Thank you, Mr. Dylan
Title: Thank you, Mr. Dylan or Let it Be… I’m kind of crap at coming up with titles
Author: Mwah.
Pairing: J/P… + J/other (BUT I WON’T TELL YOU WHOOO… but it’s not Bob Dylan, I swear. Hmm… that idea does set plot bunnies a-hopping through my brain though)
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: Number One: I am not associated with these men in any way, shape, or form. I have never met any of them, I am not psychic or omnipotent, and I do not claim to know what happened because of contacting the dead via séances or something. Number Two: I am poor. Unless you’re interested in a sex slave (coughPAULcough) I fear I have nothing to offer. Number Three: this is alllll fictional.
Warnings: Drug use and Perhaps less action than people would wish for
A/N: And I’m back! Finally. I've decided to post this before I re-dive into the world of college. This story actually came completely out of nowhere, seeing as it has nothing to do with the other three fics that have been murdering me ever since I started them. And this turned out surprisingly… shmoopy, contrary to pretty much anything else I write. So yeah, enjoy the happiness… it won’t be common coming from me, I assure you. Also, I wrote this very fast (3 days in fact) so if it sucks… I blame it on its haphazard finishing. Oooh, right, and this is loosely (very, very loosely) based on my own first experience with sweet Mary Jane. Only mine was much more boring and I was the only one who thought touching crap was amazing.
Length: 5,623 words or so… something like that
Feedback: always welcome with open arms and loads of metaphorical cookies.
Summary: Bob Dylan will never know what an impact he had on the Fab Four…
John paused and Paul could almost feel his eyes watching him. Calculating him. It was unnerving and sent the butterflies into their insane dance in his stomach again and Paul cursed the very hour he met Bob Dylan who was so hell-bent on getting them high.
THANK YOU, MR. DYLAN
“Hey, man, you guys, you guys are great, man… I really like your sound. Really. It’s awesome. Really… really Rock and Roll, man. Rock and rolling. Wanna come back to our hotel for a while? It’ll be… it’ll be awesome, man.”
It had seemed like a good idea, at the time. But like most good ideas, in practice it didn’t really pan out as planned. Especially now that his head was somewhere near a toilet and his stomach was somewhere near his eyeballs and his dinner was somewhere in the New York sewer system and John was somewhere near his shoulder.
“Ugh,” Paul gurgled.
John giggled, shaking his head. “You puked,” he murmured in awe. “Things came out of you. You vomited and I watched.”
“Ugh,” again was all Paul could say.
“You never puke,” John said, his voice still hushed.
“Well, I’ve never smoked pot before, have I?” Paul croaked, feeling irritated, light-headed, and a little more than a bit foolish.
“Knew you shouldn’t have followed it with beer right off, son,” John quipped, sighing happily.
“Shut up,” Paul grumbled. “How the hell was I supposed to know? And how are you so bloody fine?”
John grinned at him lopsidedly and shrugged. “Dunno. Guess I’m just made of tougher stuff.”
Paul groaned. “I would punch you but I fear the movement will make me vomit again.”
“Cheers, your kindness is much appreciated.”
“I try.”
They sat in silence for a moment; people banged about outside the bathroom door and Paul’s watch ticked loudly near his ear. It went perfectly in time with his own heart beat which he could suddenly feel reverberating throughout his entire body. It felt oddly… good? So did the tile pressing against him. He sighed and slid his hands against the cool surface. It almost felt like water. Smooth, cool, water…
John smiled on him in amusement. “Having fun?”
“Wot?”
“You’re fucking caressing the floor.”
“Oh…” Paul trailed off and reopened his eyes to stare at his hands. “Uh, well, it feels good. In an odd way. Like… like me hands are real sensitive or something.”
“Hmm, think Dylan said that could happen. That and hallucinations. You hallucinating?”
“Humph, no. You?”
“Naw. Just… I feel… silly.”
Paul cocked his head so he was looking up at John. “Silly?”
“Yeah, just like… like I want to laugh. At everything. You look ridiculous, you know,” John finished, snorting and placing his hands over his mouth.
Paul sighed. “I don’t feel silly. I feel sick.”
John’s hands dropped and his face suddenly changed to looking honest-to-God concerned. “Really? Can I help?”
Paul smiled, feeling oddly touched by John’s mood swing on account of him. “No, I think it’ll work itself out fine.” He shifted into a sitting position and plunked his head against the cabinet behind him. This, of course, elicited a groan and curse from the younger man.
John was then on his feet, unsteady but confidently reaching for the sink… putting his crotch right in Paul’s face.
“Er, John?” Paul’s muffled voice called. “Not that I’m complaining, but I don’t…”
“Oh! Ah, sorry,” John said, shuffling clumsily out of the way. He giggled again as he steadied himself on the ledge once more, fiddling with the faucet as he did so. “Just, uh, here.” He then handed Paul a cup of water. “It’ll make you feel better.”
Paul murmured his thanks as John settled himself on the floor once again, looking thankful for how much steadier it was than his own legs.
“So things feel good?”
“Wot?” Paul was startled from contemplating how cool and amazing the water felt sliding down his throat to pool in his stomach.
“You said things feel good.”
“Oh, right, yeah. Don’t they to you?”
John furrowed his brow as if he had just been presented with a very difficult math problem. “Eh… dunno. I guess?”
“You’d know for sure if it did.”
“Maybe we didn’t do it right.”
Paul suddenly giggled, nearly spurting water everywhere. “How? By forgetting to breathe in?”
John giggled too, shrugging goofily. “Dunno, just can’t see why anyone would care all that much about it. I mean, if it just makes you silly and all. And want to touch everything.”
Paul cocked his head again. He had slid almost the whole way down the cabinet with only his head and shoulders propped up by it still. “Don’t you want to touch everything?”
John suddenly erupted into laughter. “Christ, that sounds like horrible innuendo,” he choked out by ways of explanation. Paul giggled too and suddenly both were clutching their sides, completely having forgotten what they were laughing about in the first place.
“Feeling silly now?” John asked, wiping his eyes.
“Yeah, and not nearly as vomit…tous.” He let out a small hiccup of a giggle. “Thanks for the water.”
“Not a problem, son.”
They sat in comfortable silence until Paul suddenly looked up.
“We should do this more often.”
John raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”
“This.”
“What, have you throw up and me give you water? That can be arranged, you know…”
“No, just, you know, hang out, the two of us.”
John furrowed his brow again. “But… we do that a lot, don’t we?”
“Yeah, but…” Paul searched for the words. “But… it’s always the four of us and yeah, we can go off on our own but…” He sighed, feeling annoyed at his muddied thinking. “We never get to just be the two of us, you know?”
John contemplated him for a moment before finally nodding. “Yeah, I see what you’re saying. So what’s to be done about it?”
“This!” Paul said enthusiastically spreading his hands out.
John looked confused again. “…This?”
“Yeah, go off in like… bathrooms… and such…” Paul’s voice dropped off as he heard his own words.
“Don’t you think that would seem maybe a bit off to the others?” John’s mouth twitched into a small smile.
“Well, of course it would be weird to others but not… would it be weird for us, though?”
John pursed his lips in thought. “No. No it wouldn’t.”
Paul paused. “Is that weird that it wouldn’t?”
John shrugged, a cloud passing over his face. “Dunno and don’t rightly care. Do you Macca?”
Paul’s face broke out into a smile. “No,” he said confidently. “Neither do I.”
It was odd… were they talking about spending time together or something bigger? What was the bigger thing though? Paul was almost sure that the Bigger Thing was the thing being discussed even if he didn’t know what said Bigger Thing was… but such deep thoughts were a bit too much for his clouded mind at the moment so he decided to let his answer stand because, Goddamnit, it was true and he was going to be honest.
“You’re a good friend John,” he suddenly murmured, though he didn’t look up as he said it. “Seriously, just… yeah. A right good mate.”
When he finally looked up he found John beaming back at him. “Thanks,” he said softly, looking touched.
“And, uh, thanks for not acting put out by me being so, you know, right queer right now or whatever…”
John chuckled. “Ah, well, we can just chalk it down to the pot or something. Not that I can really judge…”
When John didn’t continue, Paul looked up curiously. “What?”
“Well, you know, after the whole, uh, Spain… thing.”
Holy hell. Was John really treading into that territory? Into the land of That Which They Did Not Speak Of?
Paul didn’t know what to say. “Uh, well… uh…”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up…” John grumbled, fidgeting uncomfortably.
“Uh…” God, couldn’t he say anything else? “Well, we’ve just never really… we’ve never really talked about it before, have we?”
“No, we haven’t.”
Paul paused and watched John fidget again. “Is there anything to er… That is to say, is there anything to talk about? With it?”
John shrugged, trying to look nonchalant and failing miserably. “Well, not really, I guess. I mean, we’ve just never spoken of it. Never.” He met Paul’s eyes shyly and then quickly looked away. “Why is that… do you think?”
Paul thought he knew why. “Because it was weird, confusing, annoying and for some odd reason I felt like you were betraying me? Because you chose to never speak of it? Because you treated it like it was nothing so I chose to act the same way?” That’s what he wanted to say… but he didn’t really know how to say it.
“Well, er,” he said instead. Yes, always the coherent one. “Well, I mean, it never really came up?” He didn’t mean it to pose it as a question, but there it was.
“No,” John conceded after a moment. “No, it didn’t.” There was another uncomfortable lull in which both men avoided each other’s eyes and played with whatever was closest to them; the towel on the floor for John and the paper cup for Paul. “Well,” John finally said, sighing. “Don’t you want to know what happened?”
Paul squirmed on the floor, butterflies knocking haphazardly into each other in his stomach. Given its precarious condition already, it didn’t feel too good. He attempted a shrug. “Uh, well, I mean, is there anything to tell?”
John’s eyes slid away from him again. “Dunno.”
“Well…” Paul struggled to sit up and just fucking spit out the words already. “Well… it was just a business… type… thing, right? I mean…” Paul’s mind tried to formulate the words. Brian was in love with you. You played with Brian. Brian bought into it. Then you two flitted off to Spain together and came back and never spoke of it. “Yeah…”
John smiled slightly to himself. “I guess…”
“Okay,” Paul said more confidently as he got into an upright position. “Okay. Brian, he like… was… you know, with you, and you were all… whatever, so it was a bit odd for me, yeah? So uh, I don’t… I really don’t know what to say. Or ask.”
John suddenly smiled outright. “And who says you ramble incoherently?”
Paul frowned. “Shut up, I’m trying to be serious.”
John smile faltered a bit. “I know…” he murmured, looking away. “And I get it. Well… I didn’t think you would mind all that much. I dunno… you know how I get. With trying to… to…”
“Shock people senseless?”
John’s face broke into a grin again. “A bit, yeah.”
“Well, Mimi was incensed by the whole thing, let me tell you what.”
John giggled. “You didn’t seem too happy either. You actually asked me if I knew that Brian was bent.” He giggled again, wiping the tears from his eyes. “You asked me. Even after he took us to that club that was all blokes and everything and you were all confused as to why there weren’t any birds, you still asked me if I knew that he was bent.” His giggles erupted into unsuppressed laughter and he curled up on the towel.
Paul huffed indignantly. “Well, sorry if I’m not as down with the whole… poof scene or whatever.” John cackled anew. “Fine then, smartass, did anything happen? Between you and Brian?” He didn’t mean to sound so accusatory but, again, there it was, out on the table.
John halted mid-laugh and stared at Paul. “Happen?” he asked, sounding a bit terrified as to what such a word could entail.
“Yeah, did anything happen? I mean, you two go off on your ‘queer holiday’ or whatever and I just… I don’t know what to think!” He threw his hands into the air feeling annoyed and strangely enough like he wanted to cry.
“Well…” John trailed off, looking at his hands.
“Well what?” Paul demanded.
“You can stop sounding like a jealous girlfriend anytime, Paul,” John shot at him as irritation won him over.
“I’m not being jealous, it’s just… don’t friends tell each other things? I mean we…” he gestured with his hand between the two of them, “we don’t talk about shit a lot of times and, argh, I don’t know.” He gave up and flopped over on his side to examine the linoleum again.
John paused and Paul could almost feel his eyes watching him. Calculating him. It was unnerving and sent the butterflies into their insane dance in his stomach again and Paul cursed the very hour he met Bob Dylan who was so hell-bent on getting them high.
“He kissed me,” John finally murmured.
Paul jerked onto his side so he could see John’s face and promptly smacked his head against the tiling in his spasm. “Owfuck,” he hissed grabbing his skull.
“Are you okay?” John asked apprehensively moving forward and hesitantly touching Paul’s arm.
“What?” Paul said.
“Uh, are you okay?” John asked again, this time more slowly and looking a bit worried that the knock on his head might have loosened something.
“No, no, I’m fine, I meant what about the other thing,” Paul muttered hastily, not meeting John’s eyes.
John sat back a bit and gnawed on his bottom lip. Paul wondered for a moment if John was going to go back on it and (God willing) make a joke out of the whole insane affair, but then John was opening his mouth and saying, “Brian. Eh… Brian kissed me. In Spain.”
“Where?”
John shot him an odd look. “Spain.”
Paul could only shake his head and repeat, “Where?”
John got the point. “Well, on the, er, the mouth o’course. I mean… where else…” he trailed off and looked away from Paul.
Paul was still at a loss. “He… Brian kissed you?” John nodded mutely. “Brian?” John shot him a look. “But… what did you do?”
John shrugged nervously. “I, uh… I let him. I guess.”
“But…”
“But what, Paul?” John demanded, looking intensely defensive.
“But…” Again, words and coherency were not his friends. “But… Brian… He’s not your type! At all!”
John’s mouth dropped open as he stared at Paul in awe. “Wait… what? That’s your gripe? I kiss a bloke and you’re put out because he isn’t my type?” He started cackling maniacally, throwing back his head and gripping to the wall for support. “Oh, oh God…”
Paul started chucking as well. “Well, it’s fucking true!” he shouted in his own defense.
“No, no, you’re right,” John chuckled, wiping his eyes. “He’s not, at all.”
“So why…?”
“Well, I mean, it’s not that big a deal and I mean… I kinda wanted to… to…”
“See how it was?”
John shrugged again. “I guess.”
“And it’s not a big deal? Why the fuck did you never tell me then?”
John gave him The Look again and said, “Well, I figured you would think I was round the bend or worse, bent meself.”
Paul tried to slouch nonchalantly. “Well, I mean…” he paused and tried to decide how he felt. “I mean… I’m weirdly okay with it. Is that odd?”
John looked a bit consternated. “I don’t know.”
Paul paused again and chewed his thumbnail, thinking… or at least trying to think. “So…” he said finally. “That was… that was it? He just kissed you and… that’s it?” Paul felt an odd sinking in his stomach join the butterflies and overall sickness dwelling there. He never wanted to just stop at kissing. And if two blokes were kissing and no bird was there to bring everyone to their senses and stop the kissing… Of course, Brian was incredibly sensible. Of course he was. So he stopped it. Only… he was bloody well in love with John. Oh God. Oh dear, dear God.
John wasn’t looking at him. Oh shit. “John?” Paul asked gently.
“Look, does it really matter?”
“You’re the one who brought the whole thing up!” Paul nearly shouted.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think we were going to end up talking about… well…”
“God, John, just fucking tell me already or else my mind’s going to go all kinds of places and no amount of peroxide applied directly to my brain will ever wash the images away and-"
“OKAY, he jerked me off!” John hissed, silencing the other man.
Paul stared at him, most likely pulling off a very impressive impression of an incredibly dense fish. “He… you… you let him…” He gulped. “Whoa.”
“Paul…”
“Uh… whoa. That’s… whoa.”
“Paul, please don’t freak out…”
“No, I’m… just… uh… whoa.”
John looked rather green. “Can you please say something else?”
Paul swallowed hard again and nodded absently. “Uh, right. Wow?”
John smiled helplessly for a moment before looking sick again. “It didn’t mean anything. He was just… persuasive.”
Paul finally closed his gaping mouth. “I… well, I am… I’m a bit at a loss, to be honest.”
John smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, well, I’m glad you’re not just slugging me in me face.”
Paul shook his head in awe and rubbed his hands over his face. “No, no, I wouldn’t do that, no. I’m just…”
“… At a loss,” John finished for him.
Paul nodded weakly. “I mean, was it… how was it?”
John looked up with a start and barked out a laugh in surprise. “Are you serious?”
Paul felt his face flush and he looked down at his bare feet that were cramped against the wall opposite of him. “Well, I mean, I was just wondering. Since you did the fucking research and all.”
John grinned at him before shifting a bit uneasily. “Well, er, it didn’t feel all that different, to be honest. A bit… uh… rougher, I suppose.”
“Brian? Rough?” Paul giggled before clasping his hand to his mouth. “Sorry, go on.”
“Yeah well the handjob…” John trailed off uncomfortably. “That was the same. Except for the, er, the bigger hands. And Brian has stubble.”
“That…” Paul cocked his head in search of what he wanted to say. “That… sounds like an incredibly bizarre experience.”
John murmured some sort of reply but kept staring past his feet at nothing. “Well,” he continued a bit more coherently, “I mean, it wasn’t all that weird. Which made it weirder.”
“Did you, uh… return the favour?”
John’s expression changed from sheepish to horrified. “Oh, Christ no. I couldn’t… no.”
“Well, I hardly see how that’s all that much different,” Paul explained in his defense.
“It’s loads different!” John exclaimed. “With him doing it… well, you know, to me, I could pretend it was a bird. If I fucking tossed him off, there’d be no pretending there, make no mistake.”
Paul nodded his head slightly, though he still felt that it wasn’t all that different. “So… it wasn’t horrible?”
John shook his head. “No. I was surprised.”
“That’s… that’s mind-blowing is what it is. You, you have… you have blown my mind, mate. Fucking blown it to smithereens. If I weren’t high I would probably be pacing about and sputtering something but as it is I’m just… mind-blown. That’s what.”
John smiled a bit at him and tried to shrug again. “Like I said, it’s not… that big of a deal.”
Paul chuckled. “To you maybe, but for me…”
“What, you’d never let a guy get you off?” John asked curiously, though he wagged his eyebrows suggestively.
Paul blanched. “Fuck no!” He then paused and furrowed his brow. “Well, I don’t think so, anyway. I mean, I’ve never really thought about it. I’ve always been rather content with the, uh, female half of the species.”
“But blokes know loads of other shit to do!” John suddenly exclaimed. He quieted at Paul’s raised eyebrow. “Not that I’m really interested, o’course, but I mean… it bears thinking about I suppose.”
“Well… I just… I just never have,” Paul sighed, crossing his arms.
John looked away. “Don’t mean you can’t ever, though.”
Paul’s tongue was suddenly about four times bigger than normal and his mouth was about as dry as the Sahara. The butterflies were back as well, swarming around and knocking into each other and basically being disorderly. The sickness had all but gone away but it had been replaced by an odd gnawing… deep in the very pit of him that he hadn’t really realized was there. He didn’t know what it was all about… but he had an idea. And that idea led to a realization that suddenly turned all the damned butterflies into lead; sending them dropping like stones to fill the pit and making him feel very ill indeed.
“Uh…” was all he could say.
John rubbed his bloodshot eyes with the backs of both of his hands, looking for all the world like a giant cat. “Just forget I said anything…” he murmured finally, staring at his own feet.
They were high. That’s why all of this seemed so… heavy. It’s because they were high. John’s dejected look meant nothing and the butterflies meant nearly as little and the gnawing that was growing inside of him meant even less. Paul was sure of it. So sure, in fact, that he could almost convince himself that it was true.
Paul was a reasonable man… that’s why this whole marijuana business was such an incredibly stupid idea. Sure, he had thought he was safe; with the stuffing of the towels beneath the door and the making sure that they were secure… but he hadn’t bargained on it taking away his reasonableness. So if he did something stupid now, it would be very stupid indeed and would probably progress to even stupider things and who the hell knew how to stop that much stupidity?
So, in order to stop thinking about that, he asked John, “So, things still don’t feel good?”
John gave him a (much deserved) confused look. “What?”
“Like, with the touching and such… it doesn’t feel good?”
“Er…” John looked at him like he was a few cards short of a full deck. “Well… this towel feels odd against me skin…” He held it up and looked at it like it was some sort of novel creation. “Like… scratchy and odd and more… er… pronounced than usual…”
“Exactly!” Paul exclaimed. “That’s what I was saying before.” He scrambled excitedly near John. “See, here, touch the floor, it feels… it feels different. And cool. Like water! It’s like… really still water.”
John looked at him oddly. “Like ice?”
“No, no, not cold just… cool… and hard.”
John nodded and rubbed his hands across the floor, a small smile spreading on his face as his eyes slipped closed. “No, yeah… I can see it… or feel it rather… it’s like if water was solid but NOT ice…”
Paul rocked back and forth excitedly; warmth spreading through his chest because John knew exactly what he was thinking. “Yeah! And, uh, see, the wall… with the white… it’s like… it’s like an egg…”
John opened his eyes and sat back to run his fingertips over the whitewashed wall. “It’s like… it’s like I’m a bird… I’m a fucking baby bird inside an egg… holy shit, Macca, I’m a bloody bird!”
Paul giggled madly. “No, yeah, it feels… it feels amazing, don’t it?” John nodded enthusiastically. “It’s like… I want to touch everything. Well, everything that feels good anyways, know what I mean?” John eyes opened and he nodded so solemnly that, yes, he knew exactly what he meant. Suddenly a new urge came on Paul. “Can I… can I touch your hair?”
Paul immediately wished he hadn’t asked but John smiled slightly and said, “Yeah, okay…”
Paul reached up tentatively and ran a hand through John’s hair, his mouth falling open in wonder. He had never really noticed before but John’s hair… it was soft. In a lot of places, anyways. Some places it was sort of coarse and thick but at the back of his neck it was soft like a baby rabbit’s. Paul got the notion that he’d like the rub his cheek against it… but he wasn’t that high.
John murmured something. “What?” Paul asked, now scritching John’s scalp a little.
“That feels amazing,” John mumbled louder, his eyes half-lidded.
Paul grinned. “I… I can feel your skull. Your skull’s right there. And look,” he moved his hand back to the tuft of hair at the base of his skull, “I can feel your spine… bones… they’re amazing, aren’t they?”
John nodded his head slightly in the affirmative but didn’t reopen his eyes all the way or say anything. John had bones. Paul wasn't sure why such a thing had never occurred to him before. They felt sort of like a bird’s… or like when he used to pet puppies’ heads and feel his fingers up and down their spines, touching each vertebra in succession, like spindles all lined up in a row.
He then shifted his fingers and played with John’s ear. Ear’s are amazing, Paul realized. Amazing. He could see the light slightly through the translucent cartilage and grinned all the more. Slowly he slid his hand down and touched John’s face with his calloused fingertips.
John reopened his eyes, looking slightly put out. His eyes were heavy-lidded and bloodshot and out of focus… he had evidently lost his glasses at some point during the night. Could he even really see Paul? But Paul felt a twinge of affection at the look of near-sighted confusion John had on his face. “Why did you stop doing that?”
“Doing what?” Paul asked, not noticing that his hand was still on John’s face.
“Rubbing me head,” John said, furrowing his brow.
“Oh, well… I got distracted,” Paul admitted. “Your nose… it’s magnificent is what it is.”
John snorted, drawing even more attention to his splendid nose. “’Magnificent’?” He looked skeptical. “Can’t say I’ve ever been privy to that compliment before.”
“Just… it’s so…” Paul searched for the right word. “Distinct.”
John grinned. “That’s very diplomatic.”
Paul was crestfallen. “What, you don’t like it?”
John shrugged. Paul’s hand had fallen from his cheek to resting, curled rather like a gangly bird, against John’s collarbone on his shoulder. “Never really thought on it, I guess.”
“Well,” Paul stated emphatically. “You should know that it’s… well… very you.”
John giggled. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind. Now rub me head again.”
Paul complied, though after a moment he let his hand drop onto John’s arm. It was less hairy than Paul’s own and he ran his hand down it to John’s hand which was resting listlessly in his lap.
Paul lifted the hand and pressed their fingertips together. “I can feel you, John…” he murmured in pure rapture. “Don’t you feel that?”
John stared at their hands too. “It’s like…”
“Energy…”
“Electricity…”
Paul felt the thrill go through him at their creepy psychic connection again. He stopped gazing at their connected energy for a moment to find John staring at him. “What?”
“You’re very pretty, you know that?” his voice was soft and he looked as if such an idea was very curious indeed and had never really occurred to him before.
Paul groaned, ignoring the satanic butterflies once more. “I hate it when people tell me that.”
“Oh, shut your gob, you know you love it.”
Paul shook his head. “I mean, when they say handsome, yeah, but I’m not a fucking bird.”
“No, I know,” John said earnestly. Their hands were still pressed together. “It’s just… it’s not like a bird… you’re just… pretty.”
Paul sighed. “Well, I guess as long as I’m not a woman…”
“You’re not.” John sounded so confident that Paul smiled. “Just… you’re not. You shouldn’t worry about that.” He suddenly sighed and looked down at where their hands were held together. “I’m not pretty.”
Paul smiled in amusement. “What?”
John sighed again, looking depressed. “I am not pretty.”
Paul cocked his head in order to look into John’s face and tried not to laugh at the ridiculous nature of such a statement. “No… not really… but you’re… you’re…”
“What?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.
Paul sighed, feeling incredibly silly again and smiled fondly at his friend. “You’re you.”
John blinked and then a slow, warm grin graced his face. “I guess I could do worse.”
“Much, much worse,” Paul agreed, matching John’s grin. “Besides, we can’t have two ‘cute ones’ in the group after all,” Paul added darkly.
John chortled. “I never realized it bothered you that much.”
Paul shrugged. He suddenly noticed that throughout their conversation, they’d gone from merely pressing their one pair of hands together to having both hands held together to having their legs tangled on the floor as they sat across from each other. “Meh,” he shrugged again. “I don’t really think on it that much…”
“Ah,” John murmured, nodding sagely. “Still waters run deep, as the saying goes.”
Paul raised an eyebrow. “So I’m still waters now? Thaaaanks…”
John giggled. “No, just… no…” He then leaned forward the rest of the way and pressed his forehead against Paul’s collarbone. His hair tickled the younger man’s face. It felt oddly familiar and Paul reasoned that he was used to being close to John… they had shared beds many a time before amongst other instances of being forced into cramped quarters with each other. Except… they had never really been face-to-face in those circumstances so he figured this was a bit different.
John shifted and laid his ear against Paul’s chest. “I can hear your heartbeat…” he whispered.
Paul giggled. “Everything sound okay?”
“Mm hmm,” John hummed, turning his head so the air exiting his nose tickled across Paul’s neck.
Paul giggled again. “Going to sleep?”
John shook his head childishly, shifting upwards so his head was resting on Paul’s shoulder and brushing his hair under Paul’s nose. Paul snorted slightly and giggled anew. “You’re warm,” John stated thickly.
“Well, you are draped across me,” Paul mumbled, chuckling. John shifted his head again so that now his rather cold nose was pressed against Paul’s neck. “John?” Paul murmured.
“Huh?”
“… my leg’s asleep.”
John sighed and shifted. “Stretch ‘em out then,” he grumbled.
Paul laughed, let out a long-suffering sigh and moved slightly so that his leg was stretched out at a less awkward angle. He winced as pins and needles ran up and down his leg and he rubbed it futilely to get the blood flowing again. John was now rested comfortably between his legs, the other man’s chest rising and falling against his own and with the door handle to the cabinet digging into Paul’s back.
“Oy, wanker, you falling asleep?” Paul asked again, shifting his shoulders to rock John.
“ Ngh,” was John’s answer.
“I’m afraid this isn’t too comfortable for me…”
John lifted his head and, with a start, Paul found himself extremely close to John’s face. “Do you ever shut up?” John asked quietly, wickedness dancing in his stoned eyes which were incredibly close to Paul’s own and with his breath tickling Paul’s cheek.
Paul was hard-pressed to remember ever being this close to John’s face before. He could see the exact color of his eyes (deep brown with flecks of green in them… Paul had never noticed that before), the place where John had evidently missed shaving that morning, the slight circles under his eyes from having too much to do in too little time, a small blemish on his nose, and the exact way his fringe of hair brushed into his heavy-lidded eyes. It was a little scary to see someone, a friend no less… your best mate this close and, well, exposed. John then let that smile like the sun grace his face and Paul couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be at that moment; doorknobs and sick stomachs and numb legs be damned.
So Paul took (what he felt to be as) the next natural step and brought his head forward just a half inch and pressed his lips against John’s. Neither breathed for what felt like forever and Paul could feel John everywhere; completely against him and in his head and in his songs and in the very core of who he was. Needless to say, it was pretty damn terrifying but the high helped him do away with the misgivings and just feel it.
John let go first. “Uh…” he said, staring into Paul’s eyes and suddenly turning bright red. “Uh…”
Paul felt his face crack into a warm smile. “Trying to be me now, are you?”
John looked down and seemed to realize for the first time what an intimate position they were in. “Er…” he muttered, starting to sit up.
“John,” Paul said, stopping him with his hands on the other man’s shoulders. “Just… don’t. It’s fine. Really. Let’s just… it’s fine.”
John blushed again, glancing up at him from under his eyelashes. He really looked rather coy though Paul highly doubted that was the intent. “I thought…” John started before looking down again. “I thought you said you’d never let a guy get you off?”
Paul grinned suddenly. “Who the hell said anything about getting off?” John smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “Besides, I meant… I meant, you know, ‘men’… but you’re… as I said, you’re you.” A goofy smile replaced the sheepish one and John leaned against him again. “Let’s just let it be, John,” Paul murmured.
John nodded, tucking his head into the crook of Paul’s neck again. Feeling an odd surge of protectiveness, Paul put his arms around him and stuck his face into his friend’s hair, playing with the tuft at the back of John’s neck again. Paul couldn’t really decide if he was disappointed or relieved that there had only been the one kiss and it was apparently going to end there, but as John sighed and his breathing became more even it all just seemed… okay. Amazing, even.
So, sure, it was an odd way to behave… sure, it was probably incredibly stupid and Paul’s reasonableness would kick his ass for being such an idiot tomorrow… and sure, it all meant more than they’d ever say. And maybe they’d never say anything about any of it. But for right then… it was perfect.
PS. I have reached a new low, ladies... and gentlemen? Maybe? Anyways, I watched a whole movie on TV today starring Aidan Quinn just because he was in Two of Us which was about Paul and John, in spite of not understanding what the hell was going on and having it be boring/depressing. I thought about how I needed a support group or something... and then I realized that's what I had johnheartpaul for :-D.
Author: Mwah.
Pairing: J/P… + J/other (BUT I WON’T TELL YOU WHOOO… but it’s not Bob Dylan, I swear. Hmm… that idea does set plot bunnies a-hopping through my brain though)
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: Number One: I am not associated with these men in any way, shape, or form. I have never met any of them, I am not psychic or omnipotent, and I do not claim to know what happened because of contacting the dead via séances or something. Number Two: I am poor. Unless you’re interested in a sex slave (coughPAULcough) I fear I have nothing to offer. Number Three: this is alllll fictional.
Warnings: Drug use and Perhaps less action than people would wish for
A/N: And I’m back! Finally. I've decided to post this before I re-dive into the world of college. This story actually came completely out of nowhere, seeing as it has nothing to do with the other three fics that have been murdering me ever since I started them. And this turned out surprisingly… shmoopy, contrary to pretty much anything else I write. So yeah, enjoy the happiness… it won’t be common coming from me, I assure you. Also, I wrote this very fast (3 days in fact) so if it sucks… I blame it on its haphazard finishing. Oooh, right, and this is loosely (very, very loosely) based on my own first experience with sweet Mary Jane. Only mine was much more boring and I was the only one who thought touching crap was amazing.
Length: 5,623 words or so… something like that
Feedback: always welcome with open arms and loads of metaphorical cookies.
Summary: Bob Dylan will never know what an impact he had on the Fab Four…
John paused and Paul could almost feel his eyes watching him. Calculating him. It was unnerving and sent the butterflies into their insane dance in his stomach again and Paul cursed the very hour he met Bob Dylan who was so hell-bent on getting them high.
THANK YOU, MR. DYLAN
“Hey, man, you guys, you guys are great, man… I really like your sound. Really. It’s awesome. Really… really Rock and Roll, man. Rock and rolling. Wanna come back to our hotel for a while? It’ll be… it’ll be awesome, man.”
It had seemed like a good idea, at the time. But like most good ideas, in practice it didn’t really pan out as planned. Especially now that his head was somewhere near a toilet and his stomach was somewhere near his eyeballs and his dinner was somewhere in the New York sewer system and John was somewhere near his shoulder.
“Ugh,” Paul gurgled.
John giggled, shaking his head. “You puked,” he murmured in awe. “Things came out of you. You vomited and I watched.”
“Ugh,” again was all Paul could say.
“You never puke,” John said, his voice still hushed.
“Well, I’ve never smoked pot before, have I?” Paul croaked, feeling irritated, light-headed, and a little more than a bit foolish.
“Knew you shouldn’t have followed it with beer right off, son,” John quipped, sighing happily.
“Shut up,” Paul grumbled. “How the hell was I supposed to know? And how are you so bloody fine?”
John grinned at him lopsidedly and shrugged. “Dunno. Guess I’m just made of tougher stuff.”
Paul groaned. “I would punch you but I fear the movement will make me vomit again.”
“Cheers, your kindness is much appreciated.”
“I try.”
They sat in silence for a moment; people banged about outside the bathroom door and Paul’s watch ticked loudly near his ear. It went perfectly in time with his own heart beat which he could suddenly feel reverberating throughout his entire body. It felt oddly… good? So did the tile pressing against him. He sighed and slid his hands against the cool surface. It almost felt like water. Smooth, cool, water…
John smiled on him in amusement. “Having fun?”
“Wot?”
“You’re fucking caressing the floor.”
“Oh…” Paul trailed off and reopened his eyes to stare at his hands. “Uh, well, it feels good. In an odd way. Like… like me hands are real sensitive or something.”
“Hmm, think Dylan said that could happen. That and hallucinations. You hallucinating?”
“Humph, no. You?”
“Naw. Just… I feel… silly.”
Paul cocked his head so he was looking up at John. “Silly?”
“Yeah, just like… like I want to laugh. At everything. You look ridiculous, you know,” John finished, snorting and placing his hands over his mouth.
Paul sighed. “I don’t feel silly. I feel sick.”
John’s hands dropped and his face suddenly changed to looking honest-to-God concerned. “Really? Can I help?”
Paul smiled, feeling oddly touched by John’s mood swing on account of him. “No, I think it’ll work itself out fine.” He shifted into a sitting position and plunked his head against the cabinet behind him. This, of course, elicited a groan and curse from the younger man.
John was then on his feet, unsteady but confidently reaching for the sink… putting his crotch right in Paul’s face.
“Er, John?” Paul’s muffled voice called. “Not that I’m complaining, but I don’t…”
“Oh! Ah, sorry,” John said, shuffling clumsily out of the way. He giggled again as he steadied himself on the ledge once more, fiddling with the faucet as he did so. “Just, uh, here.” He then handed Paul a cup of water. “It’ll make you feel better.”
Paul murmured his thanks as John settled himself on the floor once again, looking thankful for how much steadier it was than his own legs.
“So things feel good?”
“Wot?” Paul was startled from contemplating how cool and amazing the water felt sliding down his throat to pool in his stomach.
“You said things feel good.”
“Oh, right, yeah. Don’t they to you?”
John furrowed his brow as if he had just been presented with a very difficult math problem. “Eh… dunno. I guess?”
“You’d know for sure if it did.”
“Maybe we didn’t do it right.”
Paul suddenly giggled, nearly spurting water everywhere. “How? By forgetting to breathe in?”
John giggled too, shrugging goofily. “Dunno, just can’t see why anyone would care all that much about it. I mean, if it just makes you silly and all. And want to touch everything.”
Paul cocked his head again. He had slid almost the whole way down the cabinet with only his head and shoulders propped up by it still. “Don’t you want to touch everything?”
John suddenly erupted into laughter. “Christ, that sounds like horrible innuendo,” he choked out by ways of explanation. Paul giggled too and suddenly both were clutching their sides, completely having forgotten what they were laughing about in the first place.
“Feeling silly now?” John asked, wiping his eyes.
“Yeah, and not nearly as vomit…tous.” He let out a small hiccup of a giggle. “Thanks for the water.”
“Not a problem, son.”
They sat in comfortable silence until Paul suddenly looked up.
“We should do this more often.”
John raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”
“This.”
“What, have you throw up and me give you water? That can be arranged, you know…”
“No, just, you know, hang out, the two of us.”
John furrowed his brow again. “But… we do that a lot, don’t we?”
“Yeah, but…” Paul searched for the words. “But… it’s always the four of us and yeah, we can go off on our own but…” He sighed, feeling annoyed at his muddied thinking. “We never get to just be the two of us, you know?”
John contemplated him for a moment before finally nodding. “Yeah, I see what you’re saying. So what’s to be done about it?”
“This!” Paul said enthusiastically spreading his hands out.
John looked confused again. “…This?”
“Yeah, go off in like… bathrooms… and such…” Paul’s voice dropped off as he heard his own words.
“Don’t you think that would seem maybe a bit off to the others?” John’s mouth twitched into a small smile.
“Well, of course it would be weird to others but not… would it be weird for us, though?”
John pursed his lips in thought. “No. No it wouldn’t.”
Paul paused. “Is that weird that it wouldn’t?”
John shrugged, a cloud passing over his face. “Dunno and don’t rightly care. Do you Macca?”
Paul’s face broke out into a smile. “No,” he said confidently. “Neither do I.”
It was odd… were they talking about spending time together or something bigger? What was the bigger thing though? Paul was almost sure that the Bigger Thing was the thing being discussed even if he didn’t know what said Bigger Thing was… but such deep thoughts were a bit too much for his clouded mind at the moment so he decided to let his answer stand because, Goddamnit, it was true and he was going to be honest.
“You’re a good friend John,” he suddenly murmured, though he didn’t look up as he said it. “Seriously, just… yeah. A right good mate.”
When he finally looked up he found John beaming back at him. “Thanks,” he said softly, looking touched.
“And, uh, thanks for not acting put out by me being so, you know, right queer right now or whatever…”
John chuckled. “Ah, well, we can just chalk it down to the pot or something. Not that I can really judge…”
When John didn’t continue, Paul looked up curiously. “What?”
“Well, you know, after the whole, uh, Spain… thing.”
Holy hell. Was John really treading into that territory? Into the land of That Which They Did Not Speak Of?
Paul didn’t know what to say. “Uh, well… uh…”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up…” John grumbled, fidgeting uncomfortably.
“Uh…” God, couldn’t he say anything else? “Well, we’ve just never really… we’ve never really talked about it before, have we?”
“No, we haven’t.”
Paul paused and watched John fidget again. “Is there anything to er… That is to say, is there anything to talk about? With it?”
John shrugged, trying to look nonchalant and failing miserably. “Well, not really, I guess. I mean, we’ve just never spoken of it. Never.” He met Paul’s eyes shyly and then quickly looked away. “Why is that… do you think?”
Paul thought he knew why. “Because it was weird, confusing, annoying and for some odd reason I felt like you were betraying me? Because you chose to never speak of it? Because you treated it like it was nothing so I chose to act the same way?” That’s what he wanted to say… but he didn’t really know how to say it.
“Well, er,” he said instead. Yes, always the coherent one. “Well, I mean, it never really came up?” He didn’t mean it to pose it as a question, but there it was.
“No,” John conceded after a moment. “No, it didn’t.” There was another uncomfortable lull in which both men avoided each other’s eyes and played with whatever was closest to them; the towel on the floor for John and the paper cup for Paul. “Well,” John finally said, sighing. “Don’t you want to know what happened?”
Paul squirmed on the floor, butterflies knocking haphazardly into each other in his stomach. Given its precarious condition already, it didn’t feel too good. He attempted a shrug. “Uh, well, I mean, is there anything to tell?”
John’s eyes slid away from him again. “Dunno.”
“Well…” Paul struggled to sit up and just fucking spit out the words already. “Well… it was just a business… type… thing, right? I mean…” Paul’s mind tried to formulate the words. Brian was in love with you. You played with Brian. Brian bought into it. Then you two flitted off to Spain together and came back and never spoke of it. “Yeah…”
John smiled slightly to himself. “I guess…”
“Okay,” Paul said more confidently as he got into an upright position. “Okay. Brian, he like… was… you know, with you, and you were all… whatever, so it was a bit odd for me, yeah? So uh, I don’t… I really don’t know what to say. Or ask.”
John suddenly smiled outright. “And who says you ramble incoherently?”
Paul frowned. “Shut up, I’m trying to be serious.”
John smile faltered a bit. “I know…” he murmured, looking away. “And I get it. Well… I didn’t think you would mind all that much. I dunno… you know how I get. With trying to… to…”
“Shock people senseless?”
John’s face broke into a grin again. “A bit, yeah.”
“Well, Mimi was incensed by the whole thing, let me tell you what.”
John giggled. “You didn’t seem too happy either. You actually asked me if I knew that Brian was bent.” He giggled again, wiping the tears from his eyes. “You asked me. Even after he took us to that club that was all blokes and everything and you were all confused as to why there weren’t any birds, you still asked me if I knew that he was bent.” His giggles erupted into unsuppressed laughter and he curled up on the towel.
Paul huffed indignantly. “Well, sorry if I’m not as down with the whole… poof scene or whatever.” John cackled anew. “Fine then, smartass, did anything happen? Between you and Brian?” He didn’t mean to sound so accusatory but, again, there it was, out on the table.
John halted mid-laugh and stared at Paul. “Happen?” he asked, sounding a bit terrified as to what such a word could entail.
“Yeah, did anything happen? I mean, you two go off on your ‘queer holiday’ or whatever and I just… I don’t know what to think!” He threw his hands into the air feeling annoyed and strangely enough like he wanted to cry.
“Well…” John trailed off, looking at his hands.
“Well what?” Paul demanded.
“You can stop sounding like a jealous girlfriend anytime, Paul,” John shot at him as irritation won him over.
“I’m not being jealous, it’s just… don’t friends tell each other things? I mean we…” he gestured with his hand between the two of them, “we don’t talk about shit a lot of times and, argh, I don’t know.” He gave up and flopped over on his side to examine the linoleum again.
John paused and Paul could almost feel his eyes watching him. Calculating him. It was unnerving and sent the butterflies into their insane dance in his stomach again and Paul cursed the very hour he met Bob Dylan who was so hell-bent on getting them high.
“He kissed me,” John finally murmured.
Paul jerked onto his side so he could see John’s face and promptly smacked his head against the tiling in his spasm. “Owfuck,” he hissed grabbing his skull.
“Are you okay?” John asked apprehensively moving forward and hesitantly touching Paul’s arm.
“What?” Paul said.
“Uh, are you okay?” John asked again, this time more slowly and looking a bit worried that the knock on his head might have loosened something.
“No, no, I’m fine, I meant what about the other thing,” Paul muttered hastily, not meeting John’s eyes.
John sat back a bit and gnawed on his bottom lip. Paul wondered for a moment if John was going to go back on it and (God willing) make a joke out of the whole insane affair, but then John was opening his mouth and saying, “Brian. Eh… Brian kissed me. In Spain.”
“Where?”
John shot him an odd look. “Spain.”
Paul could only shake his head and repeat, “Where?”
John got the point. “Well, on the, er, the mouth o’course. I mean… where else…” he trailed off and looked away from Paul.
Paul was still at a loss. “He… Brian kissed you?” John nodded mutely. “Brian?” John shot him a look. “But… what did you do?”
John shrugged nervously. “I, uh… I let him. I guess.”
“But…”
“But what, Paul?” John demanded, looking intensely defensive.
“But…” Again, words and coherency were not his friends. “But… Brian… He’s not your type! At all!”
John’s mouth dropped open as he stared at Paul in awe. “Wait… what? That’s your gripe? I kiss a bloke and you’re put out because he isn’t my type?” He started cackling maniacally, throwing back his head and gripping to the wall for support. “Oh, oh God…”
Paul started chucking as well. “Well, it’s fucking true!” he shouted in his own defense.
“No, no, you’re right,” John chuckled, wiping his eyes. “He’s not, at all.”
“So why…?”
“Well, I mean, it’s not that big a deal and I mean… I kinda wanted to… to…”
“See how it was?”
John shrugged again. “I guess.”
“And it’s not a big deal? Why the fuck did you never tell me then?”
John gave him The Look again and said, “Well, I figured you would think I was round the bend or worse, bent meself.”
Paul tried to slouch nonchalantly. “Well, I mean…” he paused and tried to decide how he felt. “I mean… I’m weirdly okay with it. Is that odd?”
John looked a bit consternated. “I don’t know.”
Paul paused again and chewed his thumbnail, thinking… or at least trying to think. “So…” he said finally. “That was… that was it? He just kissed you and… that’s it?” Paul felt an odd sinking in his stomach join the butterflies and overall sickness dwelling there. He never wanted to just stop at kissing. And if two blokes were kissing and no bird was there to bring everyone to their senses and stop the kissing… Of course, Brian was incredibly sensible. Of course he was. So he stopped it. Only… he was bloody well in love with John. Oh God. Oh dear, dear God.
John wasn’t looking at him. Oh shit. “John?” Paul asked gently.
“Look, does it really matter?”
“You’re the one who brought the whole thing up!” Paul nearly shouted.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think we were going to end up talking about… well…”
“God, John, just fucking tell me already or else my mind’s going to go all kinds of places and no amount of peroxide applied directly to my brain will ever wash the images away and-"
“OKAY, he jerked me off!” John hissed, silencing the other man.
Paul stared at him, most likely pulling off a very impressive impression of an incredibly dense fish. “He… you… you let him…” He gulped. “Whoa.”
“Paul…”
“Uh… whoa. That’s… whoa.”
“Paul, please don’t freak out…”
“No, I’m… just… uh… whoa.”
John looked rather green. “Can you please say something else?”
Paul swallowed hard again and nodded absently. “Uh, right. Wow?”
John smiled helplessly for a moment before looking sick again. “It didn’t mean anything. He was just… persuasive.”
Paul finally closed his gaping mouth. “I… well, I am… I’m a bit at a loss, to be honest.”
John smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, well, I’m glad you’re not just slugging me in me face.”
Paul shook his head in awe and rubbed his hands over his face. “No, no, I wouldn’t do that, no. I’m just…”
“… At a loss,” John finished for him.
Paul nodded weakly. “I mean, was it… how was it?”
John looked up with a start and barked out a laugh in surprise. “Are you serious?”
Paul felt his face flush and he looked down at his bare feet that were cramped against the wall opposite of him. “Well, I mean, I was just wondering. Since you did the fucking research and all.”
John grinned at him before shifting a bit uneasily. “Well, er, it didn’t feel all that different, to be honest. A bit… uh… rougher, I suppose.”
“Brian? Rough?” Paul giggled before clasping his hand to his mouth. “Sorry, go on.”
“Yeah well the handjob…” John trailed off uncomfortably. “That was the same. Except for the, er, the bigger hands. And Brian has stubble.”
“That…” Paul cocked his head in search of what he wanted to say. “That… sounds like an incredibly bizarre experience.”
John murmured some sort of reply but kept staring past his feet at nothing. “Well,” he continued a bit more coherently, “I mean, it wasn’t all that weird. Which made it weirder.”
“Did you, uh… return the favour?”
John’s expression changed from sheepish to horrified. “Oh, Christ no. I couldn’t… no.”
“Well, I hardly see how that’s all that much different,” Paul explained in his defense.
“It’s loads different!” John exclaimed. “With him doing it… well, you know, to me, I could pretend it was a bird. If I fucking tossed him off, there’d be no pretending there, make no mistake.”
Paul nodded his head slightly, though he still felt that it wasn’t all that different. “So… it wasn’t horrible?”
John shook his head. “No. I was surprised.”
“That’s… that’s mind-blowing is what it is. You, you have… you have blown my mind, mate. Fucking blown it to smithereens. If I weren’t high I would probably be pacing about and sputtering something but as it is I’m just… mind-blown. That’s what.”
John smiled a bit at him and tried to shrug again. “Like I said, it’s not… that big of a deal.”
Paul chuckled. “To you maybe, but for me…”
“What, you’d never let a guy get you off?” John asked curiously, though he wagged his eyebrows suggestively.
Paul blanched. “Fuck no!” He then paused and furrowed his brow. “Well, I don’t think so, anyway. I mean, I’ve never really thought about it. I’ve always been rather content with the, uh, female half of the species.”
“But blokes know loads of other shit to do!” John suddenly exclaimed. He quieted at Paul’s raised eyebrow. “Not that I’m really interested, o’course, but I mean… it bears thinking about I suppose.”
“Well… I just… I just never have,” Paul sighed, crossing his arms.
John looked away. “Don’t mean you can’t ever, though.”
Paul’s tongue was suddenly about four times bigger than normal and his mouth was about as dry as the Sahara. The butterflies were back as well, swarming around and knocking into each other and basically being disorderly. The sickness had all but gone away but it had been replaced by an odd gnawing… deep in the very pit of him that he hadn’t really realized was there. He didn’t know what it was all about… but he had an idea. And that idea led to a realization that suddenly turned all the damned butterflies into lead; sending them dropping like stones to fill the pit and making him feel very ill indeed.
“Uh…” was all he could say.
John rubbed his bloodshot eyes with the backs of both of his hands, looking for all the world like a giant cat. “Just forget I said anything…” he murmured finally, staring at his own feet.
They were high. That’s why all of this seemed so… heavy. It’s because they were high. John’s dejected look meant nothing and the butterflies meant nearly as little and the gnawing that was growing inside of him meant even less. Paul was sure of it. So sure, in fact, that he could almost convince himself that it was true.
Paul was a reasonable man… that’s why this whole marijuana business was such an incredibly stupid idea. Sure, he had thought he was safe; with the stuffing of the towels beneath the door and the making sure that they were secure… but he hadn’t bargained on it taking away his reasonableness. So if he did something stupid now, it would be very stupid indeed and would probably progress to even stupider things and who the hell knew how to stop that much stupidity?
So, in order to stop thinking about that, he asked John, “So, things still don’t feel good?”
John gave him a (much deserved) confused look. “What?”
“Like, with the touching and such… it doesn’t feel good?”
“Er…” John looked at him like he was a few cards short of a full deck. “Well… this towel feels odd against me skin…” He held it up and looked at it like it was some sort of novel creation. “Like… scratchy and odd and more… er… pronounced than usual…”
“Exactly!” Paul exclaimed. “That’s what I was saying before.” He scrambled excitedly near John. “See, here, touch the floor, it feels… it feels different. And cool. Like water! It’s like… really still water.”
John looked at him oddly. “Like ice?”
“No, no, not cold just… cool… and hard.”
John nodded and rubbed his hands across the floor, a small smile spreading on his face as his eyes slipped closed. “No, yeah… I can see it… or feel it rather… it’s like if water was solid but NOT ice…”
Paul rocked back and forth excitedly; warmth spreading through his chest because John knew exactly what he was thinking. “Yeah! And, uh, see, the wall… with the white… it’s like… it’s like an egg…”
John opened his eyes and sat back to run his fingertips over the whitewashed wall. “It’s like… it’s like I’m a bird… I’m a fucking baby bird inside an egg… holy shit, Macca, I’m a bloody bird!”
Paul giggled madly. “No, yeah, it feels… it feels amazing, don’t it?” John nodded enthusiastically. “It’s like… I want to touch everything. Well, everything that feels good anyways, know what I mean?” John eyes opened and he nodded so solemnly that, yes, he knew exactly what he meant. Suddenly a new urge came on Paul. “Can I… can I touch your hair?”
Paul immediately wished he hadn’t asked but John smiled slightly and said, “Yeah, okay…”
Paul reached up tentatively and ran a hand through John’s hair, his mouth falling open in wonder. He had never really noticed before but John’s hair… it was soft. In a lot of places, anyways. Some places it was sort of coarse and thick but at the back of his neck it was soft like a baby rabbit’s. Paul got the notion that he’d like the rub his cheek against it… but he wasn’t that high.
John murmured something. “What?” Paul asked, now scritching John’s scalp a little.
“That feels amazing,” John mumbled louder, his eyes half-lidded.
Paul grinned. “I… I can feel your skull. Your skull’s right there. And look,” he moved his hand back to the tuft of hair at the base of his skull, “I can feel your spine… bones… they’re amazing, aren’t they?”
John nodded his head slightly in the affirmative but didn’t reopen his eyes all the way or say anything. John had bones. Paul wasn't sure why such a thing had never occurred to him before. They felt sort of like a bird’s… or like when he used to pet puppies’ heads and feel his fingers up and down their spines, touching each vertebra in succession, like spindles all lined up in a row.
He then shifted his fingers and played with John’s ear. Ear’s are amazing, Paul realized. Amazing. He could see the light slightly through the translucent cartilage and grinned all the more. Slowly he slid his hand down and touched John’s face with his calloused fingertips.
John reopened his eyes, looking slightly put out. His eyes were heavy-lidded and bloodshot and out of focus… he had evidently lost his glasses at some point during the night. Could he even really see Paul? But Paul felt a twinge of affection at the look of near-sighted confusion John had on his face. “Why did you stop doing that?”
“Doing what?” Paul asked, not noticing that his hand was still on John’s face.
“Rubbing me head,” John said, furrowing his brow.
“Oh, well… I got distracted,” Paul admitted. “Your nose… it’s magnificent is what it is.”
John snorted, drawing even more attention to his splendid nose. “’Magnificent’?” He looked skeptical. “Can’t say I’ve ever been privy to that compliment before.”
“Just… it’s so…” Paul searched for the right word. “Distinct.”
John grinned. “That’s very diplomatic.”
Paul was crestfallen. “What, you don’t like it?”
John shrugged. Paul’s hand had fallen from his cheek to resting, curled rather like a gangly bird, against John’s collarbone on his shoulder. “Never really thought on it, I guess.”
“Well,” Paul stated emphatically. “You should know that it’s… well… very you.”
John giggled. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind. Now rub me head again.”
Paul complied, though after a moment he let his hand drop onto John’s arm. It was less hairy than Paul’s own and he ran his hand down it to John’s hand which was resting listlessly in his lap.
Paul lifted the hand and pressed their fingertips together. “I can feel you, John…” he murmured in pure rapture. “Don’t you feel that?”
John stared at their hands too. “It’s like…”
“Energy…”
“Electricity…”
Paul felt the thrill go through him at their creepy psychic connection again. He stopped gazing at their connected energy for a moment to find John staring at him. “What?”
“You’re very pretty, you know that?” his voice was soft and he looked as if such an idea was very curious indeed and had never really occurred to him before.
Paul groaned, ignoring the satanic butterflies once more. “I hate it when people tell me that.”
“Oh, shut your gob, you know you love it.”
Paul shook his head. “I mean, when they say handsome, yeah, but I’m not a fucking bird.”
“No, I know,” John said earnestly. Their hands were still pressed together. “It’s just… it’s not like a bird… you’re just… pretty.”
Paul sighed. “Well, I guess as long as I’m not a woman…”
“You’re not.” John sounded so confident that Paul smiled. “Just… you’re not. You shouldn’t worry about that.” He suddenly sighed and looked down at where their hands were held together. “I’m not pretty.”
Paul smiled in amusement. “What?”
John sighed again, looking depressed. “I am not pretty.”
Paul cocked his head in order to look into John’s face and tried not to laugh at the ridiculous nature of such a statement. “No… not really… but you’re… you’re…”
“What?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.
Paul sighed, feeling incredibly silly again and smiled fondly at his friend. “You’re you.”
John blinked and then a slow, warm grin graced his face. “I guess I could do worse.”
“Much, much worse,” Paul agreed, matching John’s grin. “Besides, we can’t have two ‘cute ones’ in the group after all,” Paul added darkly.
John chortled. “I never realized it bothered you that much.”
Paul shrugged. He suddenly noticed that throughout their conversation, they’d gone from merely pressing their one pair of hands together to having both hands held together to having their legs tangled on the floor as they sat across from each other. “Meh,” he shrugged again. “I don’t really think on it that much…”
“Ah,” John murmured, nodding sagely. “Still waters run deep, as the saying goes.”
Paul raised an eyebrow. “So I’m still waters now? Thaaaanks…”
John giggled. “No, just… no…” He then leaned forward the rest of the way and pressed his forehead against Paul’s collarbone. His hair tickled the younger man’s face. It felt oddly familiar and Paul reasoned that he was used to being close to John… they had shared beds many a time before amongst other instances of being forced into cramped quarters with each other. Except… they had never really been face-to-face in those circumstances so he figured this was a bit different.
John shifted and laid his ear against Paul’s chest. “I can hear your heartbeat…” he whispered.
Paul giggled. “Everything sound okay?”
“Mm hmm,” John hummed, turning his head so the air exiting his nose tickled across Paul’s neck.
Paul giggled again. “Going to sleep?”
John shook his head childishly, shifting upwards so his head was resting on Paul’s shoulder and brushing his hair under Paul’s nose. Paul snorted slightly and giggled anew. “You’re warm,” John stated thickly.
“Well, you are draped across me,” Paul mumbled, chuckling. John shifted his head again so that now his rather cold nose was pressed against Paul’s neck. “John?” Paul murmured.
“Huh?”
“… my leg’s asleep.”
John sighed and shifted. “Stretch ‘em out then,” he grumbled.
Paul laughed, let out a long-suffering sigh and moved slightly so that his leg was stretched out at a less awkward angle. He winced as pins and needles ran up and down his leg and he rubbed it futilely to get the blood flowing again. John was now rested comfortably between his legs, the other man’s chest rising and falling against his own and with the door handle to the cabinet digging into Paul’s back.
“Oy, wanker, you falling asleep?” Paul asked again, shifting his shoulders to rock John.
“ Ngh,” was John’s answer.
“I’m afraid this isn’t too comfortable for me…”
John lifted his head and, with a start, Paul found himself extremely close to John’s face. “Do you ever shut up?” John asked quietly, wickedness dancing in his stoned eyes which were incredibly close to Paul’s own and with his breath tickling Paul’s cheek.
Paul was hard-pressed to remember ever being this close to John’s face before. He could see the exact color of his eyes (deep brown with flecks of green in them… Paul had never noticed that before), the place where John had evidently missed shaving that morning, the slight circles under his eyes from having too much to do in too little time, a small blemish on his nose, and the exact way his fringe of hair brushed into his heavy-lidded eyes. It was a little scary to see someone, a friend no less… your best mate this close and, well, exposed. John then let that smile like the sun grace his face and Paul couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be at that moment; doorknobs and sick stomachs and numb legs be damned.
So Paul took (what he felt to be as) the next natural step and brought his head forward just a half inch and pressed his lips against John’s. Neither breathed for what felt like forever and Paul could feel John everywhere; completely against him and in his head and in his songs and in the very core of who he was. Needless to say, it was pretty damn terrifying but the high helped him do away with the misgivings and just feel it.
John let go first. “Uh…” he said, staring into Paul’s eyes and suddenly turning bright red. “Uh…”
Paul felt his face crack into a warm smile. “Trying to be me now, are you?”
John looked down and seemed to realize for the first time what an intimate position they were in. “Er…” he muttered, starting to sit up.
“John,” Paul said, stopping him with his hands on the other man’s shoulders. “Just… don’t. It’s fine. Really. Let’s just… it’s fine.”
John blushed again, glancing up at him from under his eyelashes. He really looked rather coy though Paul highly doubted that was the intent. “I thought…” John started before looking down again. “I thought you said you’d never let a guy get you off?”
Paul grinned suddenly. “Who the hell said anything about getting off?” John smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “Besides, I meant… I meant, you know, ‘men’… but you’re… as I said, you’re you.” A goofy smile replaced the sheepish one and John leaned against him again. “Let’s just let it be, John,” Paul murmured.
John nodded, tucking his head into the crook of Paul’s neck again. Feeling an odd surge of protectiveness, Paul put his arms around him and stuck his face into his friend’s hair, playing with the tuft at the back of John’s neck again. Paul couldn’t really decide if he was disappointed or relieved that there had only been the one kiss and it was apparently going to end there, but as John sighed and his breathing became more even it all just seemed… okay. Amazing, even.
So, sure, it was an odd way to behave… sure, it was probably incredibly stupid and Paul’s reasonableness would kick his ass for being such an idiot tomorrow… and sure, it all meant more than they’d ever say. And maybe they’d never say anything about any of it. But for right then… it was perfect.
PS. I have reached a new low, ladies... and gentlemen? Maybe? Anyways, I watched a whole movie on TV today starring Aidan Quinn just because he was in Two of Us which was about Paul and John, in spite of not understanding what the hell was going on and having it be boring/depressing. I thought about how I needed a support group or something... and then I realized that's what I had johnheartpaul for :-D.