Second.
Author: oretoile
Title: Tik-tok.
Pairing: John/Paul
Summary: It was too late fore love.
Word Count: 1,221
Disclaimer: If any of this was real, I'd have a heart-attack before I would be able to recount it here.
Author's Note: So, this is insanely old. Orginally wrote in December during Biology class and my Lunch period.
The tide was low, Paul could feel it, John's essence all around him, streaming down with the full moon's sparkle-silver light as it fell and mingled with the fire-flies gold in a perfect soft contrast to each other. Just the slightest breeze ruffled him as he soaked in the moment, sitting there on the grass shoeless without care to neatness. How come we couldn't share this? He wondered, How come we lost it?. It was too late now. Obviously,, Blatantly, Hideously too late now with the sun have gone to bed and the moon out and singing her song (which wasn't at all a bad thing, it was just too late).
He fell back into the grass with a whispered "Thup" and sent the grass dust spiraling into the oddly warm moonlight in all sorts of wondrous patterns, adding to the already sparkle. How come we couldn't do this? The sea salt fresh in the moist, dewy air as he tolled over from his back to his stomach for a more earthy view.
A single lady bug on her piece of grass, he saw her, in a state much like sleep as she rested her tired wings and showed off her beady spots instead. He counting the spots in good-spirit (something he had to learn to present to, not only the public, but himself, long ago; a mast at such an acting craft now he was); twelve little splotches on her visible back. Is this what He would do, is this what He would feel, if her were to be able to lay in such a salt filled dew and silver moonlight? Of course, Paul told himself with a small, almost content smile, He'd name her, too. But it was still too late; too late for lady bugs even.
The waves were crashing up against the cliff edge some fifty odd feet down, screaming in his ears with their hiss: A storm was coming, they told the tale with nothing more than their innuendo'd words of peace and horror as they lapped the shore greedily, Will all lady bugs please report to their burrows? We Repeat: Will all lady bugs please report to their burrows? Pauls little friend took off into flight with the breeze and destroying the perfect twelve blots she was showing off merely seconds ago. It really was too late as the waves kept up their chaos with the salty wind.
He stood. Simple and clear, he stood. With the breeze growing in strength around his figure in the middle of nowhere somewhere on the sea-side Irish moors of grass. Here. He had wanted them to come here, to try and fix everything before it was too late; he heard the beetle of time (no pun intended) call out it's warning so many nights before, and yet then, one sudden night while all was quiet and he slipped into the unconscious dreams of sleep and he knew. Simple and clear, he knew.
It was rather colder now with the wind showing off vocals that might of inspired him all but three months ago. But it was too late now. It was too late for many things, this he had learned as still a child, though, it wasn't as if the "I love you"'s had not been around before it was too late; and, oh! How bad he had tried to revive them. It was all he ever wanted.
Back in his arms, yes back in his arms-how it sounded so amazing! To be held again in those arms, to be cuddled again like a bear in it's place, to be hushed at and cooed at and shushed at in whispers that were only so he could hear them. His hair ruffled in approvement with a chuckle-almost giggle-by Him, it was what Paul had been looking for all this time in the years that he was gone. He had turned into a puppy-dog over all said time (he'd felt his ears droop and his tail grow as his back diminished) and his master once so worried about him had come to realize that his puppy might not come home, and his master replaced him. A guard dog with razor sharp teeth to protect his heart in case the puppy-dog ever came home. And, he did, but it was too late; too late to go back into the heart of his master, not with her around.
I LOVE YOU! He wanted to be able to say it again, to shout it as loud as he could in an important decree for the cherubs to follow in some foreign lost to time. I love you. He wanted to whisper it into his ear as they hid under-covers in a bed with the lights dimmed low, almost off, while they each wrapped himself around the other. "I love you." He wanted to hear it back from someone other than a fan, or a wife, or himself-in a giddy toe of voice as they broke what were the laws of current times then. It was much too late for "I love you"'s.
If he closed his eyes though, Paul could swear he was back in a dream with Him; that he was in His arms again and everything was how it should be at the end of love stories like his. But such thoughts he kept hidden from himself, for each time he brought one out with his eyes closed in preparedness for sleep and dream he'd find his eyes open all night red with tears and longing instead. Bitter, some would say, Hear-broken would say the others.
The moon's light had left him for the night, covered by the purple clouds that the waves had warned him about; but he didn't care. He didn't care anymore of what might happen to him, to everything, to the world. Nothing mattered without the whispers and kisses and love. Nothing mattered to him now that a hole had been ripped open bloody in the middle of his heart. None of it mattered as much as He did.
Paul stood his ground as the wind picked up to yell at him, to tell him that the storm was not far out. He stood there confident and stubborn as the egomaniac that the public dubbed him would; his eyes cut half-way closed to look out to the sea and gaze upon the dark clouds that cracked with a fresh roll of thunder as the were lit up with a bolt of lightening to guide the God's angels to the homes that they were needed. Paul wasn't at home.
He stood until he dropped to his knees out of grief and pain with His memory all around him telling him to go inside, to go home. And as the rain poured down on him from above to hide his tears and drench his clothes, he realized it in an epiphany he should of had long, long ago. He loved Him, he loved Him, he LOVED Him. Love in all it's forms, he gave his to Him. Paul stood up on shaky legs with his clothes wet and the rain still beating down on him. He realized with the rain in his eyes, simple and clean, it was too late for love.
Title: Tik-tok.
Pairing: John/Paul
Summary: It was too late fore love.
Word Count: 1,221
Disclaimer: If any of this was real, I'd have a heart-attack before I would be able to recount it here.
Author's Note: So, this is insanely old. Orginally wrote in December during Biology class and my Lunch period.
The tide was low, Paul could feel it, John's essence all around him, streaming down with the full moon's sparkle-silver light as it fell and mingled with the fire-flies gold in a perfect soft contrast to each other. Just the slightest breeze ruffled him as he soaked in the moment, sitting there on the grass shoeless without care to neatness. How come we couldn't share this? He wondered, How come we lost it?. It was too late now. Obviously,, Blatantly, Hideously too late now with the sun have gone to bed and the moon out and singing her song (which wasn't at all a bad thing, it was just too late).
He fell back into the grass with a whispered "Thup" and sent the grass dust spiraling into the oddly warm moonlight in all sorts of wondrous patterns, adding to the already sparkle. How come we couldn't do this? The sea salt fresh in the moist, dewy air as he tolled over from his back to his stomach for a more earthy view.
A single lady bug on her piece of grass, he saw her, in a state much like sleep as she rested her tired wings and showed off her beady spots instead. He counting the spots in good-spirit (something he had to learn to present to, not only the public, but himself, long ago; a mast at such an acting craft now he was); twelve little splotches on her visible back. Is this what He would do, is this what He would feel, if her were to be able to lay in such a salt filled dew and silver moonlight? Of course, Paul told himself with a small, almost content smile, He'd name her, too. But it was still too late; too late for lady bugs even.
The waves were crashing up against the cliff edge some fifty odd feet down, screaming in his ears with their hiss: A storm was coming, they told the tale with nothing more than their innuendo'd words of peace and horror as they lapped the shore greedily, Will all lady bugs please report to their burrows? We Repeat: Will all lady bugs please report to their burrows? Pauls little friend took off into flight with the breeze and destroying the perfect twelve blots she was showing off merely seconds ago. It really was too late as the waves kept up their chaos with the salty wind.
He stood. Simple and clear, he stood. With the breeze growing in strength around his figure in the middle of nowhere somewhere on the sea-side Irish moors of grass. Here. He had wanted them to come here, to try and fix everything before it was too late; he heard the beetle of time (no pun intended) call out it's warning so many nights before, and yet then, one sudden night while all was quiet and he slipped into the unconscious dreams of sleep and he knew. Simple and clear, he knew.
It was rather colder now with the wind showing off vocals that might of inspired him all but three months ago. But it was too late now. It was too late for many things, this he had learned as still a child, though, it wasn't as if the "I love you"'s had not been around before it was too late; and, oh! How bad he had tried to revive them. It was all he ever wanted.
Back in his arms, yes back in his arms-how it sounded so amazing! To be held again in those arms, to be cuddled again like a bear in it's place, to be hushed at and cooed at and shushed at in whispers that were only so he could hear them. His hair ruffled in approvement with a chuckle-almost giggle-by Him, it was what Paul had been looking for all this time in the years that he was gone. He had turned into a puppy-dog over all said time (he'd felt his ears droop and his tail grow as his back diminished) and his master once so worried about him had come to realize that his puppy might not come home, and his master replaced him. A guard dog with razor sharp teeth to protect his heart in case the puppy-dog ever came home. And, he did, but it was too late; too late to go back into the heart of his master, not with her around.
I LOVE YOU! He wanted to be able to say it again, to shout it as loud as he could in an important decree for the cherubs to follow in some foreign lost to time. I love you. He wanted to whisper it into his ear as they hid under-covers in a bed with the lights dimmed low, almost off, while they each wrapped himself around the other. "I love you." He wanted to hear it back from someone other than a fan, or a wife, or himself-in a giddy toe of voice as they broke what were the laws of current times then. It was much too late for "I love you"'s.
If he closed his eyes though, Paul could swear he was back in a dream with Him; that he was in His arms again and everything was how it should be at the end of love stories like his. But such thoughts he kept hidden from himself, for each time he brought one out with his eyes closed in preparedness for sleep and dream he'd find his eyes open all night red with tears and longing instead. Bitter, some would say, Hear-broken would say the others.
The moon's light had left him for the night, covered by the purple clouds that the waves had warned him about; but he didn't care. He didn't care anymore of what might happen to him, to everything, to the world. Nothing mattered without the whispers and kisses and love. Nothing mattered to him now that a hole had been ripped open bloody in the middle of his heart. None of it mattered as much as He did.
Paul stood his ground as the wind picked up to yell at him, to tell him that the storm was not far out. He stood there confident and stubborn as the egomaniac that the public dubbed him would; his eyes cut half-way closed to look out to the sea and gaze upon the dark clouds that cracked with a fresh roll of thunder as the were lit up with a bolt of lightening to guide the God's angels to the homes that they were needed. Paul wasn't at home.
He stood until he dropped to his knees out of grief and pain with His memory all around him telling him to go inside, to go home. And as the rain poured down on him from above to hide his tears and drench his clothes, he realized it in an epiphany he should of had long, long ago. He loved Him, he loved Him, he LOVED Him. Love in all it's forms, he gave his to Him. Paul stood up on shaky legs with his clothes wet and the rain still beating down on him. He realized with the rain in his eyes, simple and clean, it was too late for love.