Archive of Our Own

Started with something simple. They’d played a gig earlier, George was pleasantly buzzed, sitting at the bar chatting away, well, mostly listening to whatever John was saying and agreeing more enthusiastically than usual whenever it seemed to be called for. He tried his best to keep his eyes focused on John’s face, his stupid hair and the way he smiled about everything even when it wasn’t really that funny. He was his mate, while he was sure John had hated him to begin with, they were mates now. He didn’t look at George like was a pathetic kid so much anymore. It was good, not to mention the fact they rarely talked alone-

That was the problem see, Paul had abandoned them, for some girl. John had said it rather disparagingly when George had asked, almost spat out the words. As if he hadn’t done the same thing thousands of times before. George thought about pointing this out, the words on the tip of his tongue, but he held back, knowing it would be no help to get John in a worse mood than he already was. It worked too, now he was pretty pleasant to be around, with his stupid self-pleasing smiling and stories about art school that George really didn’t give a shit about. But every once in a while, his eyes would drift away from the bar, from George behind him and off somewhere on the dance floor.

Really, it would have been harder not to follow the line of sight, harder to avoid seeing what John was seeing. It was more polite, more sympathetic to also look. It wasn’t just pure burning curiosity no, it was sympathy for John’s obvious plight. Of course it was Paul. Not rational to expect anything else. It was why John was talking to him at all, Paul wasn’t here, he was with some girl over there dancing, his hands on her waist, her blonde hair annoyingly bright in the dim light. She was a pretty girl, George didn’t blame Paul for abandoning them, couldn’t in good conscience blame him. Good choice and all that, but for some reason he felt the same annoyance John felt.

Was it jealousy? He didn’t want to be dancing right now, the thought of it made him feel ill, he didn’t particularly want that girl either. Again, she was very alright, but for some reason George wasn’t feeling it. Happened that way sometimes, he could get that a girl was pretty, but he didn’t want to take ‘em home the way Paul and John did. Not that he ever really was feeling it, he had the least experience out of any of them. Hardly kissed any birds, actually. Not that he’d let that on to his bandmates, would spell disaster for all the progress he’d made with John not seeing him as a kid.

It was jealousy, definitely jealousy, it burned away in his stomach as he watched them like John did, going practically silent as they sat there. But he didn’t want her, didn’t want to hold her the way Paul was holding her, maybe part of his brain thought he should want her and thus was making him jealous, or he did want her, and it was just purely unconscious.

Strange though. To want someone and not realise it. His stomach churned; he felt vaguely sick watching it. The way Paul smiled at her, the way he held her close, whispered in her ear. The way they moved and flowed through the dance floor. His face lit up in the low light, his hair beginning to fall down despite all that product, the leather he wore framing his body, so tight, the fingers around her waist splayed out that George knew had to be hurting like hell after all that playing. It made him all feel worse. He didn’t want to keep watching.

He turned to John, just a glance and was startled to see a very different look on his face than he expected. For some reason, George had been expected some kind of haunted look, that was the best way to describe how he himself was feeling. Haunted, wanting, somewhere in between. While George had been hoping that wasn’t clearly displayed on his face, really he was hoping he was giving off an entirely unaffected energy, he had expected John to show it. He always showed it on his face, and George had been running under the assumption that it must be the same for John, same feelings about the situation, same turmoil. But John just looked pissed.

He wondered why he expected John to be feeling the same. When had he and John ever felt the same about anything at all?

“She’s alright, isn’t she? Lucky old Paul,” George said, it was something to say, something to snap them both out of this weird, uncomfortable tension that had descended over their otherwise pleasant evening. Didn’t feel very genuine. She was alright, it was true, but lucky Paul? He wasn’t exactly pleased for Paul.

Turned out to be the wrong thing to say, “Had my eye on her, I did,” John replied, “Was talking to her all evening, but oh no Paul swoops in with his pretty face and,” He gestured vaguely over. “He is a lucky bastard.”

“You score more than him John, can’t win ‘em all.” George lightly nudged the man next to him, something felt more off than usual. John was normally the first to be supportive of either of them getting out there. The first and only time George had kissed someone in public, a quick affair, quick of George’s own volition, he had cheered for him. When Paul did score with a bird John would usually come over to rib him, grin on his face before practically pushing him off and away with whatever unsuspecting girl Paul had picked up.

George decided he didn’t want to think about it too much. Much like he didn’t want to think about his own reasons for feeling jealous. He suspected if he investigated either thing too far, he would not be pleased at all by the results. So instead, he had another drink.

It was only later when it came back up, John had kept talking, something about Stu, about the band, blah blah blah George didn’t care, his eyes had fully drifted away now. He was staring, unfocused on the mass of bodies filling the club, couples moving together seemingly in a fluid state. He was much further gone now, his mind no longer pleasantly fuzzy but the kind where if he did try to think too hard about something he might start needing to throw up.

Unfortunately, that was when his eyes decided to snap into focus. Almost automatically zeroing in on Paul, Paul with his hand halfway up this girl’s skirt, same one from before, and tongue down her throat. They were kissing, right there, in front of everyone- Okay not in front of everyone, honestly, they were pretty well hidden in that little secluded corner over there. It was a classic little corner to do things you didn’t want others to see. George had seen other couples in similar situations before, possibly even more raunchy, scandalous. Usually, his eyes would have scanned over it, grasped what it was and immediately moved on with a sense of shame and decency. He wouldn’t want to be watched doing all that anyway, best not to do it so some unsuspecting couple.  

But he couldn’t look away. Not even if he wanted to. He’d never seen Paul kissing before. Not true, he had, but not like this, hell George wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen someone kiss like that, so much, like they were trying to consume each other. It wasn’t disgusting though, no when the girl pulled back she was smiling against Paul’s lips, and he was smiling to, going in for more, they were enjoying themselves.

His stomach twisted, for a horrible, frightening moment he worried he was actually becoming excited by the sight of his best mate kissing some bird a club. No good. Can’t let that happen. But no, it was the jealousy back again. At least, okay maybe a bit of it was being excited by it. And well that would have made a bit of sense right, Paul had pushed up her skirt, exposing a long line of creamy leg, and that was attractive?

George probably looked absolutely horrified, he hoped desperately John wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t look at what he was looking at. It felt like a sight only he was meant to see.

Eyes glued to Paul, that was another part of the problem, he wasn’t even really looking at her, he was looking at Paul, the way his hands looked against her leg, the way his grip warped her skin, so strong, the way he buried his fingers in her hair, and George felt absolutely sick as he realised he was imagining what it might feel if it was his hair that Paul’s fingers threaded through.

He wondered if Paul was hard, if he wanted to-if he was going to fuck her. His heart was racing, threatening to beat out of his chest the longer he looked. Fuck what kind of an awful pervert was he? This had never happened before, he’d never wanted to- he never watched, what the fuck?

He couldn’t look away, he just couldn’t, he wanted to see the way Paul’s lips moved, the way his teeth were just exposed as he bit her lip, the way his cheeks were flushed, how his hair fell on his forehead, the line of his neck. He wondered, mindlessly, desperately how Paul’s lips might feel against his own.

There was certainly something quite wrong with him. It was around about that last thought when George decided he needed to throw up right that minute. He stumbled off the barstool blindly and without a word to John as to where he was off to into the men’s room to do just that.

He could ask Paul, he supposed, as he sat on the floor of the stall, letting the cool tiled floor bring him back to reality. Maybe George could learn to kiss like that, since she seemed to be enjoying it and all that. That could be why he thought, why he thought all those things.

He just wanted Paul to teach him. Simple as that. It was fair really, he was inexperienced, still had a lot to learn, a fact Paul and John often reminded him of. Paul would probably be pleased to help him, tease him a little, for not even having made a girl feel that way before, but he’d help him. Paul was so good at it, he would love the chance to show off to George, probably even be pleased that George asked him and not John.

Fuck he’d never want to ask John. Only Paul. This was between him and Paul only. Even if John didn’t know it yet. Just him and Paul.

George stood up on wobbly legs, he hadn’t even closed the stall door before throwing up, he used the wall to support him as he moved to the sinks, washing his hands, splashing water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror, he looked dazed, and exactly as he feared he might look earlier. Haunted.

It was fine. He was jealous because he wanted to kiss pretty birds too, to stick his hand up their dresses the way Paul had. It was only because of that. He needed more experience. Only reasonable. He got hard because it was just something that happened when you saw a nice-looking girl in that sort of a situation. Paul being there was just a coincidence. He was like John, just annoyed Paul had abandoned them, just annoyed that Paul scored when he didn’t, just wanting to be the one kissing her instead of him. All very reasonable and normal feelings.

“You right in their George?” John said, knocking open the bathroom door with his elbow, a slight frown on his face, George watched him approach In the mirror in dismay, “Damn near sprinted away, looked like you were about to chuck,”

“I did,” George responded, sounding absolutely miserable, hands clenching the sink like it was his only tether to reality.

“Looked like you’d seen a ghost for a minute before, must’ve come on pretty damn strong,” John replied, sounding surprisingly sympathetic, he must’ve looked an awful fright if John was being sympathetic. “Thought I should check you didn’t die or something. Don’t need our guitarist dropping dead.”

“I had no plans to drop dead,” George replied, still following John in the reflection, the man was leaning against the wall now, pulling out a smoke and lighting it up without any further concerns.

“Good.” John nodded, puffing away, arms crossed, “I’m certainly not carrying you home. Best learn to walk again soon.”

“I can walk fine,” He half snapped, turning back to John, but the scent of the cigarette in combination with the sudden movement made him feel sick again and he decided his best course of action was to stand very still until it all went away.

“Didn’t seem so earlier.” John had half a smile now, certainly thinking about ways to tease George about this, now he’d confirmed he wouldn’t die, “Needed a walking frame or something, or an escort.”

George coughed, nearly doubling over the sink again, “A what?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, bad George.” John scolded, “Someone to escort you home, you nutter.” He muttered, flicking the fag to the ground to crush under heel. He seemed about to speak again when the bathroom door flung open again dramatically. Could anyone ever get any privacy in these public toilets-

Oh It was Paul. “George, you alright mate?” He asked, looking incredibly flustered and frazzled.

George wondered vaguely if this was some horrible hallucination, maybe John was part of it too. Paul and John were just parts of his psyche speaking to him, telling him things he needed to hear or something. He’d blink and they’d both disappear and leave him alone. Seemed about right that these pricks couldn’t even get out his brain when they weren’t around, took enough of his time as it was.

His collar was undone, he had lipstick marks on his neck, his hair was all ruffled and messy, his lips swollen. It was almost comical how obvious it was, George wanted to burst into laughter but the sickness came over him even stronger than before, waves of nausea washed over him as he took in every little detail of Paul’s appearance.

“Oh look who the cat dragged in,” John’s sarcasm sounded from the corner, and George had the nonsensical thought that it would have been funny if the door had hit him in the face. Would’ve made it much better. “Don’t you worry daddy I’m playing mummy and nursemaid at the moment, you can go back to your extramarital affair now. Dear Georgie is in good hands.” George stared at John looking absolutely aghast as every new word left his mouth.

Paul looked just as stunned as George did, he turned to face John, frowning, “Wha- John, he’s alright?” He asked, a little desperate. It was sweet that, Paul leaving that girl to check he was alright, he didn’t even know how Paul saw him in that crowd, doing what he was. Must’ve been much more frightful than he realised.

“Was before you burst in, you’ve frightened the bugger.” John waved a hand at the very ill and now silent George who was trying his utmost to stay upright, hand clenching the sink and the other the side of the stall door. “He’s going to be bloody sick again.”

Paul jumped into action before John, wrapping his arm around George and leading him back inside the toilet where, as foretold, George was indeed sick again. He felt Paul’s arm like it was burning into him, making his head all fuzzy and blank, it felt good, not like a bad burning but when you’re so warm by a fire, so close to being too much that it’s actually just perfect.

“Christ George, how much did you have?” Paul was muttering, and George wished his hand was in George’s hair. Not like he had enough hair to hold back from going in his mouth. Only wished it was there anyways.

“Didn’t reckon it was that much, lost track of him I suppose.” John replied for him, he was looming behind them with his arms crossed. “You done playing mother now? It was my role.” He pouted comically as George turned tentatively and looked at him, frowning.

“You wouldn’t have held me up. Told me so.” George accused, his words sounding much less coherent than he thought they would.

Paul helped him stand gently, arm still burning a hole through him, “Time to head home I reckon.” He said, “I’ve got this one Johnny, it’s all good.” George still wasn’t very convinced he wasn’t dreaming, hallucinating, one of the two. This whole evening had been a bit of a nightmare for him. Making him think about things he didn’t want to.

“Is it?” John scoffed, “What about your bird out there, don’t tell me after that little display you’ve abandoned her for sickly George over here.” He waved a hand at George like he was nothing more than set dressing for their conversation. Often went that way with John and Paul. Less Paul’s fault than John’s, John liked to forget he was an actual person, especially when it was convenient in an argument.

“What?” Paul was really properly frowning now, it was kind of cute, with his flush and his lips so red, “Told her me friend was sick,” He replied.

“Please, after all that, you’re happy to just let it go,” John’s voice was sharper now, he was pissed again, George wanted to groan and bury his head in Paul’s chest and forget all this, he didn’t want to deal with a John fight right now, “or did you already get off?”

He really didn’t want to think about Paul getting off. Much more than he didn’t want to think about John fighting with Paul with him in the middle of it. In fact Paul getting off was definitely now on his list of top things he never wanted to think about again.

“John,” Paul’s voice was harsh, it was a definitive stop, even if John didn’t let it go, Paul wasn’t going to let him gain any ground. George felt his whole body vibrate, or shiver, or whatever it’s called at the sound of Paul’s voice. Was he malfunctioning or something?

“What? So fucking her in public was fine but me talking about it isn’t?” Paul tensed at the phrasing, “Offending your poor delicate sensibilities, am I?” John hissed.

“Christ John you’ve done the same before, what the hell’s got into you that I can’t?” It was a classic argument, John expecting different things of Paul than were expected of himself. Possessive, in a way, if you thought about it, which George tried not to.

John stepped closer, trying to be physically intimidating but really nothing was scaring George right now except for the idea that Paul might let go of him at some point. “Just thought we could sit about and have a proper chat after a gig for once and not go chasing every skirt that comes our way-“

George snorted then, he really couldn’t help it, Paul twisted his head to look at George with vague concern while John just looked startled that George had made any noise at all. He’d made it his business long ago to get far out of dodge if Paul and John ever started fighting near him. He made a vow that if it ever got physical he’d step in, but what do you know the two of them did have a modicum of self-control and it never had, so he’d been blissfully avoiding it for many months now.

The look on John’s face made George really start laughing, “God John you don’t have a leg to stand on in this one,” George was giggling, leaning his head on Paul’s shoulder, “You’ve been up more skirts than the two of us combined. Sorry mate,” That was an easy feat. He’d been up exactly zero. Not that the lads knew that.

Paul smelled like perfume, girl’s perfume, it was odd on him, but George wanted to drink it in freely.

John seemed genuinely offended at the comment. “I have more decency about it,” He tried to argue but George cut him off.

“No you don’t” George said happily, “You just wanted her for yourself, poor girl, doesn’t even know about any of this. Just that Paul over here left her. I reckon I’d be right mad too, if I was her. Reckon I wouldn’t mind being her either.” George did not really have a handle on what he was saying any more, from the expressions on Paul and John’s faces it was likely somewhat out of character for him.

“You sure you’re alright George?” John’s demeanour had entirely changed now, he was back to being actually worried, which definitely meant he was out of character.

He laughed again, “Seemed to be a good kisser, is all.” He explained. That seemed like the simplest way to explain it. He still wanted to ask Paul about it later, teach him. That was the best Idea he’d had all night really.

Paul was frowning, “You saw me?”

“You were right there, course I did.” George replied easily, not thinking about the implication of anything he said whatsoever. He barely had any capacity for thought except for the delicious sensation of Paul’s arm and the vivid images of Paul and that girl in his mind.

“I didn’t.” John interrupted, sounding a little put out about it.

“What was all that about fucking her in public for then?” Paul snapped, “You just decided I was participating in bloody public indecency for fun then, to win an argument I don’t even understand the point of,” Paul was sounding increasingly angry and increasingly likely to let George go in favour of pointing furiously at John for being an arse. Something George would usually endorse and agree with, but not today.

John opened his mouth to reply, looking indignant, still angry, but George beat him to it, “Can I go home please?” He said bluntly.  

The two once again remembered he was still present. Actually that was a bit unfair, he didn’t think Paul ever forgot, he was looking over at him so frequently, even when snapping at John, making sure he was alright. Very sweet that way. John on the other hand had certainly forgotten he was there at least twice. He didn’t blame the man Paul was very distracting.

“You’re not making it anywhere in that state,” John informed him, very matter-of-fact.

Paul cut in, “I’ll take him home,” his arm tightened, and he slowly started moving to the door with George following in his arms a little unsteadily.

John made a defensive little sound, “Like hell you will, we’ll take him home.” He emphasised the we, like he could do anything else to help out. In fairness two arms probably would’ve made him more stable but if George was barely keeping his sanity with one arm he would not be able to handle two.

Maybe John’s arm wouldn’t cause the same freak out he was currently having. In fact that seemed quite likely, Paul touching him in any way never felt the same as John doing it. John didn’t make him light up like a Christmas tree. But he didn’t want to consider why.

“Look, his parents know me better-“ Paul began,

“They like you, you mean, more likely to score an invite in, are we?” John argued.

Paul paused for a moment, before replying quite simply, “Well, yes,”

“No shit.” George added.

John let out a pained little sigh and relented, it was amazing to physically watch him fight off the urge to get into another argument. “Fine. Fine, at least let me help you both to the bus stop.” George wondered it was his version of an apology. It made him feel warm anyways. John was looking at him now, a slight crease in his eyebrow, not Paul like before, he was actually worried.

“Okay Johnny, okay.” Paul nodded, they slipped out the back entrance as to not risk having to push through a horrible moving mass of bodies as they went.

“Thanks,” George added, softly, and John gave him a slight smile. Very strange.

John left them then for a moment, and George wondered if he’d changed his mind, went off to go find Paul’s girl from before, but he came right back out with all their instruments, instruments that George had wholeheartedly forgotten existed, and it seemed as though Paul had too. At both of their bewildered expressions John grinned.

“At least one of us is competent, ay?” He teased, managing to wrangle all three of them for the moment, though each of them knew they’d have to snatch them back at some point. The walk to the bus was quiet, John and Paul had entered a civil conversation as George went silent, mostly focusing on staying upright and committing every second Paul was holding him to memory.

Why was he doing that second bit? Even if pressed to answer he’d come up blank. It just felt important. Felt good to look at him, to watch him smile and laugh with John and while with him, felt like he was the bird Paul was with, the way he’d hold her waist, hold her close. But now he was doing that with George. What would it have been like, if it was him, if he had kissed Paul, if his lips were swollen the way Paul’s were now?

“Hello, earth to George?” John was saying, frowning at him again waving in his face.

George blinked, eyes drifting lazily up to John, “I lied before. Never been up anyone’s skirt so it wasn’t a fair comparison, about you. Paul’s doing all the heavy lifting.” He said, the words tumbling out his mouth before he had a chance to stop it.

John stared at him. “What?” He finally croaked.

“Don’t know what you were saying.” George said, proudly admitting to ignoring the man, “Just thought I should tell you.”

“You’re a virgin?” It was Paul who said that, not John, almost right into his ear making George shiver again like it went right into his soul. Something about the way he said it, an air of surprise of course, but also wonder. What the fuck did that even mean?

“Hardly kissed anyone either.” He added faintly, already beginning to regret his confession.

John set down one of the guitars with a worrying crashing sound and pinched his nose, “I forget you’re a baby now, got too tall.” He muttered, beginning to pace around the bus stop.

“Knew you’d say that.” George replied, feeling vindicated.

John stopped his pacing to glare at him, “Bout you being too tall? Well you’re not taller than me so don’t get too full of yourself-“

George shook his head, lulling off to the side onto Paul’s shoulder again, damn the man was warm, all down his side. He bet that if he tilted his eyes just a little further upwards he’d see those lipstick stains again, probably the wrong angle, but he could imagine it.

“No, bout me being a baby or a kid or something. It’s why I didn’t say before.” He said, suddenly feeling way less pleased that he’d said it. He’d liked the initial reaction, the shocked looks from them both, made him feel special, but now he was just going to be teased and he didn’t like that bit.

He should probably go to sleep for a thousand years. He would be ready to jump off a bridge if he had any of these thoughts sober. Let alone said anything out loud that he’d said in roughly the last half hour.

“You’re not a kid George, you’re hardly a year younger than me.” Paul said, his voice was much too kindly, George would have preferred if he said it all gruff and normal and not reassuring-like.

John scoffed, “You’re a baby too Paul.” He accused.

“And you’re a grandpa, old man.”  Paul replied, tilting his head upwards, making George giggle. “I reckon your ride comes first Johnny,” He nodded down the road, bus was coming, and Paul seemed the least incoherent out of any of them. Mind you he was still pretty far gone, words slurred, spacing out, all of them were a bit gone. George had forgotten, but John had been drinking practically as hard as George had, just held it better. Probably actually had a decent meal before coming.

John followed his eyes, spinning around here he stood, "You’re right you know, hate when you’re right.” He sighed.

Paul grinned at him, and George felt invisible again, “No you don’t.” He said.

“No I don’t.” John agreed, and George was caught off guard by the sudden earnestness of it. What on earth was wrong with this night. One more unexpected development or change in emotion from John and he was going to make it home by himself drunkenness be damned. He didn’t want to be in the middle of it all anymore. He was always in the bloody middle of it. Sick of it. Sick of John, sick of Paul, who was his best friend, being so focused on John all the damn time-  “Feel better mate. Your head's going to kill you tomorrow.” He looked, well, again with that earnestness.

The anger seeped away, he probably visibly defrosted, “Thanks for the reminder Johnny.” George replied dryly.

Maybe John wasn’t all bad. Only bad when they forgot about him. When they didn’t, it felt good, to be there with them. Wouldn’t be in a band with them if it didn’t, he supposed, but it felt more good than with other mates. Other lads. Didn’t know why. Just was.

He whined as Paul let go of him unexpectedly, almost falling down with the sudden loss of pressure, and Paul look at him so startled, grabbing onto his hand, “Christ George, just going to grab your guitar,” He assured, and George looked at him miserably, but nodded anyway.

John was giving him that weird look again, as the bus pulled up and Paul threw him a wave and went to collect their instruments from where John had plopped the down, George gave him the same miserable look he gave Paul. He looked for a moment like he was going to say something, eyes flickering between the two men. George wanted desperately to know what was running through his head, what possible new thing could have come up to make him look like that. John scared him like that.

“Make sure Paul doesn’t let you choke in your sleep,” Is what he ended up saying, which was certainly not what he had been on the brink of saying for those few agonising seconds where both John and George had been aware he wanted to say something. But what? He couldn’t leave it like that, it was going to drive George crazy, what did he mean? What did he really mean?

He wanted to grab John as he hopped onto the bus all casual and skippy, shake the man and demand to know what ran through his big stupid head to make him look at them like that. What was he thinking about George? About Paul?

John shot them a wave, and he was gone, Paul waved back, George just stood there in even greater dismay as the man who could answer his questions disappeared.

“Just another few minutes for us,” Paul nudged him, “What’s gotten into you? So chipper before, don’t tell me you’re feeling sick again.”  He said, talking more at George than expecting him to actually respond. George shook his head quickly. He wasn’t going to be sick, he was just going to kill John at some point. Bastard deserved it.

When George didn’t verbally respond, Paul kept talking, “You worried me, you know, looked so ill when you went past. Didn’t even realise John went in with you, too busy trying to get away.” He explained, probably thinking George wasn’t really paying attention.

“Wha, huh? You wanted to get away?” George knew he sounded incredulous, but seriously why the fuck would Paul want to leave the girl?

“You were sick,” Like that answered all of it. Like George was worth checking on like that. He felt like he’d entered a new reality.

“But John wouldn’t ‘ave done that. Not for me.” George tried to justify, it didn’t make sense, I mean, he rarely was sick when drinking. He’d been drinking for ages now, usually knew his limit. Had been months, maybe a year since he had been.

Paul looked a bit offended as he said it, “I’m not John, am I? You’re my best mate, had to make sure.” Best mate. Huh. He thought John was Paul’s best mate, or maybe that they were sharing the title. Didn’t think it was still definitive like that.

George was still lost, “But I thought you were gonna, uh, go home with her.” Looked like he’d planned on it. Still dishevelled, would they even be let on the bus? George suddenly had the urge to fix Paul’s collar, try and rub off the lipstick mark, fix him up. He probably didn’t look great either, but it was different, such different reasons.

“Nah, wasn’t feeling it,” Paul shrugged. No big deal, all of that, and it was no big deal to him.

He didn’t believe that. Not from the way it looked like things were going. But George knew better than to argue that point, even in his delirious state. Paul herded them on the bus soon enough, talking about the show, George’s playing, when the next practice was, all that mundane stuff while George sat there stewing on it all like an idiot, only humming in agreement sometimes.

When they were off the bus, once again with Paul’s hand on his shoulder leading him out, it became clear that Paul also was burning to ask something. Something in the way he was watching him, his furtive little movements, George desperately wanted to just tell him to spit it out, go ahead and ask.

Luckily the other man blurted it out before he had a chance to snap, “Why’d you never tell me you hadn’t kissed anyone?” He said, all in a rush, cheeks flushed.

“Never said that, I have kissed girls before.” George replied, looking at Paul with intrigue, because why on earth was he thinking about that confession of all things? Could be good for him though, you know, so he could ask Paul, so he wasn’t going to argue the point.

“Yeah, yeah I’ve seen.” He waved off the correction easily, but George thought it was a notable distinction, “But you said not much, and never sleepin’ with them. Had no idea.” Paul muttered, seeming genuinely put out about it.

“Thought you’d tease me.” George said, “Well, not you mind, but John,” He added trying to soften the blow when he saw Paul looking at him so sadly.

“I wouldn’t,” Paul insisted, his hand brushing against George’s making the other man practically jump with the contact. Fuck he was sensitive today.

George looked away, he couldn’t handle looking at Paul directly as he said it, “Haven’t any experience, don’t really know what I’m doing with any of it. That’s why I don’t do it more. Not ‘cause I don’t want to, or that I couldn’t pull.” He explained, “Awkward that, the practice bit.”

Paul hummed, he was really very close, startlingly close, and still George wished madly that he was closer, “Well, you could find an inexperienced girl to practice with, less awkward that way.” He suggested, “Or a really experienced one, if she thought you were cute she wouldn’t mind.” He smiled, and George had to look away again, feeling himself become flustered.

He didn’t want to kiss any girls. He did, but not right now, certainly not any random ones at the bar, inexperienced or otherwise. If he was going to do any practice, it couldn’t be with some random person. That’s why Paul was such a good idea.

“Don’t want to do that. Seems awful, admitting a thing like that to a girl.” He muttered, rejecting the idea.

“What’s your plan then?” Paul asked, not put out by the refusal of his idea. For some reason George thought he would be.

“Don’t know. I’ll figure it out eventually I’m sure.” George muttered, they were at his street now, he wanted Paul to stay, he wanted him to keep talking, he didn’t know how to ask it though. Not now. Most days it was easy, asking Paul if he wanted to stay round, most of the time he said yes to. When he said no George felt this weight in him, but probably all people felt that. “Maybe all the skills you and John have will transfer over through being around you.” He grinned.

Paul laughed, “I don’t think it works that way George.” He teased, then went pensive for a moment, before speaking again hesitantly, “That why you were looking, at the bar?”

He wanted to deny it, to ask what Paul was talking about, as if he didn’t know perfectly well what Paul was saying. But his better judgement decided it would be ridiculous to even try and pretend he didn’t know. “A bit. Was easier, than watching a different couple, since you’re my mate. I know you.” He hoped that made sense, at Paul’s lack of immediate response he added, “Also you were just like, right there. Not like I had my head tilted 180 degrees to see you.”

“I wasn’t accusing you of being an owl George, only curious.” Paul replied gently, a little too gently, “How’s it easier? Would’ve thought it’d be more awkward, whenever John’s doing all that I try and avoid him like the plague.” Reasonable. George also avoided looking at John in that situation.

“Don’t know really.” George muttered, feeling a little too visible, a little too seen, “I’ve already seen you, already know you, how you move, seems more natural when that’s the case. Not just two bodies, but a body you know well.” As if he did know Paul’s body well, it was a confession of sorts, the way he said it, as to exactly how much and how often he was watching Paul.

“Never thought about it like that,” Paul said softly.

“I hadn’t either till you were in front of me.” George said, it was true after all, “Really most of what I was thinking was that you looked like you knew what you were doing. That I wanted to try it. You know.” He tried to explain, make it sound like he wanted the girl, to be in Paul’s shoes and not, and not,

Fuck, not hers. His brain tried to come up with any other explanation, any other reason, but unfortunately reality was bound to catch up with him sooner or later. He wanted to be where she was. Wanted to be the one leaving lipstick marks, perhaps not literally.

He was about to go silent, to swallow up in his shame and misery and not speak to Paul for the rest of the night, not even invite him in properly, maybe he’d die in his sleep and it’d all be fine.

Then Paul interrupted his thoughts, “Do you want to try it?” He asked, so simple, not even sounding nervous.

George’s eyes snapped to him, “Huh?” He said, very intelligently.

“I mean, do you want to try it?” Paul repeated with a smile, sly, smug smile, made George even more scared.

He let out a half laugh, nervous, “Uh, she’s not around now, can’t exactly-“

“With me.” Paul added, like that made anything easier anything better.

“Oh.” George blinked, he hadn’t expected this conversation to be so easy. “Yeah.” He said, he didn’t think it should be allowed to be that simple, but Paul just nodded at him, lazily. “Now?” He added, a little stupidly, kind of hoping Paul would just press forward and do whatever he had been doing to that girl to him, right here, right now.

“I’m not kissing you on the street George, we’d be arrested,” Paul admonished, and George had forgotten about that part.

“Oh, yeah, suppose so.” It would be illegal, because other people wouldn’t know it’s just for practice, other people would think they were queers. Wasn’t that absurd? The idea of Paul being a queer, man who was as John had said practically shagging a woman in public just earlier tonight.

The idea of him being queer on the other hand. It made him feel dizzy, a little queasy. He hated that it didn’t feel absurd as Paul’s queerness did. Jealousy, jealousy of who? It was difficult to say, to figure out, he didn’t want to figure out, he wished he hadn’t figured it out, he didn’t want to think about it ever again, wished he could expel it all from his mind.

They were at his door. George hardly realised for how intensely he was looking at Paul, the other man had to give him a smile before he even realised and moved to let them both in. They snuck to his room, always did, George was in a blur, a daze, trance, out of body experience and all that.

He was mostly convinced he was hallucinating again. Did Paul read his mind? It would be rather concerning if he could do that. George hoped he didn’t read his mind as he slipped off his boots, sitting back in his bed as Paul dropped down their guitars, slipping off his jacket.

It felt surreal, watching the other man untie his own boots, preparing, preparing for what? George hardly even knew what ‘try it’ entailed, were they just going to kiss, what the hell was Paul’s plan here? George certainly didn’t have a plan, he hoped Paul didn’t expect him to have a plan, or list of things he wanted to practice, he didn’t even know where to start. His heart was racing and his mind was in a fog. God Paul shouldn’t be making his heart beat this fast, he hadn’t even done anything, just the bloody anticipation of it was killing him.

He copied Paul at least, taking off his own jacket, tossing it onto a pile of old clothes to deal with. Paul was watching him, hooded eyes, fuck he was good at this, playing this weird seductive role, working on George at least, he did feel proper seduced. Probably wasn’t meant to, as they were both lads and best mates and all, but he did anyway.

He felt like he should say something. Anything. He didn’t know what, an invitation to begin, a question of what he should do, how he should sit, anything, but Paul came over to him without a word, padding across his floor in just his socks now, then without a further word, he leaned down over where George was sitting and cupped his face softly with one hand, making George shiver.

Paul had a knack for that, making him shiver. Making a habit of it he was. George was practically holding his breath, staring at Paul even as the other man let his eyes flutter close. He knew he needed to close his eyes, but how was he meant to look at Paul then, take in his expression, the flush on his cheeks even in his darkened room only lit by the moon. He closed his eyes anyway.

The first press of the man’s lips was still unexpected. George nearly jolted away there and then, so electric, so frighteningly real. But he didn’t he forced himself to be still even as Paul’s mouth began to move against his, slowly, opening him up, making George begin to follow the pattern, the rhythm of the movements like he would a new song on the guitar. Was it really that easy? It hadn’t felt so, the few times he’d tried before, but with Paul, it felt natural to follow along with the movements he felt, to reach his previously still fidgety hands out to hold Paul’s waist, to pull him closer and revel in the small exhale that produced.

The feeling of him was addictive, perfect, everything George had thought it looked to be and still even more than that. Paul knew exactly how to make everything feel so blindingly good and right, the heat pooled in George’s gut, needy, wanting.

He let out a little sound of pleasure, he didn’t mean to, as Paul worked his way into his mouth with practised ease. He hoped any part of this was as good for Paul as it was for him. He hoped desperately that Paul might let them do this again. Paul was smiling against his lips, gently nipping at his lower lip, making George let out something that could be described as a whimper. Fuck it felt good, he didn’t realise how good it would feel. Hadn’t been prepared properly.

Paul’s other hand, the one not gently sliding the thumb across his cheekbone, was splayed on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart, so fast, so recklessly, and then it travelled, moved and did exactly what George had wanted it to so desperately and buried itself in his hair, tugging on it in the right way, pulling him even closer.

He could have stayed there with Paul for hours, consequences on their friendship and very existence be damned. How could any of this be wrong? Legally, morally, hell, even just between the two of them. All he knew is he needed Paul, wanted him, wanted to stay like this with him forever. His taste, his smell, George adored it.

George realised he needed to breathe all in one go. Gently pulling back with a gasp, feeling lightheaded, dazed, like he’d woken from a dream. He blinked, opened his eyes, looked at Paul in front of him, who’s eyes were already open, his pupils blown, his lips red and swollen like they had been before, but now he was close enough to see they were also wet, glistening, he was looking at him through hooded lashes.

Fuck he was definitely hard. He prayed Paul would not notice. “Any good?” He asked, stupidly, wishing he could suck the words right back in as soon as they spilled out with how rough and destroyed, he sounded.

Paul was breathing heavily, his hand still in George’s hair, still at George’s cheek. “You’re a natural, don’t know what you were so worried about.” Paul told him, and it wasn’t teasing. His voice was similarly affected, and George felt a whole new wave of arousal wash over him. This wasn’t good at all. He was expected to share a bed with Paul after this.

“Oh, that’s good,” ridiculous. Any wit he once possessed had left him along with his mind and rational thought. “We could still try again though. Make extra sure.”

Paul looked at him, and for a terrifying moment George thought he may laugh at him, but instead, he just nodded. “Yeah. Make extra sure.” He repeated. Then, wordlessly, moved his hands, and gently pushed George back further onto the bed, he went willingly, leaning back on his elbows, “Easier this way, bit awkward leaning over you like that,” Paul muttered, and suddenly he was clambering on top of the other man.

George thought about objecting for a moment, then decided against it, accepting his fate, taking in the weight of Paul on his lap, the way Paul hands were on him, he stared up at the other man in a complete blank. Paul was staring right back, so flustered, so red, eyes sparkling in the dim light, those damn lipstick marks still on him, the indecent fucker.

He kissed him this time, George initiated, it was more passionate, less slow and sensual and more a push and pull of desperation between the two of them, less coordinated. Still, it felt as good, if not better, Paul’s hands were slowly working their way under George’s shirt and he was touching him, sparks went all through him at the sensation. Paul was making these perfect little sounds that George just wanted to consume entirely, feeling more and more desperate at every passing moment, the weight of Paul on top of him, his arse, his thighs, God this wasn’t going to end well.

Paul shifted forward, further onto him, and suddenly George jolted in fear realising that, but Paul was hard too, grinding against him, helpless, making these desperate moans every time his hips thrust forward against George and fuck, it felt incredible. It had no right to feel that good. Wasn’t even real sex, but knowing Paul was feeling as good as him, that Paul wanted this, wanted him.

Broke their kiss, hands now at Paul’s hips, tugging him even closer, desperately aching for more and more sensation, more pressure, more of everything. He let out a gasp as Paul began pressing kisses down his neck, gently nipping at a certain spot on his neck that felt really damn good for some reason. George was pressing up against Paul now, shaky motions, building pressure, and then Paul paused, his breath catching, moving faster and then slowing down, breathing heavily, shakily into George’s neck.

George was confused for a moment as Paul sat still on top of him, he tried to push against him again but the other man let out a quiet whine, squirming on top of him. Oh, he’d, oh. The realisation made George go almost blank.

“George,” Paul whispered, saying his name like it was something precious, to be treasured, “Have you?” He asked, so softly.

George shook his head, not trusting his own voice, wondering just how red he was now, he let out some kind of squeak as Paul’s hand moved to the front of his trousers, grinding down against his cock, and really it took almost nothing from there, already so stimulated by Paul on top of him, by his pleasure that it barely took a few moments before he’d joined Paul, biting his lip to muffle the sound as he came.

Paul kissed him again then, tilting his head up gently and pressing his lips against his so softly, sweetly. Like a thank you. It was divine. George didn’t think he’d ever feel anything quite so good ever again in his life.

When he pulled away it was with a smile, “You know George I reckon you could do with some more lessons?” He said, a little too cheery for how breathy he still was.

George blinked up at him, “You think?” He asked, not getting it at first, and then he let out a little sound of recognition, “Oh. Yes, yes I think I could. Definitely. Lot more to learn.”

Paul laughed, airy, giving him another kiss, quick and adoring. “You’re ridiculous,”

But George didn’t really care that Paul thought he was ridiculous. He was, definitely, Paul was right. But it seemed to have all worked out for him at the end.