She Loves You?
Title: She Loves You? PART 5
Author: macca44552
Pairing: J/P, G/OC, P/OC
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A naive fan, thinking that she is going to win the heart of Paul McCartney, walks into something quite odd...
A/N: There’s some stuff about religion in this one. It is just fiction. It doesn’t reflect my personal views. For the most part, everything is historically accurate. I plan to keep it that way, unless I find the need to make changes.
Disclaimer: Everything you heard is a lie: I don’t own The Beatles. Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Paul ran his tongue down the underside of John’s shaft as the latter released a breathy moan. The two songwriters were naked. They were sprawled across a large bed; the pink and blue sheets flowed around them like the tall grass of a plain on the windiest day.
Paul pulled away from John’s swollen erection and played with the delicate hairs surrounding it. He was fascinated with the way his lover’s curls almost grabbed onto his fingers. Extreme attraction at its finest.
John growled.
“Macca! Just get on with it!” he demanded.
Paul gave his mate a sexy grin.
“Only if you’re certain.” He punctuated his words by gripping John’s thighs with every once of strength he possessed.
“O-Oh y-you fucker!” John stammered.
Drops of clear liquid emerged from John’s erection and walked the length of the pinkish terrain. Paul licked his swollen lips. He just watched. Sometimes watching was better. John mewed desperately before lifting his strong, hairy leg and shoving it up at Paul’s own need. He moaned.
“Cheating,” Paul said breathlessly. His thighs clenched onto John’s leg and he swayed his body back and forth...
“S-Should’ve seen me on p-poker night,” John breathed as he stared at Paul’s motions. Paul’s muscles clenched around the guitarist’s leg and his pink tongue was licking his lips in concentration.
John sat up and grabbed Paul’s shoulders, making it so their chests touched. Skin on skin. Connection.
“John,” he whimpered as his penis started moving uncontrollably against the older man’s leg. John stilled his partner’s movements.
“What the-”
“Bloody hell, Paulie! You’ll be done before you give me a go! And, believe me, you’re lousy after you’ve been spent!”
They met in a loving yet brutal kiss. Their lips moved together in the rhythm of “If I Fell”, but with the intensity of “She Loves You”. The bassist entangled his hand in John’s hair and the latter traced small circles on Paul’s lower back.
“Are you ready for this?”
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
My body lunged forward. My breathing was rapid. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!!!??!!
I grabbed the cross around my neck and started rubbing it between my hands. I willed my mind to think of something, anything other than the terrible dream that I just experienced. After all, dreams disappear with the absence of thought. All I had to do was not think, simple.
NOT FUCKING REALLY!
Images flashed in my head of Paul licking John’s dick and the other one growling about some poker game as he shoved his leg into Paul’s cock and liquid was coming out of someone’s penis and someone was cheating and tongues met viciously and husky voices and teasing and grins and moans and teeth and hair being pulled and thighs being curled around naked bodies of naked men of naked Beatles!
My stomach flipped. Familiar waves danced through my body and met in the center. Wetness coated my thighs and my clit throbbed. A small sound left my mouth.
Oh fuck!
I brought my hand up to cover my mouth. There was no question about it; I was turned on.
Oh no no no no no no no!
I jumped out of my bed and threw on a mildly damp nightdress. My hair was a mess of long brown waves flowing down below my breasts. I looked down and noticed that my nipples were hard. Probably from the wet dress, not from the dream. It was John’s fault that my nipples were hard: he soaked all my clothes! It had nothing to do with the fact that he was naked with another man!
My center throbbed once more and I shuddered.
“I need some fucking air!”
I opened my door and walked out into the living room. I stopped. On the couch sat John Lennon, perfectly awake, and he was writing something in a small notebook. Perched upon his nose were the funniest black glasses that I had ever seen. I giggled.
He looked at me with a shocked expression. His face made me laugh even more and pretty soon I was doubled over on the floor.
“What’re you goin’ on about?!” he demanded.
“Your glasses!” I pointed at the awful things on his face and looked up at him through squinted eyes.
“Shut the fuck up ye lousy bitch!”
I laughed harder.
“Sod off!” he yelled.
“I’m sorry, you just look so funny when you act angry in your nerdy glasses!”
He turned crimson. Even though he looked hilarious, I stopped laughing. My clothes managed to go from wet to damp, I didn’t want their progress to take a turn for the worse. John cracked a smile.
“I suppose I look like Mal, eh? When hasn’t had his brekky and he goes on about ending world hunger?” he joked.
I let out a giggle. On the drive to our Canadian flight Mal was so upset that Eppy wouldn’t let him stop for breakfast, that he started babbling about a ridiculous plan to end world hunger by the force of some sort of Hobo Democracy.
I stared at John. Did he really just joke around with me? Am I losing my mind?
“Are you just going to stand there all night?”
I shook my head and sat down on the pink couch. My ass was engulfed into its softness and I was immediately reminded of my favorite yellow chair at the Warwick. I thought of Robby and his little desk along with my brother and his security badge. What was the last thing he said to me? Oh yeah: “have fun.” Feelings of sadness spread through my body. He doesn’t care whether or not I have fun. No one does.
“So why are ye awake at four in the morning?” he asked.
All thoughts of my brother vanished when I remembered why I left my room in a frenzied state. Oh, I had a dream about you and Paul fucking and it turned me on. I thought I was turning into a queer lover so I came out here to get a drink and clear my head.
“Had a bad dream.”
John nodded and continued writing in his notebook. He scribbled away dutifully in that little book and, when I looked up at his face, it looked as though his mind was in a completely different place.
“What are you writing?” I inquired.
“Ah, just things,” he responded without taking his eyes off the page.
I shrugged at his coy response as I played with an excess string hanging off my nightgown. I twirled it around my finger. He was fascinated with the way his lover’s curls almost grabbed onto his fingers.
Furious at my mind for thinking about that dream again, I ripped the string off my gown and flicked it across the room.
“Is queer sex better?” I blurted. My hand covered my mouth. Where the fuck did that come from?
John’s eyes left his book and he stared at me like I had just grown tentacles.
“What?!”
“I…I…I…” My face assumed a blushed state as I nervously folded and unfolded my hands. What is wrong with my mind tonight?
“Did you just ask me if queer sex is better?” he asked incredulously.
“Uh…no…. must’ve misheard,” I tried.
“I’m not fucking deaf ye git!” he said with laughter.
“Well, I think you are.”
“Well you’re a nutter!”
“Stop using your crazy English terms on me!”
“I’m just sitting here, luv.”
“Ha ha,” I said sarcastically.
He made a weird face at me and stuck out his tongue. I started giggling again. It was the fucking glasses!
“Has George given you some of his stash?” John questioned.
I plastered on a confused expression.
“Stash? Like moustache? George doesn’t have a moustache.”
John’s neck snapped back as he was overcome with laughter. It was a very obnoxious sound, and soon, I too was laughing. John Lennon and I laughing together? This night gets weirder by the second.
“No, I didn’t mean a moustache!”
“I know what you meant!” My friend Lenny was an avid pot smoker. I never really tried it myself.
After a while our laughter died away and we sat in silence. John closed his notebook and took off his glasses.
“Well, I’m off te bed,” he announced.
I nodded and watched him go. I didn’t know what happened between us, but I was glad that I made him forget about my…slip up. Why did I even bother with that question?! Of course queer sex isn’t better than normal sex! If it was, we would have a lot more queers skipping around!
I took a deep breath and glanced at the door to my room. I had to brave unconsciousness if I had any hopes of being a functioning human being tomorrow. Exhaling deeply, I dragged my feet to my room and dreamt, thankfully, about nothing at all…
Our next stop was Atlanta, Georgia. We boarded the flight at 8 a.m. John and Paul sat in front of me and they were being extremely annoying.
“Hey, Paulie, where’d you get that suit?” John asked in a creepy old man voice.
“Frum a designer called Millings. I can wear designer things now, you know.”
“Hey, Paulie, where’d you get your hair?”
“A cagey fellow I met in Liverpool! He told me he nipped a high-class buffalo to get this hair!”
“Wow! That must’ve been one ugly bird!”
“Probably a member of the Shirelles!”
They then proceeded to break out in the most annoying laughter imaginable. Paul’s was a high squeal and John’s was, at my best guess, an imitation of Santa Clause. Well, at least they were in perfect harmony.
“Hey! Shut yer gobs!” George yelled from across them. Thank you, George!
“Yeah! I like the Shirelles!” Ringo spoke indignantly.
“Hush up! We all do!” Paul replied while fixing his hair.
“Yeah, only joking.”
John turned towards Paul and started whispering something. It must’ve been pretty good because Paul turned towards his partner and questioned, “really” very loudly. John nodded excitedly and then got up from his seat. Paul turned to look at me briefly before letting his eyes follow his “lover.”
Suddenly, John re-emerged with an annoyed Eppy at his heels. Instead of stopping at Paul, which I assumed he would do, Lennon walked right by him and landed in front of me. I raised an eyebrow as Eppy turned towards him with an equally questioning expression.
“What’s this about?”
When John cleared his throat to cover up a chuckle, Paul started coughing to keep his own laughter at bay. I was getting really irritated.
“What!?” I demanded.
He composed himself before turning to his manager and saying, “Eppy, this young lady here is very curious as to if sex between fairies-queers-is more enjoyable than sex between a man and a woman. Might you want to fill her in?”
My mouth dropped. My eyes darted around in my head and I could see that some people were looking in my direction. Eppy seemed just as traumatized. His face was so red that I thought he was going to explode.
“Umm…” he stammered.
I looked at John with nothing less than hatred. I thought we moved past this last night! Apparently not, and now everyone on this plane is going to think that I’m a fucking queer lover!
He nudged Eppy.
“Come ‘ead! The bird’s curious.”
“No I’m not!” I gritted.
Eppy seemed to be going through emotional turmoil. His expression switched between anger, paranoia, sadness, and embarrassment almost every second. Paul noticed this as well. He stopped snickering and turned to John seriously.
“Cut it out John!”
The troublemaker let out a few more laughs before patting Eppy on the back and walking into the airplane’s bathroom. Furious, I unbuckled my seatbelt and went after him.
Body positioned in front of the toilet, John was just about to unzip his fly before I stormed into the claustrophobic room. The Beatle turned towards me with a mixture of shock and amusement.
“I’M IN THE SHOWER!”
I marched up to him with eyebrows furrowed, arms crossed, and teeth clenched. I was not playing around.
“Why the fuck did you do that!?”
He put on a McCartney pout face.
“I was just trying to sate your curiosity, luv.”
Grrr!
“I…you…we…I thought…you-”
“Yer gonna have to help me out, luv, I don’t speak American.”
I let out a frustrated sigh.
“After last night, I thought we were…alright,” I said quietly.
John snorted.
“I’m never gonna be alright with someone who’s disgusted by me!”
I was silent. John brushed a lock of hair out of his eye before leaning forward so we were face to face. His eyes held no humor. I gulped.
“I’m also never gonna be alright with someone who wants to take Paul away from me.”
I swallowed.
“How do you figur-”
“I’m not daft. I see the way ye look at him! Yer trying to ‘bring him back to the path of God’ or some other bullshit like that!” John stood up.
“Well that shouldn’t matter, right? If he’s really a queer you should have nothing to worry about!” I answered smartly. John squinted.
“So what is this then, a test? Yer gonna figure out if Paul’s a fairy by trying to see if he’ll shag you?!” He leaned back and let out a long chain of laughter. “Honey, you’ll be hard pressed to find a guy who wants to touch ya, let alone give you a go!”
I held a stern face, but that didn’t stop me from looking myself over in the mirror. Was I really that bad?
“Relax, luv, yer not ugly. Just foul is all!”
Even though I was secretly glad that he didn’t think I was ugly, I still managed to give him a dirty look. He rolled his eyes.
“If yer done staring can you leave me to piss? I think we established that yer not getting a fucking truce flag!”
I walked out. John Lennon is a great manipulator. He hid himself behind his glasses last night so I wouldn’t see the evil in his eyes. He wanted me to loosen up for him, that way it would hurt even worse when he pulled another one of his little pranks on me.
Or maybe he really is a nice guy who just begs to be understood. The only problem is,
I don’t, nor will I ever, understand queers.
To be continued….