John's point of view;
My brain is fucking gone, I tell you. All I can think about is bloody McCartney. And only McCartney. It's driving me mad, and the drugs ain't helping. I just want to grab him, and do indescribable things to him, I tell you. So, when writing I Am The Walrus, I looked up from my paper and pen, staring at Paul as he was messing with his pen. God, he was beautiful. I got up, standing In front of him. He looked up at me, an eyebrow cocked. Oh god... he's trying to make me insane, I swear. Lustful ideas with Paul in corrupted my mind, making me want them to be a reality. And it was possible. I leaned down. Paul looked surprised, actually. I wasn't surprised.
When I grabbed his pen and paper from his hands, soon throwing them to one side, he grumbled. But, when I sat on his lap instead, he sighed contently? I think so, at least. Everything doesn't make sense anymore,
"Fuck- John-,"
I silenced him by slamming my lips against his. The only thing which Paul could do was kiss back, since I had my hands on his arms, holding him down in some sort of way. Did this count as non-consential? Paul was indeed kissing back, so I haven't a clue-
He eventually pulled away, gasping for breath. All I wanted was to hear that exact noise... but more lustfully. My eyes were for sure full of lust and want. The want for Paul. And only Paul. Paul was the only thing which mattered in that one moment. Screw anyone else.
As more rude thoughts filled my sinful mind, Paul was staring at me, obviously trying to get me to snap out of some sort of trance. And I did, staring right back at him, in those lovely, doe-eyes of his,
"John- what are you doing?,"
I shrugged, running a hand through my now partially sweaty hair, sighing as I did so. Man, what was I doing? It was as if my brain started functioning again, my eyes fluttering open and shut every-so-often.
"I just... want you,"
Paul looked surprised. What had I said? Was it that bad to want someone? Was it?
"I'm sorry, John... did you just-,"
I nodded, my face stuck in a dead-panned expression,
"You know I did, Paul. Please- I need you...,"
He bit his bottom lip. What had I said? It felt like I said something obviously- so I stupidly kissed him again, this time making the kiss more... intimate. Only doing so by cupping his soft cheeks into my hands, pulling him a tad closer as I passionately kissed him. I needed him. And I needed him badly. Real bad.
And he didn't feel the same. Bloody James being the 'unmoveable' hetero. I tell you, that's bullshit. But, I'm just not the one he likes. Or so I thought-
Paul was indeed kissing back, his hands on my waist. For a so-called hetero, he was really into this.. maybe he's just... what's it called? Using me. That's it. He's... using me. I'm his little fucking toy. And I liked it, even if Paul didn't love me. I pulled away from the kiss this time, my eyes visibly hurt, or whatever. And Paul, being the tentative twat he is, clocked this,
"John are you alrig-"
I butted in, rudely. My tone of voice more bitter
than I intended, almost making me live up to the whole Lemon nickname, huh?
"I'm fine."
Ok so! I may or may not continue this in another chapter, or at least finish writing it! I just thought that leaving this story with absolutely nothing in sucks! So here, have half of a unfinished chapter! Sorry for the bad context too -M.R
