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Chapter 9

(Uhhh so here's the thing- this chapter literally is just awful I don't know what I was thinking but um yeah. I'm not sure what to say except I'm soRRY)

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Part nine

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John walked out of Paul's room, a satisfied smirk plastered on his face. 'There, now we're even.' he thought to himself, greatly enjoying the baffled look he had received from his friend. He felt things were somewhat justified now, that now Paul would realize the complete chaos that it causes. He only hoped that this wasn't turning into some sort of game, another one of his strange mind games that he occasionally started. That was the reason he held on to anyways, the reason that made it okay to kiss Paul. It was only for the reaction, the way he looked at him in such a panicked way, his mouth parted in disbelief, blinking his long eyelashes up at him in confusion. John doubted he'd ever pluck up enough courage to do that again though, so there's no use in worrying about it.

As he started walking towards the front door he felt a light tug on his sleeve. He turned around to see Michael looking up at him with a questioning glance. John closed his eyes for a moment, hoping he hadn't seen anything. "Is everything alright? It sounded like someone was crying." He said innocently, his words causing John to become defensive. He didn't exactly need it to be known to every McCartney in the bloody household that he had been sobbing like baby.

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Course it is, you little brat. Now leave." He shooed him away, back up the stairs, smiling at how Mike immediately did what he said. It was entertaining how much he was afraid of him.

John turned and left, shutting the door behind him. He dug around in his pocket before he found his pack of cigarettes and lit one. He still felt a little weird about what he did, but it seemed even weirder that it didn't bother him as much as he expected it would. He had prepared to feel disgusted with himself, even if he only did it to get even with Paul. Instead, he just felt kind of...warm inside.

Not the cliche, stupid idea of feeling all warm and fuzzy.

He was content, peaceful even.

Like nothing had changed.

He walked while he pondered about it, his almond shaped eyes squinted in thought. This Paul thing probably needed to stop, and soon. Hell, he had kissed a bloke, and here he was trying to make excuses for it being okay. He knew he had always had a strange mind, thought differently than others, but was he really messed up enough to think this was alright? It was bloody Paul, for heavens sake. His preppy, optimistic friend who could probably pass for a bird if he tried. That's not even an exaggeration either, he has very feminine features.

Like his eyes, for one. They were what stood out the most, droopy and hazel with eyelashes long enough to look fake.

And he was always really hygienic for a lad, always making sure everything about him was all neat and tidy.

Even his posture, the way he sits was girly.

He was like the exact opposite of John, yet they were best mates. They balanced each other. They were so different, but exactly the same in some ways.

John was so lost in thought that he didn't realize how far he had walked until he had arrived at Mimi's house in Menlove Ave. He ran up to the door, going inside.

"Mimi?"

He called out, looking around for his aunt who didn't appear to be home. The sitting room was unoccupied, the floral chair Mimi usually sat in was empty, an old worn out book on the side table, looking like the many others on the cluttered shelves. Not only was this room empty, but the rest of the house held no signs of his aunt. Not even a note. 'Must be out of town again with those posh sophisticated folk' John thought, taking off his coat and throwing it onto the sofa. There was nothing to do in this boring place, absolutely nothing at all to accommodate John, who was all about living every moment of his life to the fullest, always having something to keep him busy.

He could always go out and bed a bird, it's the perfect bloody time, with no Mimi, he thought with a naughty grin. But still he found himself reclining into his aunt's chair lazily, running a hand through his auburn hair. It'd be nice to invite over a 'friend' from art college, and take advantage of the empty house. His eyes drooped closed, his hand resting on his thigh, dirty little thoughts running through the always randy mind of John Lennon.

He could picture himself over some nameless girl, sweat dripping from his forehead while he leaned down to kiss her full lips, parted and panting in excitement.

John licked his own thin lips, realizing how tight and uncomfortable his trousers were beginning to feel. His hand inched up closer to the buckle on his belt, undoing it swiftly.

A voice whispering his name lustfully, slim arms pulling him closer to a fit body, nails digging into the soft skin on his back.

Hell, something seemed way too familiar here.. something John couldn't quite figure out, or could care less about for that matter. All that mattered to him right now was the need of release, his hand trailing teasingly down the front of his pants. He leaned back further in the chair, his cheeks flushed and his breath uneven.

Delicate, pale skin, a dark head of hair framing a perfect face to go with the perfect body. Warm, inviting, familiar brown eyes speckled with gold.

Wait.

No.

Hell no.

John sat up right suddenly, feeling like he was close to losing whatever little bit he'd ate that day. His hand fell to his side and he shook his head fiercely, wondering what was actually wrong with him, he felt like some pathetic sick bastard. Those bloody eyes, the stupid girly lips, the dark brown hair. Shit, he should've realized sooner. He stood up, pacing the small sitting room, cursing himself over and over.

No.

Kissing him and trying to make it a funny little game was one thing...but this was just sick. Repulsing, even for him. He closed his eyes tightly, his mouth pressed into a tense, white line. He needed a kip, or something. Any damn thing to forget about what just happened. He had almost subconsciously wanked off to the thought of Paul bleedin' McCartney.

Just thinking those words made him shiver. This was not okay, or healthy, or even legal for crying out loud.

No, this was going to drive John insane.

Paul was driving him insane.

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(again I apologize okay I am not sure where I'm going with this)