weeping_sitar's application
Favourite Beatle Slash Pairing: John/George
Name/Pen Name: Ryan/Irish Spectre
LJ Username: weeping_sitar
Age & Birthday: 18, 26 February
Location: New Jersey, USA
How did you get into Beatles Slash?: Whilst browsing lj communities beatlesslash popped up and I had to satisy my curiosity. Hoping to find some answer, I visited www.thatbritishboy.com and fell in love with John/George slash.
Tell us an interesting fact about yourself: I am a Classics nut; I have a particular affinity for classical Latin poets like Vergil and Catullus, as well as for Caledonian Picts.
Favourite Beatle: John
Favourite Beatle Era: Hamburg and 1966
Favourite Genre to Write: angst, personal realisation monologues, character analyses from first person point of view
Favourite Genre to Read: Most well written John/George pieces (particularly angst), but often any emotional and/or profound introspective writing of any pairing, and of course, smut
What Pairing is Your Submission Piece: John/George
What Warnings Are in Your Submission Piece? (rape, non-con, etc.): Language
What Rating is Your Submission Piece?: PG-13
Link or LJ-Cut Your Submission Piece (must be at least 1000 words and must be Beatles Slash and must not be the prompt suggested below):
Title: Wandering
Pairing: John/George
Words: 1,135
Notes/Warnings: Language.
John had taken to the streets, wandering absently. They’d played the Cavern earlier that evening and it’d been great- the audience had loved it so much they’d done two encores. For that, he should have been ecstatic, reveling in the successful turnout. But he wasn’t. The others had gone out for drinks, practically dragging him with them. He’d allowed himself to be pulled along, accepted whatever drinks they’d placed before him, and superficially enjoyed it for their sake. Underneath though, he’d watched it all as if he wasn’t a participant. Too many things he couldn’t understand plagued his thoughts.
During the show, he’d found himself gazing at George, unable to tear away his eyes from the boy. Each time he caught himself doing it, he wanted to kick himself. He’s only a little boy, he told himself, a fucking adorable little boy no different from any child. Each time he’d sing louder, to take his mind off it. Before the song was over though, he’d be glancing covertly at George, taking in his dark hair, his pensive countenance, the curve of his lips. . .His eyes would then slid down below the leather jacket to where the boy’s jeans pleasantly hugged his slim hips.
John had planned on taking in a few birds to forget about George, but whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the boy smile enigmatically, almost teasingly. What the fuck is wrong with me? he’d asked himself. I’m not some bloody queer and neither is George.
Again, while they were laughing over their drinks, John couldn’t resist from studying him. George’s eyes seemed to beckon him, call him closer, pull him in. He’d imagined what it would be like to wake up to those dark eyes gazing into his own, not realising George was watching him curiously.
‘Hey Paul, I think John’s had too much to drink,’ George had said, his eyes still on John.
John had jolted, quickly averting his eyes. He’d dragged them across the table, shocked by the number of empty glasses before him. He’d risen and squinted so everything blurred together. He’d felt Paul start to his feet next to him.
‘Whoa John, are you alright?’ Paul had asked, reaching out to steady him. John had shoved away Paul’s arm.
‘Course I am, leave off, will you?’ he’d replied peevishly. ‘I’m going home.’ He’d stalked out, leaving them to pay for his drinks.
Hours later, he roamed aimlessly down the streets, vaguely aware of the fag in his hand, taking a drag every now and then.
‘I’m not a queer,’ he said aloud to the empty street, mostly to reassure himself, however unsuccessful his attempt was.
He continued ambling, stopping to light another cigarette by the sallow light of a street lamp. From the corner of his eye he caught movement and spun around only to meet his reflection in a store-front window. He laughed nervously and took a drag to calm himself.
‘Hullo Mr Lennon,’ he said softly and peered at his face. His thin lips were pulled into a slight frown, his eyes sad. He wondered what George thought of him. Did he think of caressing John, just as John was thinking now? Did George wonder what it would be to kiss his mouth, just as John was wondering now?
John suddenly sneered at his reflection.
‘Of course not you fucking bender.’ He flicked away the cigarette, turned on his heel, and resumed his aimless wandering.
He didn’t care where his feet led him. He lit another cigarette and realised he was facing George’s house. There was only one lighted window; it was late and everyone was probably sleeping. John silently walked toward the house, keeping to the shadows. He crept nearer to the window, angling himself so he could see into the bedroom without being seen himself by its occupants.
Presently the door opened to reveal George, apparently settling in for the night. He kicked off his shoes and began unbuttoning his shirt. John’s breath came in ragged spurts and completely forgot the fag he still held in his hand. His pulse quickened as George pulled off his shirt in one fluid movement, carelessly tossing it to the floor. John inched closer for a better view. He’d never before found the removal of a shirt to be so erotic; he was entranced. George drifted to the window, staring absently into the darkness. John lost himself in George’s gaze. Recognition came into George’s expression. He quickly opened the window.
‘John? Is that you?’ he called softly.
John held his breath. His heart pounded so loudly he feared George would hear. Thoughts flew rapidly through his head. What was he doing there, watching George undress? You’re one perverted bastard, you know that? You’re a fucking voyeur! he told himself silently, all the while hoping George would close the window and continue to undress.
‘Hey John! I’ll be right there!’ George left the room.
‘Fucking hell,’ mumbled John. He tried to escape down the street but George was too quick for him. He’d already come out of the house and was right behind him. George grinned, not bothering to hide his obvious delight in seeing his idol.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked, gooseflesh appearing on his exposed skin.
John brought the fag to his lips to remove his attention from George’s erect nipples, but it had already burnt completely. He realised this too late and threw it to the ground, not knowing how to explain that. He groped for words.
‘I, er, here’s the money for my drinks.’ He shoved his hand into his pocket, pulling out a few notes and offering them to George. John avoided looking at George and instead gazed past him distractedly.
‘Oh, don’t bother, we got it for you. It’s ok, really.’
John slowly stuffed the notes back into his pocket, his eyes wandering over George. George shivered. John wondered if it was from the chill or his appraising gaze. He turned to leave.
'Wait.' George gently place his hand on John's arm. John felt his warmth through the thin fabric and closed his eyes, relishing it.
'Yeah?' John's voice was low, saliva thick in his mouth. George moved closer, radiating heat.
'Are you alright? You didn't look too good earlier. . .' he trailed off.
'Course I am son.' He had started to walk away when George grasped his arm, pulling him back to face him. Thick dark lashes framed expressive eyes which gazed at him.
'You know I'd do anything for you John,' George said softly, his hand still on John's arm. He tilted his chin up, as if offering.
John broke away brusquely. 'No George, you wouldn't.'
He strode off down the street, leaving George speechless, not daring to glance behind him. He didn't want to see George's expression.
Links to Additional Stories: Archive
Suggestion for a 250 Word Fabble Prompt: Must use the lyric 'Leave, but don't leave me' (from 'Breathe' by Pink Floyd).
Please write a 250-1000 word story based on this prompt: your story must include the expression 'glowed in the moonlight' as well as the word 'forsaken.'
Title: Manila
Pairing: John/George
Words: 500
Notes/Warning: Language. Use of glowed in the moonlight and forsaken.
They remained suspended in silence, daring neither to disentangle their limbs nor to break the moment with superfluous words. It had been a sudden, rough passion. John had been almost violent in the way he had tossed George onto the bed, the way he had thrusted painfully into him. Equally, George was just as fierce, the result of which was a throbbing red welt on John's thigh. There had been no tender words, no slow teasing. It was fucking to expend frustration and stress. Fucking to feel more than just anger and fear.
George rested his chin on top of John's head, feeling their hearts beat in sync. John now let himself be caressed gently, hoping to absolve the nightmare of the past two days. The boat, the guns, the pampered first lady. He sighed, pulling away.
George opened his lips to speak, but John shook his head, wanting to imprint the soothing image in his memory. Though the windows were closed against the humid night, glass could not hinder beauty from entering. Their pale skin glowed in the moonlight; George's was nearly translucent. John laughed bitterly, his strained laughter shattering the peaceful silence.
“This fucking God-forsaken country makes me want to leave.” His voice grated harshly in George’s ears, vocal chords torn and exhausted from overuse.
He turned on his side, away from George, fixing his gaze on the sky beyond the window. Following John's stare, George licked his lips, understanding the depth of words.
“Leave.” Pausing hesitantly, he added, "But don't leave me.”
John did not respond, but merely continued to contemplate the starry night. A wave of nauseated panic passed through George’s stomach, constricting his limbs. As he lay feeling John’s body slowly relax into sleep, the atmosphere of the room became more oppressive. He was suddenly aware of how small and frail he was in this unwanted solitude. The image of being suffocated by the looming ceiling began to terrify him.
He slipped out of bed and went to the window, hoping to relieve the sick feeling. Pressing his forehead against the smooth glass, he watched the street below, his vision beveled from the tears that spilled over his eyelids. In his misery, he had not noticed John had left the bed until he was wrapped in an embrace. He turned to face John, not knowing whether to lean his head against John’s bare chest or to push him away. John pulled George tightly against him, as if he were hanging onto to life itself. Kissing his hair, John’s mouth tickled George’s ear. Although his words were nearly inaudible, George heard them clearly through need of assurance.
“I’d never leave you.”
As quickly as it had come, the nausea ebbed, chased away by John. George returned the kiss, weak with relief. Pulling away, he took John's hand and led him back to the bed, falling together.
This time they made love. Not for want of apathy or even happiness. This time it was a spiritual experience.
Name/Pen Name: Ryan/Irish Spectre
LJ Username: weeping_sitar
Age & Birthday: 18, 26 February
Location: New Jersey, USA
How did you get into Beatles Slash?: Whilst browsing lj communities beatlesslash popped up and I had to satisy my curiosity. Hoping to find some answer, I visited www.thatbritishboy.com and fell in love with John/George slash.
Tell us an interesting fact about yourself: I am a Classics nut; I have a particular affinity for classical Latin poets like Vergil and Catullus, as well as for Caledonian Picts.
Favourite Beatle: John
Favourite Beatle Era: Hamburg and 1966
Favourite Genre to Write: angst, personal realisation monologues, character analyses from first person point of view
Favourite Genre to Read: Most well written John/George pieces (particularly angst), but often any emotional and/or profound introspective writing of any pairing, and of course, smut
What Pairing is Your Submission Piece: John/George
What Warnings Are in Your Submission Piece? (rape, non-con, etc.): Language
What Rating is Your Submission Piece?: PG-13
Link or LJ-Cut Your Submission Piece (must be at least 1000 words and must be Beatles Slash and must not be the prompt suggested below):
Title: Wandering
Pairing: John/George
Words: 1,135
Notes/Warnings: Language.
John had taken to the streets, wandering absently. They’d played the Cavern earlier that evening and it’d been great- the audience had loved it so much they’d done two encores. For that, he should have been ecstatic, reveling in the successful turnout. But he wasn’t. The others had gone out for drinks, practically dragging him with them. He’d allowed himself to be pulled along, accepted whatever drinks they’d placed before him, and superficially enjoyed it for their sake. Underneath though, he’d watched it all as if he wasn’t a participant. Too many things he couldn’t understand plagued his thoughts.
During the show, he’d found himself gazing at George, unable to tear away his eyes from the boy. Each time he caught himself doing it, he wanted to kick himself. He’s only a little boy, he told himself, a fucking adorable little boy no different from any child. Each time he’d sing louder, to take his mind off it. Before the song was over though, he’d be glancing covertly at George, taking in his dark hair, his pensive countenance, the curve of his lips. . .His eyes would then slid down below the leather jacket to where the boy’s jeans pleasantly hugged his slim hips.
John had planned on taking in a few birds to forget about George, but whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the boy smile enigmatically, almost teasingly. What the fuck is wrong with me? he’d asked himself. I’m not some bloody queer and neither is George.
Again, while they were laughing over their drinks, John couldn’t resist from studying him. George’s eyes seemed to beckon him, call him closer, pull him in. He’d imagined what it would be like to wake up to those dark eyes gazing into his own, not realising George was watching him curiously.
‘Hey Paul, I think John’s had too much to drink,’ George had said, his eyes still on John.
John had jolted, quickly averting his eyes. He’d dragged them across the table, shocked by the number of empty glasses before him. He’d risen and squinted so everything blurred together. He’d felt Paul start to his feet next to him.
‘Whoa John, are you alright?’ Paul had asked, reaching out to steady him. John had shoved away Paul’s arm.
‘Course I am, leave off, will you?’ he’d replied peevishly. ‘I’m going home.’ He’d stalked out, leaving them to pay for his drinks.
Hours later, he roamed aimlessly down the streets, vaguely aware of the fag in his hand, taking a drag every now and then.
‘I’m not a queer,’ he said aloud to the empty street, mostly to reassure himself, however unsuccessful his attempt was.
He continued ambling, stopping to light another cigarette by the sallow light of a street lamp. From the corner of his eye he caught movement and spun around only to meet his reflection in a store-front window. He laughed nervously and took a drag to calm himself.
‘Hullo Mr Lennon,’ he said softly and peered at his face. His thin lips were pulled into a slight frown, his eyes sad. He wondered what George thought of him. Did he think of caressing John, just as John was thinking now? Did George wonder what it would be to kiss his mouth, just as John was wondering now?
John suddenly sneered at his reflection.
‘Of course not you fucking bender.’ He flicked away the cigarette, turned on his heel, and resumed his aimless wandering.
He didn’t care where his feet led him. He lit another cigarette and realised he was facing George’s house. There was only one lighted window; it was late and everyone was probably sleeping. John silently walked toward the house, keeping to the shadows. He crept nearer to the window, angling himself so he could see into the bedroom without being seen himself by its occupants.
Presently the door opened to reveal George, apparently settling in for the night. He kicked off his shoes and began unbuttoning his shirt. John’s breath came in ragged spurts and completely forgot the fag he still held in his hand. His pulse quickened as George pulled off his shirt in one fluid movement, carelessly tossing it to the floor. John inched closer for a better view. He’d never before found the removal of a shirt to be so erotic; he was entranced. George drifted to the window, staring absently into the darkness. John lost himself in George’s gaze. Recognition came into George’s expression. He quickly opened the window.
‘John? Is that you?’ he called softly.
John held his breath. His heart pounded so loudly he feared George would hear. Thoughts flew rapidly through his head. What was he doing there, watching George undress? You’re one perverted bastard, you know that? You’re a fucking voyeur! he told himself silently, all the while hoping George would close the window and continue to undress.
‘Hey John! I’ll be right there!’ George left the room.
‘Fucking hell,’ mumbled John. He tried to escape down the street but George was too quick for him. He’d already come out of the house and was right behind him. George grinned, not bothering to hide his obvious delight in seeing his idol.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked, gooseflesh appearing on his exposed skin.
John brought the fag to his lips to remove his attention from George’s erect nipples, but it had already burnt completely. He realised this too late and threw it to the ground, not knowing how to explain that. He groped for words.
‘I, er, here’s the money for my drinks.’ He shoved his hand into his pocket, pulling out a few notes and offering them to George. John avoided looking at George and instead gazed past him distractedly.
‘Oh, don’t bother, we got it for you. It’s ok, really.’
John slowly stuffed the notes back into his pocket, his eyes wandering over George. George shivered. John wondered if it was from the chill or his appraising gaze. He turned to leave.
'Wait.' George gently place his hand on John's arm. John felt his warmth through the thin fabric and closed his eyes, relishing it.
'Yeah?' John's voice was low, saliva thick in his mouth. George moved closer, radiating heat.
'Are you alright? You didn't look too good earlier. . .' he trailed off.
'Course I am son.' He had started to walk away when George grasped his arm, pulling him back to face him. Thick dark lashes framed expressive eyes which gazed at him.
'You know I'd do anything for you John,' George said softly, his hand still on John's arm. He tilted his chin up, as if offering.
John broke away brusquely. 'No George, you wouldn't.'
He strode off down the street, leaving George speechless, not daring to glance behind him. He didn't want to see George's expression.
Links to Additional Stories: Archive
Suggestion for a 250 Word Fabble Prompt: Must use the lyric 'Leave, but don't leave me' (from 'Breathe' by Pink Floyd).
Please write a 250-1000 word story based on this prompt: your story must include the expression 'glowed in the moonlight' as well as the word 'forsaken.'
Title: Manila
Pairing: John/George
Words: 500
Notes/Warning: Language. Use of glowed in the moonlight and forsaken.
They remained suspended in silence, daring neither to disentangle their limbs nor to break the moment with superfluous words. It had been a sudden, rough passion. John had been almost violent in the way he had tossed George onto the bed, the way he had thrusted painfully into him. Equally, George was just as fierce, the result of which was a throbbing red welt on John's thigh. There had been no tender words, no slow teasing. It was fucking to expend frustration and stress. Fucking to feel more than just anger and fear.
George rested his chin on top of John's head, feeling their hearts beat in sync. John now let himself be caressed gently, hoping to absolve the nightmare of the past two days. The boat, the guns, the pampered first lady. He sighed, pulling away.
George opened his lips to speak, but John shook his head, wanting to imprint the soothing image in his memory. Though the windows were closed against the humid night, glass could not hinder beauty from entering. Their pale skin glowed in the moonlight; George's was nearly translucent. John laughed bitterly, his strained laughter shattering the peaceful silence.
“This fucking God-forsaken country makes me want to leave.” His voice grated harshly in George’s ears, vocal chords torn and exhausted from overuse.
He turned on his side, away from George, fixing his gaze on the sky beyond the window. Following John's stare, George licked his lips, understanding the depth of words.
“Leave.” Pausing hesitantly, he added, "But don't leave me.”
John did not respond, but merely continued to contemplate the starry night. A wave of nauseated panic passed through George’s stomach, constricting his limbs. As he lay feeling John’s body slowly relax into sleep, the atmosphere of the room became more oppressive. He was suddenly aware of how small and frail he was in this unwanted solitude. The image of being suffocated by the looming ceiling began to terrify him.
He slipped out of bed and went to the window, hoping to relieve the sick feeling. Pressing his forehead against the smooth glass, he watched the street below, his vision beveled from the tears that spilled over his eyelids. In his misery, he had not noticed John had left the bed until he was wrapped in an embrace. He turned to face John, not knowing whether to lean his head against John’s bare chest or to push him away. John pulled George tightly against him, as if he were hanging onto to life itself. Kissing his hair, John’s mouth tickled George’s ear. Although his words were nearly inaudible, George heard them clearly through need of assurance.
“I’d never leave you.”
As quickly as it had come, the nausea ebbed, chased away by John. George returned the kiss, weak with relief. Pulling away, he took John's hand and led him back to the bed, falling together.
This time they made love. Not for want of apathy or even happiness. This time it was a spiritual experience.