catre.
Author: Oretoile
Title: English Rain and Dreaming Memories.
Pairing: John/Paul
Rating: PG, for cursing.
Word Count: 1,012
Summary: It started with a nap.
Author Note: So, it's just a bit cheesey. Impulse writing, finished in the time period of a half hour.
Paul shuts the curtains with a sigh as the rain hits the window with a needle like precision and clinks and pangs and drips. Another hard English rain; he's tired of this weather. Miami or New York, he bets it isn't raining there as he lays down on his couch, he bets that it's warm and sunny and bustling with life that isn't just caterpillars and worms and blackbirds. Gradually he can feel his heart rate slow as his breathing starts to come in deep, slow inhales of the beautiful life giving substance. Before he knows it, his eyes are shut and he's rolled over on his side with his head barely on the pillow as he starts to drool a little from the lower corner of his mouth.
And, John's there. For the third time this week, John's there with him as cars wizz by on the bustling streets of Liverpool. It's comforting and disturbing all at the same time but by now the Knight is used to it. After all, these visits have been happening for a quite while now; he's learned to hold down the bile that wants to creep up the back of his throat.
"Where's Stuart? I told him three." John's voices rings out annoyed as he lights up a cigarette and leans back onto the brick wall of a corner store behind him.
"Like I bloody know. Prolly with that damn bird again, he likes her more than us, I reckon." Paul tries his best to give a likely answer while still bashing the older; they haven't been on the best of terms lately, ever since Astrid showed up at a gig they've had it out for each other.
"If he doesn't get here soon, we're leaving without him." John exhales a cloud of smoke and shuts his eyes.
Good. Paul thinks as he follows John's example and leans back onto the brick and shuts his eyes. It's not long before he reopens his eyes though, glancing from the corner of them to make sure that John's are still shut, and runs them once, twice, three times over John's relaxed but somehow stretched silhouette with the sun setting on his other side. He shakes his head, no. This is just John. Nothing special about this one from the others. Just. John. But he can't help to run his eyes over John's figure a fourth time, licking his bottom lip then biting it, before he returns back to his previous position of shut eyes and relaxed shoulders with a stretched tummy.
Even with eyes shut, he can't get the older out of his mind. Those shoulders, the nose, curly hair. Everything about John shouted "BEAUTIFUL!" to the world with an obnoxious crooked grin. Those teeth, Paul can't help but think, those perfectly crooked teeth. Red lips, deliciously pink tongue....He opens his eyes again. This isn't right, and he knows it in his mind but his heart has other plans.
He sighs, glancing again at John who's still shut-eyed and smoking, before looking around for Stu. A fight is just what he needs in this state of mind; maybe it would be better if he showed up after all. Stuart's nowhere to be found.
"Fuck this, Paulie. We're leaving." John practically glides up off of the wall with a smooth, rippling effect flowing from his hips up.
A nod, that's all Paul gives John as he flicks his cigarette butt off somewhere into the dirty sewers of the streets. Paul follows John from behind, loyal and puppy-dogish, with his hands in his pockets trying to keep his eyes off of John's ass. They're walking against the crowd hitting shoulders with strangers and dodging the ones who look too fat or too strong to bump into. We should go the other way, John. Paul wants to say it, but his loyalty gets in the way.
"Where are we going? We can't get in without him..." Paul mumbles quietly as he realizes that they have nowhere to be now.
"Mimi's. S'not like she's home, I'm sure we can find something to do." It comes as a slight shock to Paul that John heard him and he slows his pace just the slightest.
By the time they reach Mendips they're both huffing with the late sundown humidity. When they enter the house the first thing either of them lose is their jackets to reveal sweat lined white tee-shirts and crash on the couch, shoes and all, one right next to the other. Already, Paul's eyes want to shut and he wants to dream with John next to him, but that'd be boring and so he forced his eyes to stay open and awake for at least long enough for John to come up with something.
"Does she keep any wine?" Paul mumbles when John doesn't.
What surprises him this time is the lack of response to his question, normally John would of jumped up by now. But he hasn't. Paul lifts his head to look at a sleeping John with his eyes shut and arms behind his head in a make-shift pillow style. A blush falls upon Paul's face as his eyes make their way from John's eyes to his lips; red and just thinly plush, they look delicious. He lets his mind wonder and that's when he realizes, John's sleeping, he wouldn't feel anything light, would he?
With a timid aura, Paul leans his lips down to John's and when they touch he gasps as John's arms fling around the younger's neck and his mouth is open and wanting.
It's less than a second, it's a flash, and Paul jumps up on his couch with an audible gasp before looking around the room. No one else is there, he's home and alone in 1995. And it's no fun, it's no fair, that was his kiss, his first kiss, and he deserved it; why did he have to wake up from such a sweet memorious dream? He walks over to the window and parts the curtains, at least it's stopped raining.
Title: English Rain and Dreaming Memories.
Pairing: John/Paul
Rating: PG, for cursing.
Word Count: 1,012
Summary: It started with a nap.
Author Note: So, it's just a bit cheesey. Impulse writing, finished in the time period of a half hour.
Paul shuts the curtains with a sigh as the rain hits the window with a needle like precision and clinks and pangs and drips. Another hard English rain; he's tired of this weather. Miami or New York, he bets it isn't raining there as he lays down on his couch, he bets that it's warm and sunny and bustling with life that isn't just caterpillars and worms and blackbirds. Gradually he can feel his heart rate slow as his breathing starts to come in deep, slow inhales of the beautiful life giving substance. Before he knows it, his eyes are shut and he's rolled over on his side with his head barely on the pillow as he starts to drool a little from the lower corner of his mouth.
And, John's there. For the third time this week, John's there with him as cars wizz by on the bustling streets of Liverpool. It's comforting and disturbing all at the same time but by now the Knight is used to it. After all, these visits have been happening for a quite while now; he's learned to hold down the bile that wants to creep up the back of his throat.
"Where's Stuart? I told him three." John's voices rings out annoyed as he lights up a cigarette and leans back onto the brick wall of a corner store behind him.
"Like I bloody know. Prolly with that damn bird again, he likes her more than us, I reckon." Paul tries his best to give a likely answer while still bashing the older; they haven't been on the best of terms lately, ever since Astrid showed up at a gig they've had it out for each other.
"If he doesn't get here soon, we're leaving without him." John exhales a cloud of smoke and shuts his eyes.
Good. Paul thinks as he follows John's example and leans back onto the brick and shuts his eyes. It's not long before he reopens his eyes though, glancing from the corner of them to make sure that John's are still shut, and runs them once, twice, three times over John's relaxed but somehow stretched silhouette with the sun setting on his other side. He shakes his head, no. This is just John. Nothing special about this one from the others. Just. John. But he can't help to run his eyes over John's figure a fourth time, licking his bottom lip then biting it, before he returns back to his previous position of shut eyes and relaxed shoulders with a stretched tummy.
Even with eyes shut, he can't get the older out of his mind. Those shoulders, the nose, curly hair. Everything about John shouted "BEAUTIFUL!" to the world with an obnoxious crooked grin. Those teeth, Paul can't help but think, those perfectly crooked teeth. Red lips, deliciously pink tongue....He opens his eyes again. This isn't right, and he knows it in his mind but his heart has other plans.
He sighs, glancing again at John who's still shut-eyed and smoking, before looking around for Stu. A fight is just what he needs in this state of mind; maybe it would be better if he showed up after all. Stuart's nowhere to be found.
"Fuck this, Paulie. We're leaving." John practically glides up off of the wall with a smooth, rippling effect flowing from his hips up.
A nod, that's all Paul gives John as he flicks his cigarette butt off somewhere into the dirty sewers of the streets. Paul follows John from behind, loyal and puppy-dogish, with his hands in his pockets trying to keep his eyes off of John's ass. They're walking against the crowd hitting shoulders with strangers and dodging the ones who look too fat or too strong to bump into. We should go the other way, John. Paul wants to say it, but his loyalty gets in the way.
"Where are we going? We can't get in without him..." Paul mumbles quietly as he realizes that they have nowhere to be now.
"Mimi's. S'not like she's home, I'm sure we can find something to do." It comes as a slight shock to Paul that John heard him and he slows his pace just the slightest.
By the time they reach Mendips they're both huffing with the late sundown humidity. When they enter the house the first thing either of them lose is their jackets to reveal sweat lined white tee-shirts and crash on the couch, shoes and all, one right next to the other. Already, Paul's eyes want to shut and he wants to dream with John next to him, but that'd be boring and so he forced his eyes to stay open and awake for at least long enough for John to come up with something.
"Does she keep any wine?" Paul mumbles when John doesn't.
What surprises him this time is the lack of response to his question, normally John would of jumped up by now. But he hasn't. Paul lifts his head to look at a sleeping John with his eyes shut and arms behind his head in a make-shift pillow style. A blush falls upon Paul's face as his eyes make their way from John's eyes to his lips; red and just thinly plush, they look delicious. He lets his mind wonder and that's when he realizes, John's sleeping, he wouldn't feel anything light, would he?
With a timid aura, Paul leans his lips down to John's and when they touch he gasps as John's arms fling around the younger's neck and his mouth is open and wanting.
It's less than a second, it's a flash, and Paul jumps up on his couch with an audible gasp before looking around the room. No one else is there, he's home and alone in 1995. And it's no fun, it's no fair, that was his kiss, his first kiss, and he deserved it; why did he have to wake up from such a sweet memorious dream? He walks over to the window and parts the curtains, at least it's stopped raining.