The Dr. Maxwell S.H. Institution: Chapter 12a
Title: The Dr. Maxwell S.H. Institution (Chapter 12a)
Word Count: 6.254
Rating: NC-17 (graphic sex/filth ahead! -um, except not really)
A/N: This is rapidly (okay, no, not really rapid at all) turning into “the most epic amount of time taking fic I ever wrote, EVER”. Yes. It has nearly taken me about a year and a half (I'm lying - it is more) to get to chapter 12 and if everything goes according to plan? I think there will be about 20 chapters in total. Fuck. I am not planning on giving up the story though. Torture me if you must, to the verge of dying, but I must finish this!
A/NII: I probably could say “I'll update soon!” but then won't until June/July, whatever. Hereby I apologise beforehand. Comments are lovely and encouraging, though, and will help me to write the next chapter a little - well, sooner. (I shouldn't become a bus driver, obviously, or anything else that includes the phrase 'right in time' - I'm usually out of time, so again, SO SORRY)
Chapter 12a
December '57
John
Liverpool was chilly in the wintertime, and while John was there, it rained more often than in the same period of time at the institution. Even when it seemed to be dry, there always was a fine drizzle that made everything outside look grey and ugly and -above all - cold. The temperatures were only slightly above the freezing point by day, and at night they dropped so he had to crawl deep under his blankets in order to stay at least a little bit warm. Mimi only had heating downstairs, and John really quite missed to have his own personal, Paul-shaped radiator sleeping next to him.
Actually, he missed Paul overall. Christmas was approaching quickly now and John had been at home for four days - without any trace of Paul. They had already figured out they didn't live too far from each other, separated by only a golf course, but Mimi hadn't let him leave the house since John had been sick since the night he'd arrived. He had been forced to stay in bed the first couple of days, a bucket standing next to his bed, and his mood was further below zero than the temperatures at night. John also had no idea whether Paul had been at his door, he might as well have been but told off by Mimi because her cousin was ill.
Today was the first time he felt good enough to leave the house, and he did not hesitate one second.
The moment John got downstairs, Mimi looked at him strangely. He just shrugged, and walked to the corridor to pull on his coat. Mimi appeared in the doorway, and raised her eyebrow.
"What do you think you are doing, Mr. Lennon?" she asked him. John looked at her as though he had no idea what she meant.
"I'm going out," he told her in all seriousness. "I need some fresh air."
His aunt shook her head. She knew him well enough by now to know that - even if she told him it wasn't a good thing for him to go outside after spending a time ill, he would find a way to sneak of the house anyway.
"I suppose you should dress warmly, then," she said, and although John thought there was some venom in her voice, it was so little he could easily ignore it.
"I will," he sighed, and winked as he wrapped a scarf around his neck. Next were his shoes, coat and gloves. After receiving an approving nod from Mimi, John finally has a chance to walk out of the door. When he was standing outside, he took a quick look on his watch and then walked on, while he lit a cigarette - the first in days, too, since Mimi hadn't allowed him to smoke in his bedroom (he had tried once but she had caught him red-handed since the woman had a ridiculous sense of nasty smells) and he wasn't allowed out of his bed, either.
The walk across the golf course isn't very long but still it takes him well over half an hour afore he stands in front of Paul's house its front door.
It didn't take Paul more than a second to get downstairs after John rang the bell. He nearly fell over as Paul pulled him into a warm embrace, his skin soft and hot against his cheek.
"Hey," John said laughingly. "You okay?" He started pulling his gloves off and studied Paul's laughing, blushing face.
"Sure I am," Paul confirmed with a nod. "You look a bit sickly though, is that what you've been doing these past days?"
John nodded. "Sadly, yes. Mimi kept me inside up until now. She almost didn't let me go today, to be honest, but I feel perfectly fine. The virus has gone, although in the most nasty ways possible."
Paul screwed up his face, and told John, "I don't think I want to hear, do I?"
"If you like filth, you do," John told him, but Paul shook his head.
"No, rather not then. Come on up when you've managed to get rid of that coat, lazy git," he told John. By the time John does get out of his coat, Paul is drumming his fingers on the steps of the stairs.
"Why are you so nervous anyway?" John asked him as he was lead upstairs. Paul shrugged and - yes - it looked like he was blushing. "Well?" John prompted again.
Paul didn't reply, only grabbed his wrist and before John was aware of what was happening, he was pressed up against Paul's bedroom door - inside, thank God Paul still had the mind to remember that - and a set of warm lips had covered his.
"I missed you," John breathed in Paul's ear, when they take a break to breathe, his hands entwined in Paul's hair. Paul's own hands are on the wood on either side of his body - one by his waist and one by his head. They are both trembling, and Paul smiles back at him.
"I thought you'd want some change from sitting at home, doing whatever you were doing," Paul said. "And, I don't know..." he trailed off, biting his lip. John smirked at him.
"What?" Paul shook his head. "You missed me, didn't you?" John asked brightly, and Paul started blushing and avoiding John's eyes. "Come on," John said, dragging Paul to the bed by his sleeve. "I missed you too, silly git. You shouldn't be so insecure." Paul laughed breathily.
"And you aren't?" he asked John. "I thought you were wondering about, you know..."
"Hm?" John said, already busying himself with happily feeling up Paul's (amazing, gorgeous, hot, arousing, sexy, hairy - John wrinkled his nose at that, even though he had to admit even the hair had its... charms - male, so many things, but above all John his property) body.
"Yeah, Lennon," Paul whispered against his skin now, laying closer to John with their legs entwined, his breath tickling in John's neck. "You know what I mean."
"No I don't," John said in all seriousness - even though he had a feeling in his gut that told him he knew damned well what Paul meant.
"I'll show you," Paul said, and after he pressed a chaste kiss to John's lips, he moved away from him - his body half disappearing while he was rummaging around under the bed.
"What are you doing?" John whined at the loss of pressure between his legs.
"You'll see," Paul's voice sounded muffled from where it was pressed against the wooden frame of his bed. John decided he might as well make this bit of waiting worth it, and turned his face so his nose was pressed into the pillow. Breathing Paul's scent, he realised again how much he had missed the boy next to him. Then he remembered something else; their safety.
"Paul," he said, half-sitting up (even though he did not really see any more of Paul - he only got a much better vision at his gorgeous arse), where are your dad and Mike?"
"That," Paul smiled - John could hear it in his voice - "was supposed to be the next surprise. They're out, and won't be back until late tonight. I already asked da whether you could stay over, and he said he was fine with it as long as we would sleep in one bed. He can't be bothered to drag with mattresses. I said it's no problem."
John snorted. "Always inventive, McCartney."
"Thanks," Paul's arse wiggled as he said it and John shook his head, smiling but careful to not let it sound in his voice.
"It was no compliment," he told Paul harshly.
Paul didn't seem to hear him, but instead he continued looking for - whatever he was looking for. John lay on the bed, tapping his fingers against the wall at first and then against Paul's side since it made him wriggle even more and rutted his body against John's.
"Got it," he eventually said, and red-faced he reappeared next to John - who instantly kissed him because Paul really had been looking for the, the...
"What's that?" John asked Paul once he got a look of what he was holding in his hand.
"Um." Paul blinked, "Eh," he blushed, "that's lube, I thought you knew what it is?"
John blinked too, and then shook his head. "You bought lube? For... That?"
They had discussed it. Of course John knew what lubrication was, he just hadn't expected Paul would buy it. Hadn't expected they would do something like that, although admittedly he had thought about it in the past. Several times. Each night.
"I thought," Paul stammered, looking ashamed, and then dropped the tube to the floor.
It fell with a thud, and a horribly loaded silence fell between the two boys. It took John quite some time studying Paul's face before he understood why exactly he had suddenly gone shy on him like this.
"You know," John eventually said, and even though he would have liked to keep Paul scared for a little longer, he couldn't hide his smile anymore. "You shouldn't have worried. I just didn't know what you were holding because your hand covered the tube."
"Thank fuck," Paul replied, relaxing on the bed. "I hoped you would be willing to, well, and I looked up this magazine in an obscure store, which scared the shit out of me by the way, since I'm not eighteen and all, but I found it and... Yeah."
"It's alright," John laughed breathlessly. "I like the effort you put into this."
"Yeah well," Paul muttered. "Next time you'll buy it."
"Oh, next time?" John raised his eyebrows. "I like the idea of that. It's got a certain appeal to it."
"It better be good though," Paul shook his head. He looked quite pale all of a sudden, and his eyes kept avoiding John's again.
"Do you think it won't be?" John asked, and pressed a kiss to Paul's neck. The freedom - luxury - of being home alone with Paul, and for a change not having to be scared about anybody entering the room without an announcement made him more impulsive than he would be back at the institution; he rather liked it.
"I don't know. Will it hurt, you think?" Paul responded quietly.
"I don't know," John sighed. "But does it matter? I mean, if we can be close together," he said, and the fluttering that had steadily been growing in the pit of his stomach grew even more persistent as he thought about it -closer to Paul. Paul inside him or he inside Paul. He had no idea of what it was like to have sex, but what he'd heard from the other boys, it would have to be good. Surely it had to be.
"I am scared it might," Paul shook his head. "Perhaps we shouldn't."
"It won't be painful for you if you do it to me," John whispered into Paul's neck, while he slid his arm around Paul's waist. "I mean, you know, I give you permission. And don't you think it'll be better if it is with someone you like?"
"I think so," Paul swallowed dryly, "and possibly there is an actual reason as to why people do this, yes?"
"There has to be, hasn't there? People don't do things to hurt themselves," John agreed. "Or actually, some do but they are the exceptions. There are more queers than exceptions."
"John, queers are exceptions," Paul corrected him, but John shrugged.
"I don't think so," he said, "look around you at school. All them boys glare at each other and only ten percent of them can actually be perverts."
Paul snorted. "I don't really want to think about perverts while we're discussing having sex. Actual, proper sex."
"Me neither." John was quiet for a while then, trying to put his thoughts into order. Of course he knew it would hurt, but they had the lube, and of course not every person would want sex this way but - he did. He actually, really did. Even if it meant losing his virginity in a degrading, humiliating way - to another male.
He loved Paul too much to not give him this chance. To give one another a chance at this.
“Just, what do we do now?” Paul asked him.
"I don't know," John confessed, "but I suppose just - what we've been doing all along, yeah?"
Paul nodded, and promptly launched himself over John. The lube lay still forgotten on the floor, and John was vaguely aware of it, but most of his focus was overtaken by Paul's tongue attacking his mouth (admittedly, he did not complain because it was nice and he did the same back).
Once things started to get a bit flustered, and their hips started moving on their own accord, John broke the kiss by pulling gently at Paul's hair.
"If we want to do this, we should do it now, yeah?" Paul nodded, breathlessly, and bent over the side of the bed for the second time that day to retrieve the tube. They both sat up, and John pulled off Paul's shirt, touching his chest and then kissing one of his nipples. It made Paul giggle, and John could see the way his stomach moved in time with his breathing - quicker because of the physical exertion.
"Come on," Paul said, pulling at the hems of John's shirt so the older boy would put his arms up into the air - making it easier for Paul to get off the offending piece of clothing. Then they quickly unzipped their own trousers - from the couple of months of experience they had at this by now, they knew this was the quickest way. Paul stood up to make the process a little easier, and standing like that, in the middle of the room - the light shining on his body and showing the tell-tale signs of arousal, yeah - John appreciated the view. He himself was laying on the bed, trying to wriggle the trousers off his hips - which worked after a couple of minutes. Then he breathed a sigh of relief.
"Please come back to the bed," John whined, making a vague gesture towards his tenting boxers, and Paul snorted, shaking his head.
"No way, Lennon, first get them boxers off," Paul told him, and John supposed there was a bit of truth in Paul's words since the other boy was completely naked already, his erection standing up proudly and a blush high on his cheeks. Fuck, it was entirely too distracting, too.
"I will, just," John raised his hips again, pushing down his pants, "I want you, Paul," he whined again, cringing at his own voice because it sounded ridiculously needy and that was just, something he wasn't used to. Something he probably would not ever get used to either.
"I want you too," Paul said, bending over John, "but we do have to figure out how this works, yeah?"
"I thought you bought that magazine," John told Paul, who shook his head again.
"Only took a look at it, I was far too scared to stay in that store for much longer than a couple of minutes, never mind buying the mag!" John snorted, and Paul rolled his eyes at him, "hey, it is not as if you would have bought it."
"You be damned I would," John said casually, "what with all the good stuff that must've been in there?"
"It was only about the, um," Paul blushed. "Basics."
"And what are these basics?" John asked curiously, waggling his eyebrows.
"Preparation," Paul nodded.
"How?"
"Uh," Paul started blushing more heavily. "Yeah um."
"Um?" John inquired.
"Just," Paul stammered.
"What? How?" John pushed, even though he vaguely had an idea of what Paul meant.
"Stretching?" Paul managed not too stutter too much, but John kept raising his eyebrows and so he must've known his 'explanation' was not sufficient enough because he let out a deep sigh and then told John, "um, you've got to prepare the, the... well, you know what, with your fingers."
"Ah," John nodded, and then it stayed silent for a while, the boys only looking at each other. John wondered why Paul wasn't doing anything, and so he poked his boyfriend's middle. "Go on then," he told Paul. Paul's eyes widened, as though he hadn't quite realised what this meant until now, adn then he quickly nodded.
"All right, okay," he said, possibly more to himself than to John. Then he sat up, between John's legs.
"Yes, it's okay," John encouraged him, and braced himself for the feeling. Paul first started touching his thighs, making the muscles there tremble from anticipation, and then Paul started stroking his cock. "You know," John managed to bring out after a little while, "if we want to do this you probably should move on."
"Right," Paul repeated, and then slipped a finger down, scraping a nail across John's balls and then moved towards his arsehole.
Paul
Admittedly, it wasn't the cleanest thing Paul had ever done, nor the sexiest (far from, in fact). He was carefully watching John, whether his face screwed up in pain or perhaps showed a hint of enjoyment. So far, he had only been staring at Paul blankly, wriggling with his finger between John's legs. Eventually he started pushing a finger in, and the moment he did, John shot up from the bed.
“That hurts!” John said, panting and sitting up, looking at Paul wide-eyed.
"I'm sorry," Paul apologised, and then John collapsed back onto the bed.
"Ah shit, no," John pulled at Paul's arm, "c'mere, don't be sorry," he whispered in Paul's ear. "It's just, can't we try this with lube or something?"
"Fuck," Paul cursed. “I forgot about that.”
“It's alright!” John cut him off with a short kiss, and then nodded. “Let's try again.” With a breath he lay back on the bed. Paul saw the fear in his eyes though, and crawled up.
"I'm really sorry," Paul whispered, "and it's okay if you don't want to do this."
John sighed, his eyes screwed shut. "I want it, Paul, believe me - more than anything, but it's just..." he trailed off.
"It's big," Paul finished the sentence. "Yeah, I know."
"Smug bastard," John snorted, "hasn't anybody ever told you there's no reason to brag about your crown jewels?"
"You know that's not what I meant," Paul said, and he knew John could hear the smile in his voice. "Now, come on, we'll try it later yeah?"
"Yeah," John sighed, nodded, and then sat up again, pushing himself up against the wall. Paul sat down next to him, leaning against the other boy's warm body. He had missed this. The past week he had worried something had happened to John; even though he knew it wasn't unlikely for either of them to get sick (he praised themselves secretly lucky that John hadn't gotten sick at the institution since then he would've had to spend day and night in the same room with John and he didn't doubt John's mood would lower by the minute if he wasn't allowed out of bed). But the worries of John perhaps not wanting to see him anymore, leaving him, even though it was practically impossible to think as he was laying here, had been present. Paul had known he was being paranoid, but yet the thoughts kept chasing him. He shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the thoughts, even now.
"What's wrong?" John breathed in his ear.
"Nothing," Paul smiled. "Everything is fine now," he looked at his boyfriend. "Everything is fine whenever you are around."
"Even when we don't have sex?" John shook his head, "impossible. You are a sex maniac. Something is up. Tell me."
"Believe me when I say it is nothing," Paul told him. "Anyway, you know we're going to see Stuart and Astrid in a few days, right?"
"Fuck," John stilled. "I forgot about that." The look on his features changed from relaxed to pensive.
"What's wrong?" Paul inquired.
"Uh, well," John scratched the back of his head, "I may have promised Julia to come over, and since she's me mum an' all..."
"I get it," Paul nodded. He was slightly relieved not having to see Stuart, it always meant he would start feeling frustration over how possessive John and Stu would sometimes get over each other - even though he did understand. After all, Stuart saw him as an intruder - the intruder he probably was.
"Will you come with me to Julia?" John asked after a long silence they'd settled in, Paul resting his head on John's shoulder and John's head atop of Paul's.
"Sure," Paul told him, sneaking an arm around John's waist. "Always. Now, I suppose we should do something."
"Oh, I like that," Paul looked up to see John waggle his eyebrows.
"Not that, John, I need to show you something."
"Oh?" John looked at him. "What is it, then?"
Paul smiled at him. "You'll see in a little while. Now, come on," he said, crawling away from John (which took quite a bit of effort since John was holding him firmly, and Paul had to admit he was slightly reluctant to get away from the lovely warmth and John's comforting scent). He held out a hand, then, and John took it grateful. Then they went downstairs, where Paul immediately picked up his guitar.
"I learnt a new song," he confided to John, and then started playing and singing. In reality, it wasn't a new song he'd learnt - but written himself. John didn't need to know though, not with the lyrics being a proper confession of love.
"It's nice," John said afterwards, "a bit sappy though. You know how I prefer the proper rock'n roll over the lame love songs, yeah?"
"Of course I do," Paul shook his head, "I just thought you'd like it, yeah?"
"I like it," John shrugged. "I just would've preferred if you'd written something a bit more rough. As I just said, I prefer rock 'n roll." His look at Paul was intent on making the younger boy feel uncomfortable, and he succeeded very well; Paul could feel himself start blushing.
"I'll try," he said, and John laughed.
"Come on, let's go for a walk. I'm sick of spending my days in bed."
"I thought you didn't mind being in my bed?" Paul raised an eyebrow, and John shrugged.
"No, I don't, but since we're not there anymore, and since I suppose we won't return there anymore either, we might as well take a walk like a pair of proper love birds would do, the same way as the people in your song. Even if they are just filthy queers."
"You're queer yourself, John," Paul grinned, and John grinned back.
"So what? At least I don't act like one."
"Oh?" Paul walked towards him, "you don't?" He asked him, sitting down in John's lap and straddling his hips. Then he kissed him, his hands on either side of John's head. "What about this then, isn't this queer acting?" he whispered in John's ear when he drew back out of the kiss, his lips brushing John's cheek. "Isn't it queer, the way we sleep together in one bed? The way we shower together, and snog one another senseless?"
John started laughing, and gripped Paul's hips. "Yeah no, that may be just a little bit queer. But we're rock 'n roll, man, that's not gay."
"I suppose it isn't, then, if you say so," Paul laughed along. "But the fact remains that-"
"That what?" John raised one eyebrow, a quirky smile playing on his lips. "That this is queer? Or that this is sex, which is something all teenager do, I tell you. Or that perhaps it is love?"
"Any of those," Paul sighed, and John leaned forwards to kiss him again, overbalancing Paul so he crashed backwards, off John's lap and onto the low table standing in the middle of the living room. While Paul rubbed the back of his head, blinking away the tears in his eyes and glaring up at John, he saw the other boy was dissolving in laughter.
Alright. Yeah. John would probably never change, and although Paul had known this since quite some time, he supposed he would have to remind himself of it more often.
* * *
"Fuck, it's cold," Paul complained the moment they stepped outside, the wind immediately pulling at their scarves and hair, managing to wriggle a way through the fabric of their coats. John snorted.
"You could have dressed more warmly, you know," he suggested.
"I couldn't have," Paul groaned. "I'm wearing plenty of clothes, I just forgot winter is cold like this."
"So what?" John said, "it's winter. It's supposed to be cold."
"I don't care whether it's supposed to be cold. I don't want it to be."
"And yet you never complained about it back at school," John shook his head, "you are impossible to please, lest you are in bed."
"Shut it," Paul said in annoyance. What John said wasn't true anyway; he just hadn't expected it to be as chilly as it was.
"Imagine what it must've been like for people in the old days," John mused on, "no proper food, nor housing, no electricity, just the cold and some bearskins to keep themselves warm."
"There were no bears around here, John," Paul sniggered. "Stick to the facts."
"Friends from foreign countries might have flown them in with aeroplanes, like they did in the war," John continued.
"Impossible," Paul shook his head.
"Birds, then, and likely some fire they had just discovered too," John stuck his nose up in the air, and glared at Paul. "You do know I'm always right about things like this, yes?"
"John, John," Paul shook his head again, in disbelief. "I can't believe how you've got such a great ego whilst talking nonsense." They crossed the street, empty as it was on a dreary and cold afternoon in Liverpool, walking towards one of the local pubs.
"I shall feed you alcohol," John told him, "and you will believe me within a matter of just a few pints."
"I'm not that much of a lightweight," Paul muttered under his breath, while John was practically striding towards the pub, beaming.
"I can't wait for something proper to drink," John told Paul. "All I've had the past days was soup, soup, more soup and a couple of cups of tea. Mimi wouldn't even spike them up with some whiskey."
"John!" Paul gasped, "you were sick. Of course she wouldn't. In fact, you probably shouldn't be about to walk into a pub right now." John shrugged.
"I don't really care, to be honest, Paulie," he said. "I haven't been to a pub in long enough, the last time I went out was back in the autumn when you dragged me along and we all know how that ended, and I need to know what it is like to drink something else than the booze I stole from Mimi."
"I hope you didn't steal anything from her cupboard the past couple of days," Paul muttered. He did see John capable of it, John would do anything he wanted after all - he might even manage to smuggle a bottle or two of whichever drink he choose into their chamber at the Institution.
"I didn't," John said. "I could barely get to the toilet most of the time."
"I repeat," Paul sighed, "I don't want to know about what you did while being sick."
"You already know," John nodded, happily summing up the nasty things, "a runny nose, headache, painful bones and a stomach ache, waves of nausea and sick in a bucket, diarrh-"
"I don't want to know," Paul screwed his eyes shut, and didn't open them again until John had to yank him out of the way of a lamp post.
"You're getting as stupid as me," John muttered, "or possibly even more so, since at least I choose to keep my eyes opened."
"You look fantastic with glasses," Paul said, half-sarcastic and partially trying to flatter John (but not really, the glasses were far too large and always got in the way of their snogging ).
"Oh thank you," John replied. "But at least you know how to take them off without poking my eyes out by now."
"Very true," Paul agreed. "Are we nearly there yet, by the way?"
John stayed silent for a while, and eventually replied, "you know what? I have no fucking clue."
* * *
The pub was warm, and Paul would have hugged the feeling if he'd been able to. As it was, it wasn't, and so he probably had to question his sanity. The strange thoughts were possibly nothing but a result from being around John for far too long, and so he might have to get away from his boyfriend soon as possible if he wanted to stay clear-minded. Paul didn't want to, however, and so they both sat down at one of the tables at the back of the pub, ordering two pints.
"I still think you shouldn't be drinking, John," Paul told him, but John shook his head.
"In fact, I think I should be since it will help me relax and sleep better tonight."
"One pint won't do that to you," Paul pointed out, and John grinned sneakily.
"No I know, but a lot of them will," John told him.
"And what do you think Mimi will say of this?" Paul asked.
"Do I ever listen to what Mimi tells me?" John retorted, and Paul knew his friend was right.
"Why are we here though," Paul tried again after a little while, but John's only reply was a roll of his eyes.
"What we really should be discussing," John told him, "is how on earth we are going to get famous if you remain locked up at the Institution for the next years, with me free in the wide world. I will be too old to get famous once you get out of that prison, and then we still have to find a band too," he said. Paul was tracing the circle of damp his glass had left on the dark wood of the table.
"First of all, it is not a prison, it is school," Paul said.
"School equals jail," John hastily said, but Paul ignored him.
"Secondly, you won't be too old. We're young still, some people don't get famous until they're in their twenties, you should know that," Paul continued, "and that band shouldn't be that hard to find I suppose. It only is a bit difficult at school, since not everybody there plays an instrument-"
"I heard Ringo, you know, that kind nurse bloke, does play the drums pretty well," John interrupted Paul, who raised his eyebrows. "In fact, apparently he's with this band called Rory Storm and the Hurricanes."
"And you think we've got a chance of asking him to join the band?" Paul asked John, who shook his head.
"Of course not, just pointing out there are some people at the institution who play an instrument fairly well."
"He's not one of the students though, so forget it," Paul told him. "Either way, we should just go play some gigs here in Liverpool I suppose, once we both don't have school anymore. And I'll be at home in the summer holidays so we could probably start then. All we need are a bass player and a drummer. We could even do it with three guitars and without a bass guitar, I guess."
"No way," John shook his head, "and you're forgetting that I don't even own a guitar."
Paul felt the increasing need to smack his head against the sticky surface of the table. He managed to hold back that urge, but spoke up nonetheless, getting more aggravated at the turn the conversation was going. John didn't seem to believe in himself all that much, while Paul supposed they both would have to be feeling the same - they would become famous, no matter what.
"Seriously though, John," he said, "if we want to become famous something has to happen." He looked up to see the mild fear in John's eyes.
"I know," the boy opposite of him said, "I just hope everything will work out, and I want to be for when it doesn't, you know?"
"Yeah, alright," Paul sighed. "Let's just stop talking about this, yeah?"
"Yeah," John agreed. "Now, what are you thinking about Friday? Are we going to visit Julia or are we going to see Stuart and Astrid?"
"I thought you'd already made up your mind?" Paul asked him.
"Yeah, I thought I did too, but listen-" John leaned closer to Paul, "we might actually be able to first visit Julia and then go to the docks. I don't thinks he'll mind a lot if we leave a bit earlier than I told her I would."
"And you're sure she won't mind me coming along either?" Paul asked him, "I mean, she hardly knows me, right? Won't I be a bit of a bother? And atop of that," Paul said, realising that this was, after all, John's mother, "wouldn't you want some time alone with her?"
"I want you to know her too," was all John said, and then continued planning the entire thing out. "So, first we'll go to see Julia, and then leave to the docks. Obviously I can't tell Mimi about meeting up with Stuart and Astrid because she'll never let me, she has always said Stu is a bad influence for me," - and secretly Paul thought that Stuart might be, John usually changed his behaviour around him, and Paul didn't like that the least bit, - and I haven't told her about Astrid because, oh you know, she's hardly interested in that anyway."
"Eh, so you are going to lie to Mimi then?" Paul asked.
"I suppose so," John shrugged. "Paul," he said, "I've lied to that woman so often. I know I probably shouldn't but it so easy and if I can make up something to save my butt, believe me when I say I'm going to use it as well."
"Alright," Paul sighed. "How late will we meet up then?" he asked, knowing there was no way John would possibly change his mind.
"Oh er, some time around ten, I suppose?" John suggested.
"Should be fine," Paul agreed, even though eh would most rather just spend his time in bed in the morning. Sleeping in ad become one of his favourite past times this holiday, even though Jim did fancy seeing him doing something in the household as well. Paul had promised his father to do the cooking, rather than dust shelves, and it had ended up in the family eating mashed potatoes every evening.
"Alright," John said, drinking the last bit of his beer, and pulling an awkward face. "I don't think I feel too well," he said, turning a sickly pale, and then he was quickly standing up to go to the bathroom. Paul sniggered inwardly - John really didn't know how to take care of himself when he was sick. He supposed it wasn't entirely uncommon for teenage boys, but he was glad he wasn't the one having to return home to Mimi.
Paul waited for a pale-faced John to get out of the loo, and then stood up too.
"Feeling better?" John nodded, but barely.
"I think so."
"Pity of the lager though," Paul laughed.
"Don't mention that word again," John told him, pulling a disgusted face. "I just want to go home."
"I understand," Paul smiled. "You should take better care of yourself, you know."
"I know how to take care of me," John grumbled. "Don't try to sound like Mimi, you know how much I hate it."
"Yeah," Paul sighed contentedly. "I have to turn to the left here though, so I suppose I'll see you again in two days?"
"Alright," John said, and then added in a whisper, "if I hadn't just been sick I would have dragged you into that alley over there," he pointed towards a space between two buildings, "and snogged you senseless."
Paul could feel himself grow slightly flustered, and nodded. "I promise you'll get to do that when you're feeling better again."
"Deal," John said. "I'll see you Friday."
"Bye," Paul waved as he crossed the street again.
He could feel John's eyes burning in his back until the moment the street was out of sight, but he was too scared to turn around. It wasn't unlikely he would turn around and do exactly what he'd just promised John, tasting of sick or not. Friday, he kept in mind, Friday John would be better and so Paul could do whatever he wanted to, as long as they kept out of sight.
to be continued ....
Word Count: 6.254
Rating: NC-17 (graphic sex/filth ahead! -um, except not really)
A/N: This is rapidly (okay, no, not really rapid at all) turning into “the most epic amount of time taking fic I ever wrote, EVER”. Yes. It has nearly taken me about a year and a half (I'm lying - it is more) to get to chapter 12 and if everything goes according to plan? I think there will be about 20 chapters in total. Fuck. I am not planning on giving up the story though. Torture me if you must, to the verge of dying, but I must finish this!
A/NII: I probably could say “I'll update soon!” but then won't until June/July, whatever. Hereby I apologise beforehand. Comments are lovely and encouraging, though, and will help me to write the next chapter a little - well, sooner. (I shouldn't become a bus driver, obviously, or anything else that includes the phrase 'right in time' - I'm usually out of time, so again, SO SORRY)
Chapter 12a
December '57
John
Liverpool was chilly in the wintertime, and while John was there, it rained more often than in the same period of time at the institution. Even when it seemed to be dry, there always was a fine drizzle that made everything outside look grey and ugly and -above all - cold. The temperatures were only slightly above the freezing point by day, and at night they dropped so he had to crawl deep under his blankets in order to stay at least a little bit warm. Mimi only had heating downstairs, and John really quite missed to have his own personal, Paul-shaped radiator sleeping next to him.
Actually, he missed Paul overall. Christmas was approaching quickly now and John had been at home for four days - without any trace of Paul. They had already figured out they didn't live too far from each other, separated by only a golf course, but Mimi hadn't let him leave the house since John had been sick since the night he'd arrived. He had been forced to stay in bed the first couple of days, a bucket standing next to his bed, and his mood was further below zero than the temperatures at night. John also had no idea whether Paul had been at his door, he might as well have been but told off by Mimi because her cousin was ill.
Today was the first time he felt good enough to leave the house, and he did not hesitate one second.
The moment John got downstairs, Mimi looked at him strangely. He just shrugged, and walked to the corridor to pull on his coat. Mimi appeared in the doorway, and raised her eyebrow.
"What do you think you are doing, Mr. Lennon?" she asked him. John looked at her as though he had no idea what she meant.
"I'm going out," he told her in all seriousness. "I need some fresh air."
His aunt shook her head. She knew him well enough by now to know that - even if she told him it wasn't a good thing for him to go outside after spending a time ill, he would find a way to sneak of the house anyway.
"I suppose you should dress warmly, then," she said, and although John thought there was some venom in her voice, it was so little he could easily ignore it.
"I will," he sighed, and winked as he wrapped a scarf around his neck. Next were his shoes, coat and gloves. After receiving an approving nod from Mimi, John finally has a chance to walk out of the door. When he was standing outside, he took a quick look on his watch and then walked on, while he lit a cigarette - the first in days, too, since Mimi hadn't allowed him to smoke in his bedroom (he had tried once but she had caught him red-handed since the woman had a ridiculous sense of nasty smells) and he wasn't allowed out of his bed, either.
The walk across the golf course isn't very long but still it takes him well over half an hour afore he stands in front of Paul's house its front door.
It didn't take Paul more than a second to get downstairs after John rang the bell. He nearly fell over as Paul pulled him into a warm embrace, his skin soft and hot against his cheek.
"Hey," John said laughingly. "You okay?" He started pulling his gloves off and studied Paul's laughing, blushing face.
"Sure I am," Paul confirmed with a nod. "You look a bit sickly though, is that what you've been doing these past days?"
John nodded. "Sadly, yes. Mimi kept me inside up until now. She almost didn't let me go today, to be honest, but I feel perfectly fine. The virus has gone, although in the most nasty ways possible."
Paul screwed up his face, and told John, "I don't think I want to hear, do I?"
"If you like filth, you do," John told him, but Paul shook his head.
"No, rather not then. Come on up when you've managed to get rid of that coat, lazy git," he told John. By the time John does get out of his coat, Paul is drumming his fingers on the steps of the stairs.
"Why are you so nervous anyway?" John asked him as he was lead upstairs. Paul shrugged and - yes - it looked like he was blushing. "Well?" John prompted again.
Paul didn't reply, only grabbed his wrist and before John was aware of what was happening, he was pressed up against Paul's bedroom door - inside, thank God Paul still had the mind to remember that - and a set of warm lips had covered his.
"I missed you," John breathed in Paul's ear, when they take a break to breathe, his hands entwined in Paul's hair. Paul's own hands are on the wood on either side of his body - one by his waist and one by his head. They are both trembling, and Paul smiles back at him.
"I thought you'd want some change from sitting at home, doing whatever you were doing," Paul said. "And, I don't know..." he trailed off, biting his lip. John smirked at him.
"What?" Paul shook his head. "You missed me, didn't you?" John asked brightly, and Paul started blushing and avoiding John's eyes. "Come on," John said, dragging Paul to the bed by his sleeve. "I missed you too, silly git. You shouldn't be so insecure." Paul laughed breathily.
"And you aren't?" he asked John. "I thought you were wondering about, you know..."
"Hm?" John said, already busying himself with happily feeling up Paul's (amazing, gorgeous, hot, arousing, sexy, hairy - John wrinkled his nose at that, even though he had to admit even the hair had its... charms - male, so many things, but above all John his property) body.
"Yeah, Lennon," Paul whispered against his skin now, laying closer to John with their legs entwined, his breath tickling in John's neck. "You know what I mean."
"No I don't," John said in all seriousness - even though he had a feeling in his gut that told him he knew damned well what Paul meant.
"I'll show you," Paul said, and after he pressed a chaste kiss to John's lips, he moved away from him - his body half disappearing while he was rummaging around under the bed.
"What are you doing?" John whined at the loss of pressure between his legs.
"You'll see," Paul's voice sounded muffled from where it was pressed against the wooden frame of his bed. John decided he might as well make this bit of waiting worth it, and turned his face so his nose was pressed into the pillow. Breathing Paul's scent, he realised again how much he had missed the boy next to him. Then he remembered something else; their safety.
"Paul," he said, half-sitting up (even though he did not really see any more of Paul - he only got a much better vision at his gorgeous arse), where are your dad and Mike?"
"That," Paul smiled - John could hear it in his voice - "was supposed to be the next surprise. They're out, and won't be back until late tonight. I already asked da whether you could stay over, and he said he was fine with it as long as we would sleep in one bed. He can't be bothered to drag with mattresses. I said it's no problem."
John snorted. "Always inventive, McCartney."
"Thanks," Paul's arse wiggled as he said it and John shook his head, smiling but careful to not let it sound in his voice.
"It was no compliment," he told Paul harshly.
Paul didn't seem to hear him, but instead he continued looking for - whatever he was looking for. John lay on the bed, tapping his fingers against the wall at first and then against Paul's side since it made him wriggle even more and rutted his body against John's.
"Got it," he eventually said, and red-faced he reappeared next to John - who instantly kissed him because Paul really had been looking for the, the...
"What's that?" John asked Paul once he got a look of what he was holding in his hand.
"Um." Paul blinked, "Eh," he blushed, "that's lube, I thought you knew what it is?"
John blinked too, and then shook his head. "You bought lube? For... That?"
They had discussed it. Of course John knew what lubrication was, he just hadn't expected Paul would buy it. Hadn't expected they would do something like that, although admittedly he had thought about it in the past. Several times. Each night.
"I thought," Paul stammered, looking ashamed, and then dropped the tube to the floor.
It fell with a thud, and a horribly loaded silence fell between the two boys. It took John quite some time studying Paul's face before he understood why exactly he had suddenly gone shy on him like this.
"You know," John eventually said, and even though he would have liked to keep Paul scared for a little longer, he couldn't hide his smile anymore. "You shouldn't have worried. I just didn't know what you were holding because your hand covered the tube."
"Thank fuck," Paul replied, relaxing on the bed. "I hoped you would be willing to, well, and I looked up this magazine in an obscure store, which scared the shit out of me by the way, since I'm not eighteen and all, but I found it and... Yeah."
"It's alright," John laughed breathlessly. "I like the effort you put into this."
"Yeah well," Paul muttered. "Next time you'll buy it."
"Oh, next time?" John raised his eyebrows. "I like the idea of that. It's got a certain appeal to it."
"It better be good though," Paul shook his head. He looked quite pale all of a sudden, and his eyes kept avoiding John's again.
"Do you think it won't be?" John asked, and pressed a kiss to Paul's neck. The freedom - luxury - of being home alone with Paul, and for a change not having to be scared about anybody entering the room without an announcement made him more impulsive than he would be back at the institution; he rather liked it.
"I don't know. Will it hurt, you think?" Paul responded quietly.
"I don't know," John sighed. "But does it matter? I mean, if we can be close together," he said, and the fluttering that had steadily been growing in the pit of his stomach grew even more persistent as he thought about it -closer to Paul. Paul inside him or he inside Paul. He had no idea of what it was like to have sex, but what he'd heard from the other boys, it would have to be good. Surely it had to be.
"I am scared it might," Paul shook his head. "Perhaps we shouldn't."
"It won't be painful for you if you do it to me," John whispered into Paul's neck, while he slid his arm around Paul's waist. "I mean, you know, I give you permission. And don't you think it'll be better if it is with someone you like?"
"I think so," Paul swallowed dryly, "and possibly there is an actual reason as to why people do this, yes?"
"There has to be, hasn't there? People don't do things to hurt themselves," John agreed. "Or actually, some do but they are the exceptions. There are more queers than exceptions."
"John, queers are exceptions," Paul corrected him, but John shrugged.
"I don't think so," he said, "look around you at school. All them boys glare at each other and only ten percent of them can actually be perverts."
Paul snorted. "I don't really want to think about perverts while we're discussing having sex. Actual, proper sex."
"Me neither." John was quiet for a while then, trying to put his thoughts into order. Of course he knew it would hurt, but they had the lube, and of course not every person would want sex this way but - he did. He actually, really did. Even if it meant losing his virginity in a degrading, humiliating way - to another male.
He loved Paul too much to not give him this chance. To give one another a chance at this.
“Just, what do we do now?” Paul asked him.
"I don't know," John confessed, "but I suppose just - what we've been doing all along, yeah?"
Paul nodded, and promptly launched himself over John. The lube lay still forgotten on the floor, and John was vaguely aware of it, but most of his focus was overtaken by Paul's tongue attacking his mouth (admittedly, he did not complain because it was nice and he did the same back).
Once things started to get a bit flustered, and their hips started moving on their own accord, John broke the kiss by pulling gently at Paul's hair.
"If we want to do this, we should do it now, yeah?" Paul nodded, breathlessly, and bent over the side of the bed for the second time that day to retrieve the tube. They both sat up, and John pulled off Paul's shirt, touching his chest and then kissing one of his nipples. It made Paul giggle, and John could see the way his stomach moved in time with his breathing - quicker because of the physical exertion.
"Come on," Paul said, pulling at the hems of John's shirt so the older boy would put his arms up into the air - making it easier for Paul to get off the offending piece of clothing. Then they quickly unzipped their own trousers - from the couple of months of experience they had at this by now, they knew this was the quickest way. Paul stood up to make the process a little easier, and standing like that, in the middle of the room - the light shining on his body and showing the tell-tale signs of arousal, yeah - John appreciated the view. He himself was laying on the bed, trying to wriggle the trousers off his hips - which worked after a couple of minutes. Then he breathed a sigh of relief.
"Please come back to the bed," John whined, making a vague gesture towards his tenting boxers, and Paul snorted, shaking his head.
"No way, Lennon, first get them boxers off," Paul told him, and John supposed there was a bit of truth in Paul's words since the other boy was completely naked already, his erection standing up proudly and a blush high on his cheeks. Fuck, it was entirely too distracting, too.
"I will, just," John raised his hips again, pushing down his pants, "I want you, Paul," he whined again, cringing at his own voice because it sounded ridiculously needy and that was just, something he wasn't used to. Something he probably would not ever get used to either.
"I want you too," Paul said, bending over John, "but we do have to figure out how this works, yeah?"
"I thought you bought that magazine," John told Paul, who shook his head again.
"Only took a look at it, I was far too scared to stay in that store for much longer than a couple of minutes, never mind buying the mag!" John snorted, and Paul rolled his eyes at him, "hey, it is not as if you would have bought it."
"You be damned I would," John said casually, "what with all the good stuff that must've been in there?"
"It was only about the, um," Paul blushed. "Basics."
"And what are these basics?" John asked curiously, waggling his eyebrows.
"Preparation," Paul nodded.
"How?"
"Uh," Paul started blushing more heavily. "Yeah um."
"Um?" John inquired.
"Just," Paul stammered.
"What? How?" John pushed, even though he vaguely had an idea of what Paul meant.
"Stretching?" Paul managed not too stutter too much, but John kept raising his eyebrows and so he must've known his 'explanation' was not sufficient enough because he let out a deep sigh and then told John, "um, you've got to prepare the, the... well, you know what, with your fingers."
"Ah," John nodded, and then it stayed silent for a while, the boys only looking at each other. John wondered why Paul wasn't doing anything, and so he poked his boyfriend's middle. "Go on then," he told Paul. Paul's eyes widened, as though he hadn't quite realised what this meant until now, adn then he quickly nodded.
"All right, okay," he said, possibly more to himself than to John. Then he sat up, between John's legs.
"Yes, it's okay," John encouraged him, and braced himself for the feeling. Paul first started touching his thighs, making the muscles there tremble from anticipation, and then Paul started stroking his cock. "You know," John managed to bring out after a little while, "if we want to do this you probably should move on."
"Right," Paul repeated, and then slipped a finger down, scraping a nail across John's balls and then moved towards his arsehole.
Paul
Admittedly, it wasn't the cleanest thing Paul had ever done, nor the sexiest (far from, in fact). He was carefully watching John, whether his face screwed up in pain or perhaps showed a hint of enjoyment. So far, he had only been staring at Paul blankly, wriggling with his finger between John's legs. Eventually he started pushing a finger in, and the moment he did, John shot up from the bed.
“That hurts!” John said, panting and sitting up, looking at Paul wide-eyed.
"I'm sorry," Paul apologised, and then John collapsed back onto the bed.
"Ah shit, no," John pulled at Paul's arm, "c'mere, don't be sorry," he whispered in Paul's ear. "It's just, can't we try this with lube or something?"
"Fuck," Paul cursed. “I forgot about that.”
“It's alright!” John cut him off with a short kiss, and then nodded. “Let's try again.” With a breath he lay back on the bed. Paul saw the fear in his eyes though, and crawled up.
"I'm really sorry," Paul whispered, "and it's okay if you don't want to do this."
John sighed, his eyes screwed shut. "I want it, Paul, believe me - more than anything, but it's just..." he trailed off.
"It's big," Paul finished the sentence. "Yeah, I know."
"Smug bastard," John snorted, "hasn't anybody ever told you there's no reason to brag about your crown jewels?"
"You know that's not what I meant," Paul said, and he knew John could hear the smile in his voice. "Now, come on, we'll try it later yeah?"
"Yeah," John sighed, nodded, and then sat up again, pushing himself up against the wall. Paul sat down next to him, leaning against the other boy's warm body. He had missed this. The past week he had worried something had happened to John; even though he knew it wasn't unlikely for either of them to get sick (he praised themselves secretly lucky that John hadn't gotten sick at the institution since then he would've had to spend day and night in the same room with John and he didn't doubt John's mood would lower by the minute if he wasn't allowed out of bed). But the worries of John perhaps not wanting to see him anymore, leaving him, even though it was practically impossible to think as he was laying here, had been present. Paul had known he was being paranoid, but yet the thoughts kept chasing him. He shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the thoughts, even now.
"What's wrong?" John breathed in his ear.
"Nothing," Paul smiled. "Everything is fine now," he looked at his boyfriend. "Everything is fine whenever you are around."
"Even when we don't have sex?" John shook his head, "impossible. You are a sex maniac. Something is up. Tell me."
"Believe me when I say it is nothing," Paul told him. "Anyway, you know we're going to see Stuart and Astrid in a few days, right?"
"Fuck," John stilled. "I forgot about that." The look on his features changed from relaxed to pensive.
"What's wrong?" Paul inquired.
"Uh, well," John scratched the back of his head, "I may have promised Julia to come over, and since she's me mum an' all..."
"I get it," Paul nodded. He was slightly relieved not having to see Stuart, it always meant he would start feeling frustration over how possessive John and Stu would sometimes get over each other - even though he did understand. After all, Stuart saw him as an intruder - the intruder he probably was.
"Will you come with me to Julia?" John asked after a long silence they'd settled in, Paul resting his head on John's shoulder and John's head atop of Paul's.
"Sure," Paul told him, sneaking an arm around John's waist. "Always. Now, I suppose we should do something."
"Oh, I like that," Paul looked up to see John waggle his eyebrows.
"Not that, John, I need to show you something."
"Oh?" John looked at him. "What is it, then?"
Paul smiled at him. "You'll see in a little while. Now, come on," he said, crawling away from John (which took quite a bit of effort since John was holding him firmly, and Paul had to admit he was slightly reluctant to get away from the lovely warmth and John's comforting scent). He held out a hand, then, and John took it grateful. Then they went downstairs, where Paul immediately picked up his guitar.
"I learnt a new song," he confided to John, and then started playing and singing. In reality, it wasn't a new song he'd learnt - but written himself. John didn't need to know though, not with the lyrics being a proper confession of love.
"It's nice," John said afterwards, "a bit sappy though. You know how I prefer the proper rock'n roll over the lame love songs, yeah?"
"Of course I do," Paul shook his head, "I just thought you'd like it, yeah?"
"I like it," John shrugged. "I just would've preferred if you'd written something a bit more rough. As I just said, I prefer rock 'n roll." His look at Paul was intent on making the younger boy feel uncomfortable, and he succeeded very well; Paul could feel himself start blushing.
"I'll try," he said, and John laughed.
"Come on, let's go for a walk. I'm sick of spending my days in bed."
"I thought you didn't mind being in my bed?" Paul raised an eyebrow, and John shrugged.
"No, I don't, but since we're not there anymore, and since I suppose we won't return there anymore either, we might as well take a walk like a pair of proper love birds would do, the same way as the people in your song. Even if they are just filthy queers."
"You're queer yourself, John," Paul grinned, and John grinned back.
"So what? At least I don't act like one."
"Oh?" Paul walked towards him, "you don't?" He asked him, sitting down in John's lap and straddling his hips. Then he kissed him, his hands on either side of John's head. "What about this then, isn't this queer acting?" he whispered in John's ear when he drew back out of the kiss, his lips brushing John's cheek. "Isn't it queer, the way we sleep together in one bed? The way we shower together, and snog one another senseless?"
John started laughing, and gripped Paul's hips. "Yeah no, that may be just a little bit queer. But we're rock 'n roll, man, that's not gay."
"I suppose it isn't, then, if you say so," Paul laughed along. "But the fact remains that-"
"That what?" John raised one eyebrow, a quirky smile playing on his lips. "That this is queer? Or that this is sex, which is something all teenager do, I tell you. Or that perhaps it is love?"
"Any of those," Paul sighed, and John leaned forwards to kiss him again, overbalancing Paul so he crashed backwards, off John's lap and onto the low table standing in the middle of the living room. While Paul rubbed the back of his head, blinking away the tears in his eyes and glaring up at John, he saw the other boy was dissolving in laughter.
Alright. Yeah. John would probably never change, and although Paul had known this since quite some time, he supposed he would have to remind himself of it more often.
* * *
"Fuck, it's cold," Paul complained the moment they stepped outside, the wind immediately pulling at their scarves and hair, managing to wriggle a way through the fabric of their coats. John snorted.
"You could have dressed more warmly, you know," he suggested.
"I couldn't have," Paul groaned. "I'm wearing plenty of clothes, I just forgot winter is cold like this."
"So what?" John said, "it's winter. It's supposed to be cold."
"I don't care whether it's supposed to be cold. I don't want it to be."
"And yet you never complained about it back at school," John shook his head, "you are impossible to please, lest you are in bed."
"Shut it," Paul said in annoyance. What John said wasn't true anyway; he just hadn't expected it to be as chilly as it was.
"Imagine what it must've been like for people in the old days," John mused on, "no proper food, nor housing, no electricity, just the cold and some bearskins to keep themselves warm."
"There were no bears around here, John," Paul sniggered. "Stick to the facts."
"Friends from foreign countries might have flown them in with aeroplanes, like they did in the war," John continued.
"Impossible," Paul shook his head.
"Birds, then, and likely some fire they had just discovered too," John stuck his nose up in the air, and glared at Paul. "You do know I'm always right about things like this, yes?"
"John, John," Paul shook his head again, in disbelief. "I can't believe how you've got such a great ego whilst talking nonsense." They crossed the street, empty as it was on a dreary and cold afternoon in Liverpool, walking towards one of the local pubs.
"I shall feed you alcohol," John told him, "and you will believe me within a matter of just a few pints."
"I'm not that much of a lightweight," Paul muttered under his breath, while John was practically striding towards the pub, beaming.
"I can't wait for something proper to drink," John told Paul. "All I've had the past days was soup, soup, more soup and a couple of cups of tea. Mimi wouldn't even spike them up with some whiskey."
"John!" Paul gasped, "you were sick. Of course she wouldn't. In fact, you probably shouldn't be about to walk into a pub right now." John shrugged.
"I don't really care, to be honest, Paulie," he said. "I haven't been to a pub in long enough, the last time I went out was back in the autumn when you dragged me along and we all know how that ended, and I need to know what it is like to drink something else than the booze I stole from Mimi."
"I hope you didn't steal anything from her cupboard the past couple of days," Paul muttered. He did see John capable of it, John would do anything he wanted after all - he might even manage to smuggle a bottle or two of whichever drink he choose into their chamber at the Institution.
"I didn't," John said. "I could barely get to the toilet most of the time."
"I repeat," Paul sighed, "I don't want to know about what you did while being sick."
"You already know," John nodded, happily summing up the nasty things, "a runny nose, headache, painful bones and a stomach ache, waves of nausea and sick in a bucket, diarrh-"
"I don't want to know," Paul screwed his eyes shut, and didn't open them again until John had to yank him out of the way of a lamp post.
"You're getting as stupid as me," John muttered, "or possibly even more so, since at least I choose to keep my eyes opened."
"You look fantastic with glasses," Paul said, half-sarcastic and partially trying to flatter John (but not really, the glasses were far too large and always got in the way of their snogging ).
"Oh thank you," John replied. "But at least you know how to take them off without poking my eyes out by now."
"Very true," Paul agreed. "Are we nearly there yet, by the way?"
John stayed silent for a while, and eventually replied, "you know what? I have no fucking clue."
* * *
The pub was warm, and Paul would have hugged the feeling if he'd been able to. As it was, it wasn't, and so he probably had to question his sanity. The strange thoughts were possibly nothing but a result from being around John for far too long, and so he might have to get away from his boyfriend soon as possible if he wanted to stay clear-minded. Paul didn't want to, however, and so they both sat down at one of the tables at the back of the pub, ordering two pints.
"I still think you shouldn't be drinking, John," Paul told him, but John shook his head.
"In fact, I think I should be since it will help me relax and sleep better tonight."
"One pint won't do that to you," Paul pointed out, and John grinned sneakily.
"No I know, but a lot of them will," John told him.
"And what do you think Mimi will say of this?" Paul asked.
"Do I ever listen to what Mimi tells me?" John retorted, and Paul knew his friend was right.
"Why are we here though," Paul tried again after a little while, but John's only reply was a roll of his eyes.
"What we really should be discussing," John told him, "is how on earth we are going to get famous if you remain locked up at the Institution for the next years, with me free in the wide world. I will be too old to get famous once you get out of that prison, and then we still have to find a band too," he said. Paul was tracing the circle of damp his glass had left on the dark wood of the table.
"First of all, it is not a prison, it is school," Paul said.
"School equals jail," John hastily said, but Paul ignored him.
"Secondly, you won't be too old. We're young still, some people don't get famous until they're in their twenties, you should know that," Paul continued, "and that band shouldn't be that hard to find I suppose. It only is a bit difficult at school, since not everybody there plays an instrument-"
"I heard Ringo, you know, that kind nurse bloke, does play the drums pretty well," John interrupted Paul, who raised his eyebrows. "In fact, apparently he's with this band called Rory Storm and the Hurricanes."
"And you think we've got a chance of asking him to join the band?" Paul asked John, who shook his head.
"Of course not, just pointing out there are some people at the institution who play an instrument fairly well."
"He's not one of the students though, so forget it," Paul told him. "Either way, we should just go play some gigs here in Liverpool I suppose, once we both don't have school anymore. And I'll be at home in the summer holidays so we could probably start then. All we need are a bass player and a drummer. We could even do it with three guitars and without a bass guitar, I guess."
"No way," John shook his head, "and you're forgetting that I don't even own a guitar."
Paul felt the increasing need to smack his head against the sticky surface of the table. He managed to hold back that urge, but spoke up nonetheless, getting more aggravated at the turn the conversation was going. John didn't seem to believe in himself all that much, while Paul supposed they both would have to be feeling the same - they would become famous, no matter what.
"Seriously though, John," he said, "if we want to become famous something has to happen." He looked up to see the mild fear in John's eyes.
"I know," the boy opposite of him said, "I just hope everything will work out, and I want to be for when it doesn't, you know?"
"Yeah, alright," Paul sighed. "Let's just stop talking about this, yeah?"
"Yeah," John agreed. "Now, what are you thinking about Friday? Are we going to visit Julia or are we going to see Stuart and Astrid?"
"I thought you'd already made up your mind?" Paul asked him.
"Yeah, I thought I did too, but listen-" John leaned closer to Paul, "we might actually be able to first visit Julia and then go to the docks. I don't thinks he'll mind a lot if we leave a bit earlier than I told her I would."
"And you're sure she won't mind me coming along either?" Paul asked him, "I mean, she hardly knows me, right? Won't I be a bit of a bother? And atop of that," Paul said, realising that this was, after all, John's mother, "wouldn't you want some time alone with her?"
"I want you to know her too," was all John said, and then continued planning the entire thing out. "So, first we'll go to see Julia, and then leave to the docks. Obviously I can't tell Mimi about meeting up with Stuart and Astrid because she'll never let me, she has always said Stu is a bad influence for me," - and secretly Paul thought that Stuart might be, John usually changed his behaviour around him, and Paul didn't like that the least bit, - and I haven't told her about Astrid because, oh you know, she's hardly interested in that anyway."
"Eh, so you are going to lie to Mimi then?" Paul asked.
"I suppose so," John shrugged. "Paul," he said, "I've lied to that woman so often. I know I probably shouldn't but it so easy and if I can make up something to save my butt, believe me when I say I'm going to use it as well."
"Alright," Paul sighed. "How late will we meet up then?" he asked, knowing there was no way John would possibly change his mind.
"Oh er, some time around ten, I suppose?" John suggested.
"Should be fine," Paul agreed, even though eh would most rather just spend his time in bed in the morning. Sleeping in ad become one of his favourite past times this holiday, even though Jim did fancy seeing him doing something in the household as well. Paul had promised his father to do the cooking, rather than dust shelves, and it had ended up in the family eating mashed potatoes every evening.
"Alright," John said, drinking the last bit of his beer, and pulling an awkward face. "I don't think I feel too well," he said, turning a sickly pale, and then he was quickly standing up to go to the bathroom. Paul sniggered inwardly - John really didn't know how to take care of himself when he was sick. He supposed it wasn't entirely uncommon for teenage boys, but he was glad he wasn't the one having to return home to Mimi.
Paul waited for a pale-faced John to get out of the loo, and then stood up too.
"Feeling better?" John nodded, but barely.
"I think so."
"Pity of the lager though," Paul laughed.
"Don't mention that word again," John told him, pulling a disgusted face. "I just want to go home."
"I understand," Paul smiled. "You should take better care of yourself, you know."
"I know how to take care of me," John grumbled. "Don't try to sound like Mimi, you know how much I hate it."
"Yeah," Paul sighed contentedly. "I have to turn to the left here though, so I suppose I'll see you again in two days?"
"Alright," John said, and then added in a whisper, "if I hadn't just been sick I would have dragged you into that alley over there," he pointed towards a space between two buildings, "and snogged you senseless."
Paul could feel himself grow slightly flustered, and nodded. "I promise you'll get to do that when you're feeling better again."
"Deal," John said. "I'll see you Friday."
"Bye," Paul waved as he crossed the street again.
He could feel John's eyes burning in his back until the moment the street was out of sight, but he was too scared to turn around. It wasn't unlikely he would turn around and do exactly what he'd just promised John, tasting of sick or not. Friday, he kept in mind, Friday John would be better and so Paul could do whatever he wanted to, as long as they kept out of sight.
to be continued ....