Happy Birthday, Paul!!!
Title: Paul’s Present
Author: macca44552
Pairing: P/R
Rating: R
Summary: John’s fucking crazy.
A/N: Happy 67th Paul!!!!! You’re still sexy to me!! XD.
Disclaimer: Everything you heard is a lie: I don’t own The Beatles.
“Happy Birthday, Macca,” John said as he handed Paul an envelope from across the small table set off to the side of a famous club in London.
“Ah, what will it be this year?” Paul asked as he took the envelope with caution. He always got strange birthday presents from John. Last year he received a box full of dusty marbles, and the year before that he got a small fish that John boasted about catching with his bare hands. Of course, John would always follow up his funny gifts with more expensive, serious ones, but that didn’t keep Paul from guessing what odd things he might find in this envelope.
“It’s not gonna bite ya! Just open it!” John said impatiently. His eyes were glowing. Whatever the hell was in the envelope, John seemed to be pretty excited about it.
Paul carefully ripped the envelope and noticed a small piece of paper rested within. He took out the paper and unfolded it.
His jaw dropped. On the paper was a small sketch of two people he knew very well: himself and Ringo, but they weren’t just standing around. They were naked, that much was certain. Ringo was straddling Paul’s face and his member was resting comfortably down his throat. Paul’s face was drenched in ecstasy, and his hands were probing at Ringo’s entrance. In the background there were some trees and a couple of wild animals. There were large swirls of wind that left Ringo’s hair a disheveled mess. He didn’t seem to mind though, his eyes were tightly closed and his tongue was hanging out the side of his mouth.
As soon as Paul’s mind comprehended what was on that little slip of paper, his arms dropped and scurried underneath the table. His face was beet red and he was looking around frantically to see if any wandering eyes had spotted the picture.
“Whatthefuckisthis?” he blurted. He looked like he was having an anxiety attack.
John chuckled.
“Do you like it?” he asked. Paul’s eyes managed to get even bigger.
“What…er…John…the…this…why?” he asked while sporadically glancing over his shoulder.
John leaned across the table and the lights of the club gave him an eerie disposition.
“Just wanted ta mess with ya is all!” he said casually as he leaned back in his seat and lit a ciggie.
“YOU JUST WANTED TO MESS WITH ME!!?” he shouted before he realized that he was talking a bit too loudly. He put a hand on his forehead before continuing.
“If you want to mess with me, then spill a bucket of scotch on me or something. Don’t-you don’t draw…that,” he said quietly. John smiled.
“Eh, Macca, you know I’m not a conventional guy!” he exclaimed as he sucked on his cigarette. Paul watched him closely. The way his thin lips seemed perfect for sucking on…
A light bulb floated over Paul’s head.
“You! You’re a…a…poof!” Paul accused as he pointed at John.
The guitarist’s expression darkened.
“I’m not the poof, McCartney! You’re the one who got all flustered after looking at that picture!”
“You drew it!”
“Drew what?” came the silky voice of Cynthia behind Paul.
He jumped and quickly crinkled the paper underneath the table. A bead of sweat developed on his brow.
“Hello, Cyn,” John said with disinterest.
“HI CYNTHIA!” Paul squealed, paranoid that she would discover the picture.
“HI PAUL!” she imitated his strange greeting before taking a seat next to John. Paul could tell that she was excited to be out with them, John hadn’t invited her to party with them in a while.
“Happy Birthday, Paul! Where’s Jane?” she asked. He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.
“Out filming somewhere, couldn’t make it,” he said sadly. John let out an annoyed breath.
“Nice question Cynthia. You’re just bloody brilliant,” John said sarcastically. She frowned.
“I didn’t mean…I was jus-”
“It’s fine…eh, John can you come with me for a second?” Paul asked awkwardly. He couldn’t handle sitting around with a compromising picture of him and Ringo in his hands. He needed to get rid of it.
John nodded. He followed Paul through a large crowd of people into the club’s bathroom. Once inside, Paul opened a stall and motioned to throw the drawing in the toilet.
“Wait! Wait! What are ya doing! You can’t throw that in there!” John shouted.
“Listen John, I don’t know what possessed you to draw this, but you can’t honestly expect me to carry it around with me forever! It’s fucked up!” he explained. John gave him a puppy dog expression.
“But I made it special for you,” he said in the tone of a five year old.
Paul frantically shook his head.
“You’ve lost it!” Paul declared as he positioned the paper over the toilet.
“No!” John said as he grabbed Paul and yanked him away from the toilet. The piece of paper flew out of Paul’s hand and rolled to the other side of the bathroom.
A toilet flushed.
The stall closest to the piece of paper opened and out came Ringo.
Paul and John were frozen in place.
Ringo looked at the pair before picking up the paper on the floor.
“Ringo! Stop!” Paul yelled as he ran up to Ringo and yanked the paper out of his hand.
“Hey! What’s so important about that paper anyway?” Ringo asked as he tried to wrestle it out of Paul’s grasp.
“N-nothing!” he yelled as he tried as hard as he could to pry the paper away from the big nosed Beatle.
“Hey! You guys better not rip that! It took me hours!” John yelled from across the room.
Paul jumped on Ringo and they both crashed to the ground.
“AH! That hurt! You can have yer fucking bit of paper. Me head hurts!” Ringo said as he rubbed his cranium.
“T-t-thanks,” Paul stammered as he took the paper from Ringo and put it in his pocket. Ringo was gasping underneath him. The image on the paper flashed through Paul’s brain and he felt blood rush to his groin.
“Mind getting off now?” Ringo said impatiently. It took a minute for Paul to understand that Ringo didn’t have any hidden intentions when he said those words.
He stumbled off of Ringo and started nervously brushing any dirt off his clothes. His cheeks were red and he was mentally kicking himself for getting aroused because of John’ s picture.
“Well. I think my work here is done, happy 24th, Paul!” John said as he strolled out of the bathroom and winked at Paul. The bassist fixed the door with an evil stare.
“What’s he talking about?” Ringo asked as he turned around to wash his hands.
Paul couldn’t stop his eyes from traveling down Ringo’s body. He had a very firm arse and nicely shaped legs. Not to mention the fact that Paul could almost see Ringo’s back muscles through his thin blue shirt.
Paul ran a shaky hand through his hair. He wasn’t a fairy, and he didn’t want to be having homosexual thoughts about Ringo. It was John’s fault; John’s picture was cursed or something.
“Don’t know,” Paul said as he threw John’s picture in the toilet and pulled the handle to flush. He hoped that by flushing the picture, he was also flushing away any inappropriate thoughts about Ringo.
“What was that paper about, anyway?” Ringo asked as he wiped his hands. Paul swallowed.
“Oh, you know. Just another one of John’s drawings,” he said nervously.
Ringo turned around to look at him. Paul couldn’t find the strength to look him in the eye.
“Are you alright?” Ringo asked.
“Yeah…Just…uh,” Paul paused to search for something to say, “Just put off about the whole Jane thing.”
Ringo nodded sadly before patting Paul on the arm.
“It’ll be alright, mate,” he said.
But Paul wasn’t paying attention to his words. He was wondering when the fuck Ringo’s skin started to feel so good.
“Thanks,” he responded while looking at the floor.
Ringo turned around and walked out of the bathroom. Paul brought both of his hands up to his face and let out a deep breath. He was going to kill John for making him look at Ringo in strange ways. He was going to fucking murder him.
But first, he was going to correct his confused mind by spilling alcohol down his throat and shagging as many birds as possible.
Happy fucking birthday.
The end!
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