(no subject)
Title: Parliament
Fandom: Beatles
Pairing: John/Paul
Rating: PG for one word
A/N: Written for the star challenge at beatlesslash.
"We're never going to make it," he says.
And this is one of his best traits, Paul thinks, his perception. After an exceptionally poor set everyone else might expect the phony American accent ("Where are we going, fellows?"), but Paul just knows with a certain clarity that this is Not John's Night.
"Oh?" Indifference. Soothe and pacify, and Christ, they need this boy in Parliament.
"Oh," John mocks. "No, we're not. We're going nowhere." Said with the same sadistic pleasure as the boy who tells his kid brother there is no Santa. Yeah, hate to be the one to tell you, but. And he smiles, toothy, canine.
"Is it a snowball in hell sort of thing?" says Paul.
"Worse than that," John replies. "Much worse. Hell frozen entirely over, more like."
"Second ice age?"
"Melting icecaps. Flooding deserts." John screws up his eyes, thinking, genuinely enjoying this. "Meteor showers. Windstorms, droughts. Avalanches." He snickers.
Paul raises an eyebrow, decidedly delicate. "That bad, huh?"
"I told you, worse."
"We can't be that hopeless." Paul says it all warm and familiar, the kindly professor pointing out the flaw in his favorite student's proof. "You can't really think that."
"Oh, but I can." Fixes Paul with a knowing grin, such strange bliss. "We are that hopeless. Stars will collide first."
Right, that's enough, Paul thinks. "Fuck that. I'm going to have my own star." Then he turns to go, leaving John standing there looking like he's never seen anything quite like Paul before.
Fandom: Beatles
Pairing: John/Paul
Rating: PG for one word
A/N: Written for the star challenge at beatlesslash.
"We're never going to make it," he says.
And this is one of his best traits, Paul thinks, his perception. After an exceptionally poor set everyone else might expect the phony American accent ("Where are we going, fellows?"), but Paul just knows with a certain clarity that this is Not John's Night.
"Oh?" Indifference. Soothe and pacify, and Christ, they need this boy in Parliament.
"Oh," John mocks. "No, we're not. We're going nowhere." Said with the same sadistic pleasure as the boy who tells his kid brother there is no Santa. Yeah, hate to be the one to tell you, but. And he smiles, toothy, canine.
"Is it a snowball in hell sort of thing?" says Paul.
"Worse than that," John replies. "Much worse. Hell frozen entirely over, more like."
"Second ice age?"
"Melting icecaps. Flooding deserts." John screws up his eyes, thinking, genuinely enjoying this. "Meteor showers. Windstorms, droughts. Avalanches." He snickers.
Paul raises an eyebrow, decidedly delicate. "That bad, huh?"
"I told you, worse."
"We can't be that hopeless." Paul says it all warm and familiar, the kindly professor pointing out the flaw in his favorite student's proof. "You can't really think that."
"Oh, but I can." Fixes Paul with a knowing grin, such strange bliss. "We are that hopeless. Stars will collide first."
Right, that's enough, Paul thinks. "Fuck that. I'm going to have my own star." Then he turns to go, leaving John standing there looking like he's never seen anything quite like Paul before.