How to Change the World Part 8
Title: How to Change the World
Author: glomerdian
Rating: R?
Warnings: homophobia and language and what not
Summary: "The reporter sat there in shock, watching as Paul took another drag of his cigarette. The 'cute Beatle', Paul McCartney, was a f---ing queer!"
Author notes: Right, should I put a disclaimer that says that this is fiction and didn't happen. Fine, this is fiction and didn't happen.
Germany looked like a nice place from up here. Celle, especially, was a mixture of the country side and city, enough for him to relax a while. They’d been filming the beginning of “How I Won the War”, and taking a nice break in Paris. Of all places, Paris. He hoped Paul was enjoying his little vacation from all the Beatles. Though it was hard to avoid the publicity he received.
He hoped Paul enjoyed his vacation from him.
He liked to beat himself up, trying to make himself believe that he was better than the things he hated… or in this case loved. Except he didn’t love Paul. He couldn’t, it wasn’t normal.
He supposed it wasn’t weird to have these feelings. They were only part of being human, to be odd from the rest. Brian surely looked like he was having a dandy time having them. Trouble with it was Paul. God he couldn’t stop saying his name over and over in his head, God it was killing him.
He stepped away from the balcony and returned to his hotel room bed. The sheets were ruffled from his anxious perusing. Maybe it was a cliché that now he believed that the things he loved the most destroyed us. It sounded sappy on paper, but when it happens it’s reality. It’s tough. Unimaginable.
But why?
His hands reached his forehead as if he were subconsciously trying to rub away all his misfortunes. Perhaps there was a bright side to this? The media seemed to be responding well, and people were buying the record from what he heard. Oh god the record! How is he gonna stand months with Paul in the same room recording the next one?
“Well Lennon, you’ve got yourself in such a big mess, that yer talkin’ to yourself in a hotel room.”
It was the phone ringing from the wall that distracted him from his thoughts. He gathered his weight to answer.
“Hello?”
“John, it’s Brian. Now about Paris tomorrow…”
Wonder if Brian knew.
“… Paul will be joining you and Neil-”
He obviously didn’t know. That’s why John hung up the phone, because he didn’t want to bother to even begin to deal with anything. This whole tangled knot he has in him is a mess.
Maybe he should take on wearing those glasses he got a few days ago.
~*~
It was raining the day he and Neil took a train ride to Paris. They were meant to spend the weekend there, and meet Paul and Brian. Maybe he and Brian exchange methods of fucking blokes together. What a ridiculous thing to think, John.
How convenient it was for the mood as water fell from the sky. The clouds covered the blue expansion and there was more darkness than light.
After an exhausting ride that’s only highlight was its suspense, John and Neil took another trip in a car. He didn’t want to see Paul, and yet it was riveting. His anxiousness translated into resentment, anger, but somehow want.
His fingers tapped an inconceivable tune on the side of the door, to the annoyance of the passengers in the car.
They arrived at a remote restaurant, Neil handling the talking because John was rather unable to in the moment. They were escorted by the server across the room. There was an ambience in the room. There were conversations, hundreds of them, all warped together into one symphony. There was a fragrance of French delicacies traveling the room. In any other situation this would have been calming, however this was not any other situation.
He first saw Paul talking to Brian, engaged in something else. His hands, the same ones that he felt not to long ago, synchronized with the words coming out of his mouth. His lips were red like roses, or maybe that was the lighting, but they looked soft like one. He didn’t want to think about it too much. He didn’t want to focus on how Paul looked, and how much the urge in the back of his mind pleaded for more. Something beyond just a look.
When Paul spotted him, John and Niel were already at the table, preparing to sit down. Paul froze in the same way John was captured, as if there was a silence between them they both were trying to savor.
Paul tried to avoid John’s stare, and John proceeded to play with his silverware, no matter how much Mr. Fancypants the waiter looked at him in disdain.
The conversation was held by everyone, but John and Paul never spoke directly. It’s as if they were competing to see who could look less at each other. The nothingness of that moment, where they tried to ignore eachother stung and felt relaxing at the same time. He wanted to talk with Paul, converse with him like they used to. But it stung to look at him. Paul flashed him a quick glance. He couldn’t see what was behind those eyes, but there was something there.
“Excuse me gentlemen.”
Paul stood up abruptly, his feet taking him to the restroom. John’s legs were stationary, but for only a moment before they stood as well. Paul was already in the lou by the time John was up, walking in the same direction.
This is no time to be impulsive you twat
He pushed the men’s room door open, and found Paul compulsively washing his hands. Paul didn’t notice him in the room, he just kept washing.
John didn’t feel the need to interrupt his washing session. He just watched. He watched when Paul turned off the sink, and rubbed his eyes. He watched when a soft hand ran through the thick mop top. He watched when Paul looked into the mirror, shocked to see John standing behind him.
“It’s been a while since we were both in a Paris bathroom.” John didn’t know what else to say.
“That’s not funny.”
John’s foot tried to move close, to no avail.
“Don’t... come any nearer.”
“Paul we can’t be like this forever.”
“Right. And what is it you want,huh? You want to shag eachother behind the scenes while you use some bird as a beard? Want to start a secret love affair? Piss off.”
“Listen Paul-”
“No! I don’t want to hear it! I don’t care if you’re about to call me a son of a bitch because your wife left you, or if you’re beggin’ on your fuckin’ knees to make me fuck you! I’m done with you and-”
Paul was interrupted by John’s lips. All of sudden he was shoved to a wall, his lips being violated by the man who hurt him, but also somehow couldn’t get enough of. So he let himself have John. For just one second. And then another… and another.
Paul pushed John off almost making him bump into the opposite wall. Paul’s eyes were like spears, piercing John’s senses. But then that look of anger turned into sadness, a frown. Paul’s eyes became red with the promise of tears. Paul kicked the nearest stall next to them, leaving a dent.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, John? I-I tried to get you out of my head. I don’t want to love you, but I fucking do! You can’t do this shit to me John! You can’t fuckin’ tell me you’ll never speak to me again and then kiss me a few months later. Fuck you Lennon!”
Paul walked out the door, wiping his eyes with his trembling hands. Instead of walking towards the table, he left the restaurant in a brisk walk.
John stood silently for a moment to himself. He calmly walked out to the table where Neil and Brian were sitting, trying to keep his collective.
“Neil. Brian. I think I’ll be heading back to the hotel.”
And with that word he left.
~*~
It was raining when John was in his hotel bed. No lightning or thunder, it was just droplets of water falling from the sky.
John’s eyelids drooped down, and in any minute he would be peacefully and blissfully-
And then there was a bloody knock on the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
John didn’t know who the hell “me” was, but he couldn’t give less of a fuck and slouched to the door. A tired hand opened it, and who would’ve guessed, Paul McCartney was standing there looking at him.
“When do you leave for Spain?” Paul asked, soaking wet.
“Tomorrow.”
Paul said nothing and stared with a desperate eye. There was tension, and repressed anger, desperation. There was a mix of emotions in that stare, and John seemed to understand all of it.
“Would you like to come in?”
Paul was still silent. His eyes scanned the body of the dry man, as if he were looking for something. A single droplet rolled down the side of Paul’s cheek and John didn’t know If it was from the rain or if it was a repressed tear.
In the silence of that moment, Paul almost threw himself at John, pushing him to the small hotel bed. Paul’s stare turned into desperation, and that desperation translated into a harsh kiss. John laid back and took in everything Paul offered.
But Paul stood up from the bed. Slowly and quietly, he began to walk backwards. John grew more despondent at every footstep Paul took towards the door.
When Paul reached the door, he closed it.
Now it was just the two of them.
Notes:
Yes, it's true. In real life John did go film in Germany and then met with Brian and Paul in Paris. Isn't that really convenient to the plot?
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