly a pleasurable sensation happening between his legs. Sophia gave out a moan of approval. The hands on his shoulders moved to his arms to support him as he leaned back further. Cigarettes and beer assaulted his nose again as his back leaned against something solid; he was dimly aware that it must be John’s chest.
He spread his legs a little more, his hands finally unfurling from their grip on the sheets. His breathing started picking up and he swallowed hard to try to contain it; not that it helped. The hands on his chest were comforting: rough, calloused and slender, like his own. They undressed him, or maybe he undressed himself, and for a moment his solid backing was gone. Then it was back and his skin suddenly could sense every fold and ripple in the fabric behind him. He groaned and his hands fell to his thighs where they kneaded his skin.
He heard a soft deep chuckle in his ear and John softly whispered, “Atta boy.” His hands patted George’s sides and then the fingers trickled down to his pants.
George didn’t see Bridgette Bardot when he closed his eyes but he wasn’t seeing Sophia in her chambers anymore, either. He was in his bedroom back home in Liverpool, touching himself in a way he had never imagined he could. John was dimly somewhere close but even he wasn’t exactly present. All he was really aware of was his pleasure and how bright white everything was becoming.
He let his body guide his actions and his hips started to roll a little. His hands were still on his thighs but he was rather certain he was holding himself around his middle now, too. Soft whimpers escaped his lips as he built up inside and then he opened his eyes and everything was still blindingly white. He threw his head back and moaned as he came.
The white seemed to last forever before it faded all too fast, back into the darkly light room. Several seconds, maybe even minutes, must have passed before his mind started to clear again. Sophia had rolled his condom off and stood up to throw it away. He felt lethargic and warm all over. His nose was buried against warm leather and he felt secure and safe and completely satisfied. As his senses slowly returned he became aware of John’s breath on his brow.
Immediately after that he realised John was completely holding him up. His face was buried in John’s neck and John’s arms were wrapped around his waist. Below that, his pants were unbuttoned and his body was hanging out. He immediately started up but John’s arms tugged him back. “Enjoy it,” John whispered, his tone low and soft in his ear. It was friendly for once and not teasing. “Enjoy it just a little longer,” he added. “Make it worth the money we’re spending.” He chuckled softly.
George wanted to get up but instead he closed his eyes once more. He was enjoying it. He was back in his room in Liverpool but this time satiated beyond anything he had achieved on his own before. He was in his bed and there wasn’t a German whore lighting a cigarette across the room anymore. It was just he and his bed.
And John was there too, bracing him from behind, being a strong, welcoming support and taking everything strange and unfamiliar and making it go away, replacing it with comfort, friendliness, security and warmth.
End.
I put it behind an LJ cut since my site is being fussy.