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28 September 2005 @ 05:36 pm
 
Hi everyone,
I wrote a fic that I love, and thought I'd post it here. J/P, 1375 words, set around 64/65, rated about an R. I don't own the Beatles and all that nonsense...

Here it is. Hope you like.





John was drunk.
He was leaning against the wall in the corner of the hotel room, casting a sullen gaze at the merriment in the room.
His crotch ached. He was also horny.

Brian had thrown a party for them - just for the people in their inner circle. The champagne was flowing, a table was stacked high with food that John couldn't bear to look at, and a large bag of marijuana was being passed around the group. There was not a member of the opposite sex in sight - something that frustrated John.
His crotch was still aching.

He took another swig of his beer - crappy American beer that he didn't like, and had to drink a lot of to get to his state of intoxication - and looked around again, before his gaze settled on Paul. He remembered what happened at times like these, when there were no females in sight and the alcohol was flowing. Paul started to look very, very appealing.
Paul was pissed, and was laughing loudly with Ringo in the corner. John wondered if he was stoned as well, and fixed his gaze on him more carefully, straining to listen.
Ringo mentioned something about flowers, which sent Paul reeling with laughter again.
He was definitely stoned.
John took another sip of beer, a wicked grin on his lips. Tonight was definitely going to be one of those nights.

When everyone was a little bit more relaxed, John made his move. Paul was still sitting with Ringo, who looked to be on the verge of sleep. He'd drunk a lot that night, John realised, judging from the bottles at his feet.
John pulled himself up, slightly unsteady, and wobbled slightly as he made his way toward Paul. Paul saw him approach and turned to him, still giggling.
"Got to show you something," John slurred, trying to keep his voice down. "Come with me."
Paul nodded, laughing loudly as Ringo slid down on the bed, his eyes closing firmly. "Can't hold his liquor," he yelled into John’s ear over the noise of the party.
John grabbed Paul's arm and pulled him toward the door. Paul followed as quickly as he could manage, but was barely able to walk and held on to John's shoulder for support.
"Leaving so soon?" George shouted at them, from where he was sitting with Neil and Mal.
"We'll be back!" Paul shouted back.
John was going to make sure they didn't come back that night.

He dragged Paul down to the room they were sharing and pushed him inside. Paul tripped over his feet and landed on his stomach on one of the beds, still giggling. "I have to pee," he groaned, pulling himself up and lurching to the toilet.
John opened up the minibar and pulled out one of the complimentary mini bottles of scotch, unscrewing the lid and tipping it down his throat. The liquor fortified his courage and he started to the bathroom, where Paul was just doing up his fly.
He turned to John, blinking rapidly. "I know what you want," he said, his voice slurred. "But I gotta wash my hands."
John nodded, leaning against the doorframe.
"Every time we get drunk," Paul was saying, speaking much louder than necessary over the running water. "You think I won't remember, Lennon, but I do... I remember."
It was too much. John stepped over to the sink and grabbed Paul around the waist, spinning him around to kiss him roughly.
He tasted like cheap American beer.
Grunting, John pulled away and unfastened Paul's belt, whipping it out of his pants and throwing it across the bathroom, before unzipping his fly and yanking Paul's trousers down his legs. Paul rested his head on John's shoulder, sucking sloppily at his neck.
"Stop it," John commanded, pushing Paul away.
Paul complied, his eyes barely open. He didn't move as John stripped him of his clothes and removed his own, before turning Paul around and biting him hard on the back.
Paul moaned.
John was so hard he could barely contain himself. He grabbed some hand lotion from the sink and rubbed it on himself, and prepared Paul as quickly as he could before sliding inside and breathing a sigh of relief.
He hated to admit it, but he loved every minute of it.

Paul awoke first the next morning, seedy and hung over. His eyes barely open, he fumbled blindly for his cigarettes before glancing down at John, sleeping soundly in the bed beside him.
He remembered that they’d fucked again last night. That was a clear memory.
They only slept together when they were drunk though. He guessed John thought he wouldn't remember it, but Paul had the remarkable ability of being able to act a lot drunker than what he actually was. He had never really let on to John that he never allowed himself get to the state of inebriation where he couldn't remember what or who he had done or where he had been.
He wanted to remember everything about being with John.
He wanted to talk to John about it, but he knew that John would close up instantly, so he sat back, smoking his cigarette and idly stroking John's hair with his free hand.
It was these moments he looked forward to, those quiet times before John woke up, where Paul could sit back and just experience being naked and in bed with his closest friend in the world. The one person who knew nearly everything about him, the man Paul considered his soul mate.
However, he would never say that to John.
Paul took a long drag of the cigarette, glancing down at John again. His head was pounding, and his eyes threatened to close, but he hung on, trying desperately to stay awake.
John sighed in his sleep and moved, one hand landing on Paul's bare thigh. Paul looked at it for a moment, wondering how anything could look so perfect against his skin.
"Stop starin' at me," John muttered, cracking open an eye. "You always do that."
Paul shrugged, finishing his cigarette and stubbing it out in the ashtray. "Sorry."
"S'okay." John yawned, lifting his head. "Time?"
"Ten."
"Time we have to leave?"
"One."
"Mmm. Good." John rolled over, pulling the blanket around him.
Paul felt a sudden sense of longing wash over him, and he gazed sadly at John before sliding out of the bed and heading to the bathroom for a shower.

He'd been standing under the hot spray for five minutes when the door opened behind him and John stepped in.
"I thought you were sleeping," Paul commented, moving aside to allow John room.
John shrugged, his head hanging as he let the water run down his back. "Seemed more appealing to me to come in here," he remarked, casting a sly look at Paul. "How sick are you feeling?"
"Pretty fucking bad."
"Yeah. Me too. Fucking shitty American beer." John scrubbed his face and turned to Paul quickly, pressing him up against the wall. "We're still drunk, right?"
Paul shook his head. "I'm as judge as a sober, John."
John laughed loudly.

It never changes really, Paul thought, sitting beside George in the plane on their way to the next city. Nothing ever changed with him and John. In a month's time they'd get drunk again and end up in bed together. The same thing would happen again. And again. And again.
Neither admitting their real feelings. Neither admitting that sometimes, they just weren't as drunk as they let on. Neither admitting that their frantic encounters on those nights weren't really as satisfying as they could be, if they were being honest with each other.
John, sitting in the aisle seat a few rows up from Paul, glanced back at him lazily. Their eyes met for what seemed like an eternity, before John raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of a smile on his lips.
"Paul," George groaned, snapping Paul out of his trance. "I'm gonna be sick!"
As Paul fumbled for an airsick bag in desperation, John's smile grew wider before he turned away. They were going to be sharing again that night - and neither was going to be drunk.

 
 
Current Mood: okayokay
Current Music: Fine Line - Paul McCartney
 
 
 
Catrionamydarkstar on September 28th, 2005 08:22 am (UTC)
A bit of constructive criticism...
To be honest, this story feels rather stilted - both the abruptness of the prose itself ("His crotch ached. He was also horny.", etc.) and the lack of any real focus to it. It does have that feeling that van mentioned, unfortunately, that it could be about any two men, rather than about John Lennon and Paul McCartney of The Beatles. There are a few anachronisms, since I'm pretty sure that the word "crappy" was not yet in common use in '60s England. And, while the "we're pretending we're a lot more drunk than we really are so we can have an excuse for molesting each other while covering up our secret feelings of love/lust" premise can be compelling, it's been a bit overused lately, and here it just isn't executed very well - instead of showing us how John and Paul really feel about each other, you come right out and tell us that this is what's really going on, and that's much less appealing than being subtle and allowing the reader to figure things out on their own. On a good note, I did like the last sentence, although it didn't strike me as very realistic that they would be sitting there flirting with each other while George was about to throw up on them.
woodchoc_magnumwoodchoc_magnum on September 28th, 2005 09:58 am (UTC)
Re: A bit of constructive criticism...
Thank you for your criticism. I'll try to take that on board next time I write. You mentioned the abruptness, but that's what I was going for. I wanted it to be as simplistic as possible. It's easier to write exactly what I want to say than to write a whole drawn out saga of how they're feeling etc. That's not how I write, and I have trouble actually putting that into words.
And to be honest, I don't really see the ending as them flirting with each other. To me it's more of a moment - a second - that seemed to drag on, not actual minutes. Perhaps I didn't convey that properly.
Thank you for being honest. I appreciate it. :-)
macca64macca64 on September 29th, 2005 12:24 am (UTC)
hmmmm.....
I thought your story was pretty good. I did notice the first sentence thing (croch aching/horniness) but I'm not going to say anything because in many of my stories I've made the sme mistake. But I do also love the ending. Yeah. Good job.
~macca
whatsherass on September 29th, 2005 02:13 am (UTC)
"We're still drunk, right?"

That was a GREAT line! :)

Also I really liked this whole passage:

"I know what you want," he said, his voice slurred. "But I gotta wash my hands."
John nodded, leaning against the doorframe.
"Every time we get drunk," Paul was saying, speaking much louder than necessary over the running water. "You think I won't remember, Lennon, but I do... I remember."

I felt Paul's angst! Well done.

Please keep writing and THANKS for sharing!!
(Anonymous) on September 29th, 2005 03:17 am (UTC)
Thank you.
I'm glad you liked it. :-)
woodchoc_magnumwoodchoc_magnum on September 29th, 2005 03:18 am (UTC)
^^ That post above was me, by the way.
apartment42bapartment42b on September 29th, 2005 02:45 am (UTC)
I liked the first paragraph; blunt and to the point.

Umm... why are they drinking "cheap American beer" if the champagne was flowing? ;)
woodchoc_magnumwoodchoc_magnum on September 29th, 2005 03:17 am (UTC)
I don't know... they didn't want to drink champagne? lol
I don't know how my mind works sometimes.
The "champagne flowing", that's kind of a metaphor... kind of. Like there was other alcohol besides champagne...
Hmmm. That's got me thinking. :-)
apartment42bapartment42b on September 29th, 2005 04:03 am (UTC)
*giggle* yeah, still, if if was really lavish, y'd think they would have maybe better booze to drink...
woodchoc_magnumwoodchoc_magnum on September 29th, 2005 07:26 am (UTC)
I think the reason I labelled it "cheap American beer" is because I was thinking of drinks like Guinness and stuff like that, and how they would prefer to drink that but instead they're stuck in this country and they have American beer to drink which I've heard is different.
Not a big beer drinker here, anyway, lol.
Il Gatto Puzzolonecatnip_martini on September 29th, 2005 05:03 am (UTC)
I agree with apartment42b-- I think the first paragraph worked very well.

This was good. I enjoyed it.

Cate
willy__wonka on September 29th, 2005 05:25 am (UTC)
Agreeing with apartment42b, I think the first paragraph makes sense to be broken since John is drunk (or so we think he is at this point). But on the sixth or so paragraph is switches points of view, which is interesting since you start out being John and wake up as Paul.
woodchoc_magnumwoodchoc_magnum on September 29th, 2005 07:29 am (UTC)
Yeah, I do that a lot in my stories for some reason.
I like to write a different perspective.
Thank you all for your nice comments too, btw.
the heart collectorsummersiren on September 29th, 2005 09:38 am (UTC)
I liked the story! It was funny and pretty hot! Hehe pretending to be drunk to get laid, a classic! XD
pattieonopattieono on September 29th, 2005 12:45 pm (UTC)
the cheap america beer makes a lot of sense. You,ve all seen "Gimme Some Truth" movie, right? there's George in the kitchen eating those yucky canned beans, I asked my husband; why are they eating that if they're millionares? he said the money didn't matter, they were always hicks from Liverpool....I think they were the first ones to admit that.....