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18 May 2006 @ 09:41 am
Moon Through Green Curtains  
Because I am in a Paul loving mood, I thought I'd share with you all this short George/Paul I'd written a few years ago. It's pretty much fluff.


Title: The Moon Through Green Curtains
Orig.date: July, 2003
Pairing: George and Paul
Rating: R, maybe NC-17 I'm horrible at ratings
Summary: a bit silly, a bit sexy - George and Paul find a place to stay the night.

Disclaimer: Please do not reuse this story in part or in whole without permission. This is fiction, all fiction.

The Moon through Green Curtains

By Ginger Sling



Someone blew their nose. The cramped lobby was brimming with all walks of life - young travelers, old men, a businessman or two. The carpet was thin, worn through in places - blue once probably, but now a dirty gray. Yellowed paper peeled on the walls. It wasn’t the sort of place Paul would choose to sleep in, but for what it cost a night, he’d do it.

"Paul," George tugged on the back of his shirt.

Paul watched the little stout woman behind the desk. She’d been checking in one fellow for nearly half the hour. She kept peeking over her glasses at the paperwork.

"Paul," George repeated and Paul could feel his mate’s pacing. George was getting tired with the waiting Paul knew, but it was better to ignore him than ask what the problem was. It’d only take a minute for George to forget about whatever complaint he had, anyhow.

Someone moaned and it startled Paul enough to make him look around. He didn’t look too deeply though. At sixteen, he wasn’t keen on catching the eyes of any of these strangers. The fat man with a red duster who stood in front of him had a penchant for gas. It turned Paul’s stomach.

"Paul," George’s whisper was as harsh as his tug. "Come on."

Paul sighed and turned to look at him. His fifteen year-old face had bags under its eyes. They’d been a week on the road now with only one good night’s rest out of all of them. "I’m getting you a bed. What do you keep going on about?"

“Just come. I’ll tell you outside."

"I’m not going outside," Paul snapped. "Do you want a blasted bed or do you..."

"Well, I am then," George said and glanced around with wide-open eyes before darting out the door and back into the light rain of the afternoon. A stiff breeze blew George’s hair from his forehead back like it was supposed to be.

Paul watched a moment for his return, but it didn‘t happen. Three people were behind Paul in line. If he gave up his spot, it’d be another hour before he ... christ! Where did he go?

He found George a few buildings up the sidewalk, lighting a cigarette, with the same nervous dance in his feet he’d had inside. Paul marched over to him and slammed his pack down hard on the walk. "What in bloody hell is wrong with you?"

"We can’t stay there."

"And why not?"

George stepped closer and lowered his voice. "There was a leper sitting there," he said. "On the sofa. Leprosy. You can catch that, you know."

Paul made a face. He didn’t remember any lepers. And if there was one, he didn’t even know if you could catch it. "There was no leper," he said. "There was just a little old man."

"He was a leper."

"He wasn’t a leper!"

"I saw a piece of his ear fall off."

"What?"

"I saw it," George said and shivered. "This piece just popped off and fell down his shirt. Disgusting."

"Did you ever think it might be a hearing aid?"

From the look on George’s face, it was clear he hadn’t. But still the argument remained. "No," he said, adamant. "It was his ear."

Paul shook his head and sighed. "Christ."

"I don’t want to stay there anyway," George said. "It smelled like a toilet."

"Where do you expect us to stay, then?"

George chewed his lip as he thought. It made it fatter than it already was and it was already too fat for his bony face. "I don’t know."

"You never know, do you?"

"Go back in then," George shrugged. "Catch it, I don’t care. Just don’t come crying to me when pieces of your face start popping off."

Paul was irritated, but it didn’t stop his amusement. The stuff this kid comes off with. "I’m going to start popping things off you in a minute."

George smiled. "You couldn’t pop things off a plastic elephant."

Paul laughed. "A plastic elephant?"

George nodded. "I had one when I was a kid."

"You and your plastic elephants," Paul shoved him, for a moment wanting to play, then quickly remembering their predicament. "It‘s going to rain, that. Where are we going to stay? I need a fucking bed."

It was good to say that word. Fucking. Paul couldn’t say it often. Never in front of Dad or at school. With John, it always sounded as if he were trying too hard and with Michael, it always brought a look of shock. With George though, it was ok.

"That bed and breakfast up the road," George said. "The one with the yellow roses in the window boxes?"

"Do you know how much it likely costs?"

"How much money do we have?"

"How much money do I have, you mean."

"Just because we spent my money first."

They were walking. Paul hadn’t realized it, but they were heading up the street, teasing each other, soon laughing. The sun was going down and the day was ending and who cares if the room takes all but a few quid because tomorrow was another day and they were young enough not to have to worry. The inn was clean and smelled like tea and scones and even had hot water.

Paul retained the key because Paul paid for the room. He swung open the door to a post bed with a painting of the Thames above it, a vase of flowers on the stand and a window with silver-green drapes to match the carpet.

"Whoa," George pushed by him.

"There’s your bed," Paul said. "Enjoy it cuz you’re not going to eat tomorrow."

George beamed. He dropped his pack and dove for the mattress, landing spread eagle so that the comforter flounced up on all corners.

"Take a bath first before you crud it all up," Paul said.

George pawed through the bedding. "It’s soft."

"It’s a bed."

"No," he said and lifted the pillow. "Come feel."

Paul walked over and touched the golden sheets George had uncovered in his leap. The satin sent a shiver through Paul as if a woman had just whispered come fuck me in his ear. "Ooo-hoo," he said and relaxed on it and they were smiling together and rubbing the material in their dirty fingers. "It’s like the ones they’ve got girls wrapped up in those naked pictures."

"Or like those little pink nighties with their nipples coming out," George said.

"How would you know what those feel like?" Paul asked. "You’ve never felt a nightie."

"You’ve never felt naked picture sheets either," George said. "And besides. You don’t know what I’ve felt."

"I know I’ve felt more than you."

George rolled his eyes. “It‘s silk,” he said.

"It’s satin," Paul corrected and brought it to his lips. Smooooth. The softness sent a twinge up through his legs and between them. They maybe even smelled like maybe a woman might smell. Maybe. If he could remember. "I bet if I didn’t have you about, I could find a girl and bring her back to these sheets and get shagged tonight."

George winced. "You always say that and I’ve never seen you get shagged once."

"Why would you see it?"

"You just always say it, but you never do it."

"I do too do it."

"No. You know John does it, so you say you do it, too."

Paul sat up then, angry George saw through his embellishments. He’d done it, yes, but around John, he’d done it a lot more than he really had. "I do it, George."

"Well, you smell bad," George said blandly. "That much I know. You couldn’t get any girls smelling like that."

It had been days since he’d bathed, so George was likely right. Paul felt dirty. But for as much as he felt it, George looked it. Dust from the road mixed with his sweat and made more than one gray smear on his skin. "At least my face doesn’t look like someone shat on it."

George nodded. "Yes, it does."

"Well," Paul said and he was smiling with him simply because it felt good to be here. "You smell too, so we’re even."

George eyed him and Paul knew he was planning something - a leap and tackle, maybe? A shove? A hard pinch? Paul backed out of his reach and George jumped up, grabbing his pack before Paul knew what was going on, "Igetthebathfirst!" George called.

They raced down the hall together, laughing and shoving and pulling each other’s shirts and soon Paul was staring at a closed door, wrestling with its knob. A man with a big moustache stepped out into the hall. "Excuse me, son. I know it’s your honeymoon, but if you and your young wife would be so kind as to keep it down... my own wife is suffering from a horrible headache."

Paul grinned. He heard the water running in the tub. "Honeymoon?"

"You’re not the young couple Mr. Delvin spoke of?"

Paul laughed. "No."

"Oh," the man said. "Well, do you mind terribly? Martha is feeling quite poorly this evening."

"I don’t mind," Paul smiled and when the man was gone, pounded on the door to repeat the conversation to George, adding, of course, "And he thinks you’re my wife!"

"I’m not the wife," George called. "You are!"

"No. You are! He told me to ask my young wife."

"Young man!" the mustached man shouted from his stoop.

"Sorry," Paul said then stepped nearer the door to escape the angry glare. Paul heard a latch close - the man was gone - but stayed where he was, waiting for George to say something and when George didn’t, Paul stayed anyway. He heard tub water slosh around George’s body and wished he’d gone in with him. There was nothing to do out here without him - especially after being yelled at like that.

Bloody miserable old people. Paul would never get old. Well, yes, he might get old, but he surely would never go around snapping at people for having a laugh - or judging them either, for having poor clothes or a bit of grime on their hands - like that bakery lady had done that morning. Hurry yourselves and decide what you want cuz we don’t take kindly to the likes of you hanging ‘round here. George had a touch of John in him, he did - maybe even more than John himself, at times. He’d looked up and smiled grandly, We don’t want to steal all of it m’am - just a few things is all. It had made Paul cringe, but it had made him laugh, too.

George’s bath was over and Paul took his own quickly - simply because he wanted to get back to the room and enjoy it. Who knew when he’d ever get a room like that again? It even had a laundry service. George had sent their dirty clothes down when Paul was gone, leaving a pair of boxers and a white undershirt for both of them - a young man’s summer sleeping attire.

"Have a nice scrub, dear?" George asked from the bed. He was reading a Grimsby travel booklet. His hair was drying flat - he hadn’t bothered to comb it back.

Paul pulled his shirt over his head. "Yes, dear. And you?"

George grinned, crookedly. "Simply wonderful, dear."

"You look absolutely ravishing, love."

"And you’re the picture of womanly beauty, dear wife."

Paul slipped his boxers up under his towel. "I couldn’t possibly be, for you are, honeysuckle."

"No, you are, sugarmuffin."

Paul threw his wet towel at George’s face, grabbed a book from his pack and went to the bed. "Move over, twit. I want this side."

George dropped the towel to the floor. "What happened to honeysuckle?"

"Come on, George. I want the light so I can read."

George groaned, but he moved as Paul asked. Paul had forgotten the sheets, but once he slid into them, he remembered. It felt they were near swallowing him whole. The luxury was too much for his senses. At once, he wanted to be naked. A few brushes against these sheets and he’d be twittering high in pleasure.

But of course, there was George, hunched over, facing the other way. Paul felt a strange twitch in the bed and his face grew red at the thought of... "What are you doing?" Paul snapped.

“What?”

"You’re not having a wank, are you?"

"No!"

"Well, don’t."

"Don’t you either."

It was quiet and Paul no longer wanted to read. He stared at the ceiling and heard George’s breath.

"What are you doing?" Paul asked.

"Will you leave me alone?" George said. "I’m not bloody touching myself."

"I didn’t say you were! I just asked what you were fucking doing!"

"Nothing," George said and though he still wasn’t facing him, Paul was sure he was scowling or pouting. George had a way of making you feel as if you’d committed murder or something just by that stupid pout of his. "Your bloody foot’s on me."

Paul scooted over. Within seconds, there was George’s ankle, hooking itself like it always did when they slept together, under Paul’s calf. "Get your leg off!"

"It’s you!" George rolled over and glared at him.

"I’m lying perfectly straight, George," Paul said and shoved George away with his knee. "Your nasty feet keep sneaking over here."

George kicked him, heel to ankle. "It’s your nasty feet."

Paul kicked back. George kicked again. Soon, they were struggling with each other and the sheets were getting all mussed and wrinkled and they were grunting and Paul finally got so where he could knee him good right in the chest - good enough to make Paul wonder maybe if he shouldn’t have done it. George whined, babyishly.

"Owwoww,owww," he said, curling away from him. "Ow, ow, ow."

Paul tried to see his face, but George had it buried in the pillow. He was rocking himself as if he were in tremendous pain and Paul didn’t quite understand it because he’d gotten George a hell of a lot better than that before and there was never this much fuss. Paul straightened the covers around them. "George?" he asked. "Overdoing it, aren’t we?"

"Ow, ow," George continued, his whining worse, as if he might even be crying. "Ahmmmm, ow."

Paul waited a moment but couldn’t take the worry. "Georgie," he said to his neck as he rubbed his back. George smelled like the sheets now, sweet and warm. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, you know. George? You know that, don’t you? You all right, mate? Want me to get you something?"

George rolled beneath him, grinning wickedly. "A lager,if you please.”

Paul exhaled. “You prick.”

“Yeah,” George smiled.

They stayed like that for a moment - silent, Paul half on top of him, the anger from George’s fakery quickly diminishing. Paul liked George then, liked his warmth, liked the sheets smooth amongst their entertwined legs, liked that George's face was placid, almost dreamy. "A wank would be nice though, wouldn’t it?" George asked.

Paul quickly agreed. "You think though..." he said and stared at George's mouth and George's lips were still quite plump. "We could like... get into the mood somehow... since we’ve got no pictures."

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know."

"Why did you say it?"

"Well, you know..." Paul stammered, toying slightly with the skin of George's wrist. "We could always pretend we’re girls or the like. Or… you could be the girl.”

“I’m not the girl.”

“So I’ll be the girl. It doesn’t matter.”

"You mean like snogging?"

Paul edged closer and nodded.

"Blokes do that?"

Paul shrugged. "If we pretend we’re girls, we can... just for pretend."

George eyes drifted away for a moment, but they returned to Paul with eagerness and intensity. "For pretend," he consented.

Paul slid up to where their mouths could meet and clumsily brought one hand to George’s jaw. His fingers trembled until George leaned upwards and kissed the corner of his mouth - a dry one, a light one, but one that made Paul relax onto him and put their lips together. It was horrible. Awkward. Embarrassing. Until one of them opened their mouths - Paul didn’t know who did it first - and there was wet hot mintiness and fat, smooth lips and the flicking and probing of tongues. They kissed - Paul and George - and it became better - this kissing - than any Paul'd had yet, because the desire wasn’t clouded by thinking or worry. It was George and all Paul had to do was feel.

George broke their lips apart, breathless. "I think I can do it now. Have a toss…"

"Wait," Paul said and caught him again, this time pulling George’s head back by a handful of hair and kissing the skin of his neck. George arched with it and sighed and the sigh drove Paul deeper until he didn’t care if he was pretending or not. He only wanted him and George.

"Stop," George said and he was gently pushing Paul away and when Paul looked at him, George’s eyes were bright with fear.

"No one’s ever kissed your neck, have they?"

George shook his head, his chest up and down, up and down.

"Then let me," Paul said and returned to it and the skin was soft and lovely and the hair was damp and clean. Paul could feel the stiffness - his own and George’s - between their legs and the sheets.

"Take off your shorts," Paul said in his ear.

"What?"

"Just do it," Paul told him and quickly pulled his own off and kicked them through the covers and ohlove,thesesheetsaresofuckingsoft and George was throwing his to the floor.

George was still nervous. "What are we doing?"

"You wanted a wank, didn’t you?" Paul asked and gave George a quick kiss on the cheek. "We’re just doing that together, that’s all. We’ve done it before."

They had done it before, but it was always private somehow - their bodies not touching, unless you count the time they did it in the bus station that night, hands hidden under leather jackets, back-to-back so they could keep watch for people. You almost there, George? Almost, Paul...almost... The memory furthered the hardness in Paul's groin.

"That’s all we’re doing," Paul said, above him. "All right?"

George nodded and swallowed and Paul was down kissing him again - kissing and touching himself through the sheets and pushing his tongue in George to the rhythm of it and Paul could feel the steady motion of George’s hand, too. George’s eyes were swaying up and around and both young men were panting and sighing and "Oh shit, I’m close," Paul told him and let his hand slip away and the two were pressed together, rubbing against each other like they might be fucking. "You close, George?"

"Very close," George whispered.

"Close," Paul said and all the world was there between his legs and he reached to touch himself again - and so did George - hands grazing each other - accidentally, for the most part, or at least trying to appear that way.

"Pauli," he said and they were still kissing - madly now, biting even. "Blokes do this though?"

"We do," Paul said and there was only one, maybe two seconds left between Paul and ecstasy.

"I’m gonna," George said and he was right, for it was jerking itself against the crook of Paul's thigh and Paul was there, too, and they both let themselves go and held each other and buried whatever moans they had in each other’s shoulders until everything was gone and their breaths and blood could finally begin to slow.

They stayed clasped tight long after they could have separated and Paul knew George was just as afraid as he and please don’t let him be ashamed for Paul wasn’t and he couldn’t bear it if George was and he didn’t want to spend half the night explaining to George that it was all right and there was nothing to worry over. The wetness on the golden sheets started to cool.

"You awake?" Paul asked.

"I’m awake," George said.

Paul moved from him and George looked up and though his mouth wasn’t smiling, his eyes were and they almost looked as if George might have a touch of a crush on him and it made Paul love him just a bit.

"We should take off the sheet," Paul said.

"Yeah," George nodded and they both wiped from themselves what the sheet hadn’t caught. They pulled on their undershorts secretly, then threw the sheet to the floor and clamored back down beneath the comforter in silence.

Paul lay back on his pillow with his hands clasped beneath his head, an odd sense of happiness filling him - a clean body, a full stomach, a soft bed, a mate you could talk to and do that with. It didn’t seem to Paul that there was anything else in life you really needed.

George tossed and turned like he did every night, trying to find a comfortable position. And like every night, he lay on his side with his arms up near his head and his legs bent back behind him.

"Your foot’s on me," Paul said.

George turned to look at him, moving nothing but his head. "Does it matter?"

Paul smiled. "No."

George smiled with him and cuddled back into himself. Paul pulled the lamp cord and the room went dark save for the moon’s light through the green curtains in the window.

"G’night, honeysuckle," George said.

Paul turned to his side and settled his body against his friend, wrapping one arm around his shoulder as George nestled into him. "G’night, sugar muffin," he said and closed his eyes.
 
 
 
A joke tired of laughing: paul nhs glasseslulahbelle on May 18th, 2006 03:12 pm (UTC)
"If we pretend we’re girls, we can... just for pretend."

Paul moved from him and George looked up and though his mouth wasn’t smiling, his eyes were and they almost looked as if George might have a touch of a crush on him and it made Paul love him just a bit.


Gah that was wonderful I can imagine it and boy are those nice thoughts you're so good :) thank you
Laura: Paul ~ George finally teaches himobscures on May 19th, 2006 09:38 am (UTC)
I was just gonna post that part :) That was definitely sweet <3.
(no subject) - gingers4 on May 19th, 2006 12:22 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lulahbelle on May 19th, 2006 10:43 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Merry: Shazam!merryb87 on May 18th, 2006 04:57 pm (UTC)
*claps* well done well done, kudos for you!
dedgrotty on May 19th, 2006 03:19 am (UTC)
I love your icon.
(no subject) - gingers4 on May 19th, 2006 12:23 pm (UTC) (Expand)
writer_loser: Edie writer_loser on May 18th, 2006 06:24 pm (UTC)
Ha, ha. Fun, silly lovemaking. :)
Ginger: big gringingers4 on May 19th, 2006 12:24 pm (UTC)
Yes, quite silly. I'm happy it gave you a smile.
dedgrotty on May 18th, 2006 06:32 pm (UTC)
oh,my goodness..I really liked this.(titters)
Ginger: big gringingers4 on May 19th, 2006 12:25 pm (UTC)
Good! I'm glad. Thank you.
adria_harrison: george/pauladria_harrison on May 18th, 2006 10:12 pm (UTC)
Wow. This seriously has to be the best George/Paul fluff I've ever read. I'm addicted to the pair, but most writers always go for the angst with the two of them. I liked so many parts of this, but my favorite was the sort-of-flashback thing towards the middle. Very well done!
Gingergingers4 on May 19th, 2006 12:29 pm (UTC)
Gosh, thank you! What a nice thing to say.

I love the pair too and believe me, I've written plenty of angst between them, (along with fluff,too) but yesterday, I had this major need to see them happy and content so I pulled this one out and posted it.
0nesweetdream on May 18th, 2006 10:42 pm (UTC)
Mmm, this was fantastic. Usually I can't really picture G/P, but when they're young... yesss, it's perfect; just what I've needed. :)
Ginger: matadorgingers4 on May 19th, 2006 12:30 pm (UTC)
Thank you! It's always nice to know when you've let someone imagine something new. I appreciate your comments.
LK: Georgelaurak23 on May 18th, 2006 11:22 pm (UTC)
Adflkajd. That was good. Young!Georgie is too cute, and then you put him with Young!Paulie doing that?! *is dead* ^_^
dedgrotty on May 19th, 2006 03:19 am (UTC)
I second that, young-virginish-Georgie is one of the most precious fanics subjects ever!
(no subject) - gingers4 on May 19th, 2006 12:31 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Ashfourthtimeround on May 18th, 2006 11:27 pm (UTC)
"You and your plastic elephants"

aaahhh I LOVE it XD SO what I needed tonight
Ginger: big gringingers4 on May 19th, 2006 12:32 pm (UTC)
Good! I'm so glad you liked it. Thank you for your kind words.
arnold_grovearnold_grove on May 19th, 2006 12:10 am (UTC)
well, i'm not a big p/g fan, but that was very awesome. i may be liking p/g a little more now.
Gingergingers4 on May 19th, 2006 12:33 pm (UTC)
Yay! What a huge compliment. I'm thrilled you're liking them just a little bit more - nothing could please me more. ;)
Abbeyrdabbeyrd62561 on May 19th, 2006 01:40 am (UTC)
Gin, I laughed threw some of this, the leper and the young wife, the sweet names they called each other. I needed to read this today, you were right, with all that's going on. Nice to read a young Paul and George. OH and I also loved, Do blokes do that? love your writing as always....
Ginger: 4 looking upgingers4 on May 19th, 2006 12:36 pm (UTC)
Well, you know me with Paul and George, lol. They always seem to slip into everything - if it's not John and George, that is. Or of course, there's always the ever-popular (with me) John/Paul/George. Thanks for reading this, Sue and for your comments. Nice to see you here.
(no subject) - abbeyrd62561 on May 19th, 2006 10:10 pm (UTC) (Expand)
dedgrotty on May 19th, 2006 03:20 am (UTC)
Plastic elephants! That's right! You and I are the elephant girls!
Ginger: big gringingers4 on May 19th, 2006 12:37 pm (UTC)
True! :)

You know, I don't even know where the hell that line came from. I guess I just liked the sound of "plastic elephant".
Laura: Paul was quizzicalobscures on May 19th, 2006 09:39 am (UTC)
P/G is definitely one of my favorites, behind J/G and J/P. This was utterly fantastic! Seriously I love the way you capture their personalities so well... in all your fics :]
Ginger: 4 looking upgingers4 on May 19th, 2006 12:40 pm (UTC)
Oh, it's one of my favorites too - with J/G. Those are the two pairings I usually write, though G/R appeals to me too quite a bit.

You couldn't have said anything nicer to me. Knowing I'm doing their personalities justice is my main goal in writing them. Thank you.
(no subject) - obscures on May 19th, 2006 01:08 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - gingers4 on May 19th, 2006 02:11 pm (UTC) (Expand)
hb_princesshb_princess on May 19th, 2006 04:41 pm (UTC)
Oh, this was lovely. You managed to convey their "teenage-boyness" so perfectly - the sudden surges of horniness, of awkwardness, of affection, of silliness.

Some random bits I loved? "It’s satin," Paul corrected and brought it to his lips. Smooooth. The softness sent a twinge up through his legs and between them. (That? Yeah. I felt that.) ...and all the world was there between his legs...(Again, typical teenage boy.) At once, he wanted to be naked. A few brushes against these sheets and he’d be twittering high in pleasure...Paul sat up then, angry George saw through his embellishments. He’d done it, yes, but around John, he’d done it a lot more than he really had. You have a deft and gorgeous way with words.

I'm a J/P girl all the way, but I am so glad I read this. It's stunningly, lovingly well-crafted.
Ginger: 4 looking upgingers4 on May 19th, 2006 05:00 pm (UTC)
Wow, this review is wonderful. Thank you. And from this, I can see you have a way with words yourself.

It's also a bonus boost that it's coming from a J/P girl. I'm very flattered. So double thanks. :)
macca64macca64 on May 19th, 2006 09:15 pm (UTC)
Wow.
That was amazing.
Right when I saw it was George/Paul I was excited. They're sorta my favorite pairing.
This is one of the best stories I've read in a while. And it was so sweet and silly, and just so damn good.
I really loved the end with the whole "You're foot's on me" "Does it matter?" "No". That made me extremly bubbly for some reason. And I'm not one for bubbliness.
I really would love to see more stuff from you. Soon. Yeah. Please?
Really, this was a great story.
Bravo.
~macca
Ginger: 4 looking upgingers4 on May 20th, 2006 04:08 pm (UTC)
Gah, thank you for such a glowing review. I'm thrilled. I, too, love the pair... and yes, I have more things. Thank you for asking.
A bit of a gigglepuss: pic#46310221voodoochild9 on May 20th, 2006 01:12 am (UTC)
Ah that was hot
Ginger: big gringingers4 on May 20th, 2006 04:08 pm (UTC)
George and Paul are so hot they write themselves. :) Thank you.