Don't You Know, It's Gonna Be Alright (Part 5)
Title: Don’t You Know, It’s Gonna Be Alright (Part 5)
Pairing: John/Paul
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language (isn’t that a given when John is involved?), philosophical ramblings.
Summary: “Paul always made him feel at home, no matter where they were.”
Disclaimer: Do I really have to say it? Nothing happened, I don’t own anything.
A/N: Wow, sorry about the wait. That took longer than I thought it would. Anyway. Yeah! Enjoy! Also, comments. I love them. Hint hint.
I have really bad luck with links, and finding stuff in my journal is super easy, so just head over there to read the other chapters. I promise you will have no trouble finding them.
Mike thundered around the house, looking for his books and his right shoe. Why the fuck wasn’t it with his left shoe?
“Paul! Have you seen my shoe!?” he shouted up the stairs. “Paul?”
Fuck. Paul was awake, wasn’t he?
“Paul?”
Shit. The lazy prick was still in bed. God, they were going to be so late. Mike dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“Paul, for fuck’s sake, get out of bed! We’ll miss the bus!”
He pounded on his brother’s bedroom door for a few moments, shouting, before he opened it.
“Paul, why the fuck aren’t you-“
Mike fell silent. Paul was, in fact, still asleep. So was… John? Mike stared at the two boys. When did John get here, anyway? He hadn’t been in the house last night, had he?
He stared at his brother and John, completely baffled by their current position. He was confused not because Paul and John were sharing a bed - they squeezed onto Paul’s small mattress every time John slept over - but because of the way they were sharing it.
~*~*~*~*~
Paul felt himself floating to the very surface of sleep, just below wakefulness. He hung comfortably in the haze of almost-consciousness, somewhat aware of the warm body in his arms and the soft mattress under him, but not of sound or light. He could stay here forever and be completely happy.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t in the cards for him today. He woke to the feeling of eyes on him. It was a rather unnerving way to wake up.
“When did John get here?”
He turned his head toward his brother’s voice. “Huh? Wha? Mike?”
“Yeah, mornin’. What’s all this?”
“What’s all what?” Paul asked, confused, finally focusing on Mike’s face. Mike nodded toward John with a befuddled frown.
“When’d he get here, and how come you two are so cozy?”
Paul looked over at John. The older boy’s angelic face was buried in his shoulder, warm breath tickling the fine hairs along the back of his neck. His arms were wrapped possessively around Paul’s stomach. He noticed that his arms were wrapped around John as well. John’s late-night visit reformed itself in his mind. He felt his face go hot with a mixture of embarrassment and overwhelming relief as memories of John’s lips filled his brain.
“Oh… he showed up last night. Came up the pipe.”
“Why?” Mike looked incredulous.
“Dunno, didn’t think to ask,” Paul lied.
“A bloke shows up at yer house in the middle of the night to come sleep in your bed instead of his and yeh don’t think to ask why?”
“Well, he’s not a bloke, he’s John.”
“Not a bloke? Well, I guess that answers my question ‘bout you two… cuddling.” Mike teased.
Paul’s face bloomed pink as he quickly removed his arms from John’s body. “We- we’re not bloody cuddling!”
“What’d yeh call that?” Mike gestured toward John’s tight grasp on Paul.
“Fuck off; he had a shitty night, okay?” Paul snapped defensively. “What the hell do you want, anyway? You just come in to put me in a bad mood?”
“No, I came to get yer arse out of bed because we’re pretty close to bein’ late for the bus.”
“What?” Paul frowned and looked at his clock. “Oh fuck!”
Mike snickered. “Hey, if you find my shoe while you’re gettin’ untangled from yer boyfriend there, let me know, ‘right?”
“Oh piss off!” Paul spat, trying frantically to pry John’s arms off of his stomach. “John, wake the fuck up, I’m late and yer keeping me, arsehole!”
John mumbled something unintelligible and only tightened his grip.
“Goddamn you,” Paul growled with frustration, smacking John in the head.
“Ow!” John woke suddenly. “What the hell, Paul!?”
“Let go of me, I’m gonna miss the bus!”
“What?”
“You’ve got a death grip on me.”
“And?” John asked dumbly.
Paul sighed with exasperation. “Well, first of all, I miss enough school as it is by slagging off with you,” he explained, annoyed. “Second, Mike is staring at us and probably thinks we’re both right queers by now.” Paul eyed John meaningfully, head turned so that his brother couldn’t see.
John stared at him for a moment, comprehending the silent meaning. “Well, goodness. Wouldn’t want his innocent little head corrupted with such filthy notions, now would we?” He smirked and let go of Paul.
“No, we do not, thank you very much,” Paul replied shortly, shooting out of bed as his brother practically skipped away cackling. “Now help me find my stuff. Make yourself useful.”
John stared at his friend, watching him frantically dig through his closet to find the Liverpool Institute jacket that seemed to have gone into hiding. Paul was lovely even when he was cranky. His mussed hair, the way his eyes crinkled up, everything. Even the little grunts of frustration that escaped his throat as he searched for his history book and a pair of clean socks were cute.
Paul looked up. “Seriously, John, help me. I can’t find me tie. I can’t have another dress code violation this month, they’ll kick my ass.”
“Okay, okay, Christ. I’ll help the little school lad get dressed,” he teased.
“Thanks, I guess,” Paul rolled his eyes, finally finding a book under a pile of records. “Fuck I’m late!”
Paul rushed into the bathroom and quickly washed his face and greased up his hair. Why was John always slowest when there was actually a rush to get somewhere? Probably another misguided attempt at rebellion, Paul though. Well, John could rebel on his own time. He wasn’t the one who was going to miss his morning class at this rate.
“John, did you find anyth-“
Paul stopped short at the sight of John standing next to the bed with a smile on his face.
“If you’d slow down, you’d find this stuff.”
John walked up to his younger friend, looping Paul’s tie around his neck, tying it carefully. He smiled to himself. “Usually you doing this for me,” he observed quietly.
Paul’s stomach fluttered with affection. He felt bad for feeling annoyed at John moments earlier. “Thanks…” he whispered.
“Mmhm. Turn.” John ordered gently, gesturing for Paul to turn around and helping him into his jacket (which was exactly where Paul left it, of course).
“Here.” Finally, John offered a packed bag.
“You found my books? All of them?”
“History, Biology, Maths, English, and Art. That’s what you have today, yeah?”
Paul nodded.
“And your pencils.”
Paul stared at him, amazed. “Thank you, John.”
John smiled bashfully. “Sure.”
The two boys looked at one another carefully for a moment before John leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Paul’s lips.
“Have a good day.”
Paul gave John the sappiest smile the older boy had seen in a long time.
“Thanks, Johnny. Really. You’re something.”
“You’re something too. Now get outta here before yeh miss the bus!”
Paul suddenly seemed to remember why he’d been rushing about in the first place.
“Oh shit!”
John laughed out loud. “See yeh later, yeh silly sausage!”
“Bye!”
John heard Paul clattering down the steps with his brother in tow. He opened the bedroom window as the brothers sprinted down the sidewalk. He thought he could hear Mike still teasing Paul. He rolled his eyes affectionately, and not without a squeeze of envy. Paul would never know how lucky he was to have a normal family.
The house now empty, John fell back into bed. He knew Paul wouldn’t mind him staying a little longer. He had classes at the college, but he couldn’t be arsed to get dressed and go. It was just Lettering again. Lettering might have been even worse than Maths to John, which was definitely saying something. Not only was it an endlessly boring and frustratingly difficult subject, there was a girl that John had next to no interest in who couldn’t seem to pry her bespectacled eyes off of him. The attention might have been appreciated at any other time, seeing as how if she dyed her hair blonde and dressed a bit differently she could look sort of like Brigitte Bardot, but he wasn’t exactly interested right now. It was just awkward.
He turned his head toward the pillow, inhaling deeply. It smelled nice. Well, it didn’t really. It smelled like Brylcreem and sweat, and something Paul-ish that he couldn’t identify. No one else would have liked it, but it made John feel like he was home. Paul always made him feel at home, no matter where they were. If his best mate was there, no matter where “there” was, everything would be all right.
What a wonderfully comforting thought.
~*~*~*~*~
Paul let his forehead rest against the window of the bus, looking out over the dingy streets and soggy gutters. On most days, it was just ugly and dreary. It was ugly and dreary today too, he supposed, but somehow the ugliness was poetic. He could appreciate it somehow, the bombed out buildings, the drowned newspapers on the street, the miserable-looking middle-aged women doing their morning shopping and the dour old men on their way to jobs they hated.
All those lonely people, living the lives they had been raised to live, rather than the ones they should be living. He wondered briefly how many of those soppy old aunties and gruff dock workers had been born geniuses and had it squeezed out of them by what was supposed to be, rather than living by what was.
Paul couldn’t for the life of him think what brought this sudden notice of people’s crappy lives to his attention, so his mind slipped back to John.
John. He smiled at the thought of his friend. He probably looked dumb with his forehead pressed against the glass and a stupid grin on his face, but he didn’t care. John loved him. He loved John. What a wonderful thing that was. There was still a voice in the back of his head that nagged him, saying that it was wrong, that the desperate need to kiss another boy was sick, sick, sick. Deeper still was a feeling he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge, a physical sensation and a soul-twisting emotion that rested somewhere in the core of him. There was a desire that was much, much more fucked up than the one that made him kiss John. He couldn’t even think about that yet. He could only dream about it.
Paul looked out the window again, staring at the people on the street. All the lonely people. For a moment, he wondered if he and John would someday be those sad, old men who lived lives they were supposed to live instead of lives they wanted. Did all those men have wants at the cores of their beings that they ignored, too?
“Hey Paul!”
Paul was tugged out of his daydream as George plopped down in the seat next to him. Oh, the luxury of a relatively uncomplicated friendship. He needed a reminder of what normal felt like.
Pairing: John/Paul
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language (isn’t that a given when John is involved?), philosophical ramblings.
Summary: “Paul always made him feel at home, no matter where they were.”
Disclaimer: Do I really have to say it? Nothing happened, I don’t own anything.
A/N: Wow, sorry about the wait. That took longer than I thought it would. Anyway. Yeah! Enjoy! Also, comments. I love them. Hint hint.
I have really bad luck with links, and finding stuff in my journal is super easy, so just head over there to read the other chapters. I promise you will have no trouble finding them.
Mike thundered around the house, looking for his books and his right shoe. Why the fuck wasn’t it with his left shoe?
“Paul! Have you seen my shoe!?” he shouted up the stairs. “Paul?”
Fuck. Paul was awake, wasn’t he?
“Paul?”
Shit. The lazy prick was still in bed. God, they were going to be so late. Mike dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“Paul, for fuck’s sake, get out of bed! We’ll miss the bus!”
He pounded on his brother’s bedroom door for a few moments, shouting, before he opened it.
“Paul, why the fuck aren’t you-“
Mike fell silent. Paul was, in fact, still asleep. So was… John? Mike stared at the two boys. When did John get here, anyway? He hadn’t been in the house last night, had he?
He stared at his brother and John, completely baffled by their current position. He was confused not because Paul and John were sharing a bed - they squeezed onto Paul’s small mattress every time John slept over - but because of the way they were sharing it.
~*~*~*~*~
Paul felt himself floating to the very surface of sleep, just below wakefulness. He hung comfortably in the haze of almost-consciousness, somewhat aware of the warm body in his arms and the soft mattress under him, but not of sound or light. He could stay here forever and be completely happy.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t in the cards for him today. He woke to the feeling of eyes on him. It was a rather unnerving way to wake up.
“When did John get here?”
He turned his head toward his brother’s voice. “Huh? Wha? Mike?”
“Yeah, mornin’. What’s all this?”
“What’s all what?” Paul asked, confused, finally focusing on Mike’s face. Mike nodded toward John with a befuddled frown.
“When’d he get here, and how come you two are so cozy?”
Paul looked over at John. The older boy’s angelic face was buried in his shoulder, warm breath tickling the fine hairs along the back of his neck. His arms were wrapped possessively around Paul’s stomach. He noticed that his arms were wrapped around John as well. John’s late-night visit reformed itself in his mind. He felt his face go hot with a mixture of embarrassment and overwhelming relief as memories of John’s lips filled his brain.
“Oh… he showed up last night. Came up the pipe.”
“Why?” Mike looked incredulous.
“Dunno, didn’t think to ask,” Paul lied.
“A bloke shows up at yer house in the middle of the night to come sleep in your bed instead of his and yeh don’t think to ask why?”
“Well, he’s not a bloke, he’s John.”
“Not a bloke? Well, I guess that answers my question ‘bout you two… cuddling.” Mike teased.
Paul’s face bloomed pink as he quickly removed his arms from John’s body. “We- we’re not bloody cuddling!”
“What’d yeh call that?” Mike gestured toward John’s tight grasp on Paul.
“Fuck off; he had a shitty night, okay?” Paul snapped defensively. “What the hell do you want, anyway? You just come in to put me in a bad mood?”
“No, I came to get yer arse out of bed because we’re pretty close to bein’ late for the bus.”
“What?” Paul frowned and looked at his clock. “Oh fuck!”
Mike snickered. “Hey, if you find my shoe while you’re gettin’ untangled from yer boyfriend there, let me know, ‘right?”
“Oh piss off!” Paul spat, trying frantically to pry John’s arms off of his stomach. “John, wake the fuck up, I’m late and yer keeping me, arsehole!”
John mumbled something unintelligible and only tightened his grip.
“Goddamn you,” Paul growled with frustration, smacking John in the head.
“Ow!” John woke suddenly. “What the hell, Paul!?”
“Let go of me, I’m gonna miss the bus!”
“What?”
“You’ve got a death grip on me.”
“And?” John asked dumbly.
Paul sighed with exasperation. “Well, first of all, I miss enough school as it is by slagging off with you,” he explained, annoyed. “Second, Mike is staring at us and probably thinks we’re both right queers by now.” Paul eyed John meaningfully, head turned so that his brother couldn’t see.
John stared at him for a moment, comprehending the silent meaning. “Well, goodness. Wouldn’t want his innocent little head corrupted with such filthy notions, now would we?” He smirked and let go of Paul.
“No, we do not, thank you very much,” Paul replied shortly, shooting out of bed as his brother practically skipped away cackling. “Now help me find my stuff. Make yourself useful.”
John stared at his friend, watching him frantically dig through his closet to find the Liverpool Institute jacket that seemed to have gone into hiding. Paul was lovely even when he was cranky. His mussed hair, the way his eyes crinkled up, everything. Even the little grunts of frustration that escaped his throat as he searched for his history book and a pair of clean socks were cute.
Paul looked up. “Seriously, John, help me. I can’t find me tie. I can’t have another dress code violation this month, they’ll kick my ass.”
“Okay, okay, Christ. I’ll help the little school lad get dressed,” he teased.
“Thanks, I guess,” Paul rolled his eyes, finally finding a book under a pile of records. “Fuck I’m late!”
Paul rushed into the bathroom and quickly washed his face and greased up his hair. Why was John always slowest when there was actually a rush to get somewhere? Probably another misguided attempt at rebellion, Paul though. Well, John could rebel on his own time. He wasn’t the one who was going to miss his morning class at this rate.
“John, did you find anyth-“
Paul stopped short at the sight of John standing next to the bed with a smile on his face.
“If you’d slow down, you’d find this stuff.”
John walked up to his younger friend, looping Paul’s tie around his neck, tying it carefully. He smiled to himself. “Usually you doing this for me,” he observed quietly.
Paul’s stomach fluttered with affection. He felt bad for feeling annoyed at John moments earlier. “Thanks…” he whispered.
“Mmhm. Turn.” John ordered gently, gesturing for Paul to turn around and helping him into his jacket (which was exactly where Paul left it, of course).
“Here.” Finally, John offered a packed bag.
“You found my books? All of them?”
“History, Biology, Maths, English, and Art. That’s what you have today, yeah?”
Paul nodded.
“And your pencils.”
Paul stared at him, amazed. “Thank you, John.”
John smiled bashfully. “Sure.”
The two boys looked at one another carefully for a moment before John leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Paul’s lips.
“Have a good day.”
Paul gave John the sappiest smile the older boy had seen in a long time.
“Thanks, Johnny. Really. You’re something.”
“You’re something too. Now get outta here before yeh miss the bus!”
Paul suddenly seemed to remember why he’d been rushing about in the first place.
“Oh shit!”
John laughed out loud. “See yeh later, yeh silly sausage!”
“Bye!”
John heard Paul clattering down the steps with his brother in tow. He opened the bedroom window as the brothers sprinted down the sidewalk. He thought he could hear Mike still teasing Paul. He rolled his eyes affectionately, and not without a squeeze of envy. Paul would never know how lucky he was to have a normal family.
The house now empty, John fell back into bed. He knew Paul wouldn’t mind him staying a little longer. He had classes at the college, but he couldn’t be arsed to get dressed and go. It was just Lettering again. Lettering might have been even worse than Maths to John, which was definitely saying something. Not only was it an endlessly boring and frustratingly difficult subject, there was a girl that John had next to no interest in who couldn’t seem to pry her bespectacled eyes off of him. The attention might have been appreciated at any other time, seeing as how if she dyed her hair blonde and dressed a bit differently she could look sort of like Brigitte Bardot, but he wasn’t exactly interested right now. It was just awkward.
He turned his head toward the pillow, inhaling deeply. It smelled nice. Well, it didn’t really. It smelled like Brylcreem and sweat, and something Paul-ish that he couldn’t identify. No one else would have liked it, but it made John feel like he was home. Paul always made him feel at home, no matter where they were. If his best mate was there, no matter where “there” was, everything would be all right.
What a wonderfully comforting thought.
~*~*~*~*~
Paul let his forehead rest against the window of the bus, looking out over the dingy streets and soggy gutters. On most days, it was just ugly and dreary. It was ugly and dreary today too, he supposed, but somehow the ugliness was poetic. He could appreciate it somehow, the bombed out buildings, the drowned newspapers on the street, the miserable-looking middle-aged women doing their morning shopping and the dour old men on their way to jobs they hated.
All those lonely people, living the lives they had been raised to live, rather than the ones they should be living. He wondered briefly how many of those soppy old aunties and gruff dock workers had been born geniuses and had it squeezed out of them by what was supposed to be, rather than living by what was.
Paul couldn’t for the life of him think what brought this sudden notice of people’s crappy lives to his attention, so his mind slipped back to John.
John. He smiled at the thought of his friend. He probably looked dumb with his forehead pressed against the glass and a stupid grin on his face, but he didn’t care. John loved him. He loved John. What a wonderful thing that was. There was still a voice in the back of his head that nagged him, saying that it was wrong, that the desperate need to kiss another boy was sick, sick, sick. Deeper still was a feeling he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge, a physical sensation and a soul-twisting emotion that rested somewhere in the core of him. There was a desire that was much, much more fucked up than the one that made him kiss John. He couldn’t even think about that yet. He could only dream about it.
Paul looked out the window again, staring at the people on the street. All the lonely people. For a moment, he wondered if he and John would someday be those sad, old men who lived lives they were supposed to live instead of lives they wanted. Did all those men have wants at the cores of their beings that they ignored, too?
“Hey Paul!”
Paul was tugged out of his daydream as George plopped down in the seat next to him. Oh, the luxury of a relatively uncomplicated friendship. He needed a reminder of what normal felt like.