Fic: Drunken Kiss
Title: Drunken Kiss
Author: grl_in_red
Rating: PG-13 (language, drunkenness)
Summary: The title says it all.
A/N: This is not what I wanted, but I'm posting it anyway because dashall made me. *blames* :D I'm going to try to write this again, in a different form, later. GAH. WHY IS WRITING SO DIFFICULT.
Paul tripped over his feet again and cursed, fumbling for the light switch and knocking over an ill-placed lamp before he finally found it. “Fuck!” He shaded his eyes, stumbling to his bed half blind and stubbing his toe on his suitcase.
“Fuckin’ Christ, oh fuck, shit…” Paul collapsed heavily onto his bed, squinting and holding his injured foot.
The door to the bedroom banged against the wall, and he looked up, seeing a smashed John leaning against the doorjamb and snickering.
“Whaddya want, ya bastard?” Paul grumbled, toeing his boots off carefully and taking off his sock to examine his throbbing foot. “Ye can’t throw up here, Rings’ll murder ya. An’ so will I.”
“Don’ wanna throw up. Wan’ somethin’ else.” John was still snickering, like there was some joke only he was privy to, and it set Paul off.
He stood, wavering a little, and slightly unsure why he was angry, which only made him more eager to get that stupid grin off of John’s face. “Wha’ the fuck’s wrong wi’ ya? Stop doin’ that. It makes ye look even more like an idiot tha’ usual.”
“Aw, Macca, don’ be mean.” John stepped into the room, his grin still there, but no longer laughing. “Jus’ wan’ some Paulie lovin’, tha’s all.”
Some sort of warning bell went off in Paul’s fogged up brain, but there was too much interference from the booze and weed and exhaustion and it got swallowed up in his sudden desire to wipe the grin off John’s face in a different way all together.
He blinked, trying to clear his head, and stepped back.
“Pauuul…” John was much too close now, his face looming up and taking up all the space in the room, until all Paul could see were his eyebrows and eyelashes and the gold flecks in his right-there eyes.
Then John brushed his lips over Paul’s, and Paul abruptly lost interest in the rest of the world.
John’s mouth was firm and warm and Paul resolutely ignored the sour taste of beer on his tongue. His eyes had closed of their own accord and as they kissed, Paul’s already shaky balance abandoned him and he found himself tilting. He grabbed onto John’s jacket for support, leaning into him heavily. John made a sound like a growl and cupped his hand against Paul’s cheek… and Paul felt something stir in his chest, warm and exotic and dangerous.
Panic flooded him, clearing his muddled head. He pushed at John, mumbling, “No…”
John tightened his grip around his waist and frowned, still trying to meet his lips. “Whassa matter, Macca? Stop squirmin’ abou’…”
Paul pushed at him harder, shoving him backwards. John stumbled and fell back against the other bed.
“Fuck, Paul, wha’s gotten into ya?” He glared up at him, hair tousled, and Paul felt another pull at his chest. He stepped back, crossing his arms.
“What’s… what’s gotten into you?” He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and sat on his bed. Now that John was a safe distance away he felt the night’s effects creeping up on him again. God he was tired.
John stared at him through half-lidded eyes, and then looked away. He shrugged. “Dunno, thought… thought it migh’ be fun.”
Paul nodded, even though he didn’t really understand. His eyelids were feeling so heavy and John wasn’t… doing that… anymore. He blinked slowly and stretched himself on his bed, his eyes already closing.
“Yeah, well, I’m gonna sleep. Turn off th’ light before you leave, yeah?”
John waited until he was sure he’d fallen asleep before getting to his feet and standing over the sleeping bassist, his face still and serious as he contemplated his friend. One hand reached out as if to smooth back those soft, dark bangs before hesitating and falling back to his side.
He remembered to turn off the light before he left.
Author: grl_in_red
Rating: PG-13 (language, drunkenness)
Summary: The title says it all.
A/N: This is not what I wanted, but I'm posting it anyway because dashall made me. *blames* :D I'm going to try to write this again, in a different form, later. GAH. WHY IS WRITING SO DIFFICULT.
Paul tripped over his feet again and cursed, fumbling for the light switch and knocking over an ill-placed lamp before he finally found it. “Fuck!” He shaded his eyes, stumbling to his bed half blind and stubbing his toe on his suitcase.
“Fuckin’ Christ, oh fuck, shit…” Paul collapsed heavily onto his bed, squinting and holding his injured foot.
The door to the bedroom banged against the wall, and he looked up, seeing a smashed John leaning against the doorjamb and snickering.
“Whaddya want, ya bastard?” Paul grumbled, toeing his boots off carefully and taking off his sock to examine his throbbing foot. “Ye can’t throw up here, Rings’ll murder ya. An’ so will I.”
“Don’ wanna throw up. Wan’ somethin’ else.” John was still snickering, like there was some joke only he was privy to, and it set Paul off.
He stood, wavering a little, and slightly unsure why he was angry, which only made him more eager to get that stupid grin off of John’s face. “Wha’ the fuck’s wrong wi’ ya? Stop doin’ that. It makes ye look even more like an idiot tha’ usual.”
“Aw, Macca, don’ be mean.” John stepped into the room, his grin still there, but no longer laughing. “Jus’ wan’ some Paulie lovin’, tha’s all.”
Some sort of warning bell went off in Paul’s fogged up brain, but there was too much interference from the booze and weed and exhaustion and it got swallowed up in his sudden desire to wipe the grin off John’s face in a different way all together.
He blinked, trying to clear his head, and stepped back.
“Pauuul…” John was much too close now, his face looming up and taking up all the space in the room, until all Paul could see were his eyebrows and eyelashes and the gold flecks in his right-there eyes.
Then John brushed his lips over Paul’s, and Paul abruptly lost interest in the rest of the world.
John’s mouth was firm and warm and Paul resolutely ignored the sour taste of beer on his tongue. His eyes had closed of their own accord and as they kissed, Paul’s already shaky balance abandoned him and he found himself tilting. He grabbed onto John’s jacket for support, leaning into him heavily. John made a sound like a growl and cupped his hand against Paul’s cheek… and Paul felt something stir in his chest, warm and exotic and dangerous.
Panic flooded him, clearing his muddled head. He pushed at John, mumbling, “No…”
John tightened his grip around his waist and frowned, still trying to meet his lips. “Whassa matter, Macca? Stop squirmin’ abou’…”
Paul pushed at him harder, shoving him backwards. John stumbled and fell back against the other bed.
“Fuck, Paul, wha’s gotten into ya?” He glared up at him, hair tousled, and Paul felt another pull at his chest. He stepped back, crossing his arms.
“What’s… what’s gotten into you?” He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and sat on his bed. Now that John was a safe distance away he felt the night’s effects creeping up on him again. God he was tired.
John stared at him through half-lidded eyes, and then looked away. He shrugged. “Dunno, thought… thought it migh’ be fun.”
Paul nodded, even though he didn’t really understand. His eyelids were feeling so heavy and John wasn’t… doing that… anymore. He blinked slowly and stretched himself on his bed, his eyes already closing.
“Yeah, well, I’m gonna sleep. Turn off th’ light before you leave, yeah?”
John waited until he was sure he’d fallen asleep before getting to his feet and standing over the sleeping bassist, his face still and serious as he contemplated his friend. One hand reached out as if to smooth back those soft, dark bangs before hesitating and falling back to his side.
He remembered to turn off the light before he left.