?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Konnichiwa Sunshine

Title: Konnichiwa Sunshine
Author: quietprofanity
Fandom: The Beatles
Pairings: John/Paul, Paul/George, Misc. others … Uhhh … look, I do innuendo galore, okay? Go with it.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction/parody. It does not represent true events and no libel or defamation is intended. Written to raise money for a charity and not for any financial benefit of the author.
Warnings: RPS. Fangirl Japanese.
Summary: The Beatles as heroes of a shojo/yaoi manga universe. Written for brown_mousers for the help_haiti drive.

Acknowledgments: Based on a conversation between myself and sandoz_iscariot, which you can see here. She deserves way kudos for allowing me to expand this.

~*~*~

Finally, John thought, he had gotten Paul alone.

They walked along the Liverpool side of the Mersey River – the cherry blossom trees in full bloom during the beautiful spring day. It had been a hard week for The Beatles. They’d been performing for eight days straight and only had an afternoon off to themselves before it started all over again the next day. They hadn’t even had the time to take off their new stage costumes. John still wasn’t sure if Brian’s new idea – solid black military-style suits with straight legs and button-down shirts with two-button standing collars – was a good one. Yet he couldn’t deny that the new outfit made Paul look stunning, provided stark contrast and emphasized the boyish curves of his face, his wide and bright smile, his kaleidoscope eyes.

John reached out to Paul, wanting to hold his hand, but Paul anticipated the gesture, spun to face him.

“John!” Paul exclaimed, the wind blowing through his mop-top hair. “We can’t do that out here …”

Part of John wanted to sigh with exasperation. For God’s sake, they’d done so much worse back on stage in Hamburg. Before Brian reined them in, the average performance for John would involve cursing, eating on stage, running around with no pants, and the occasional on-stage makeouts out with Paul while George played his solos.

Yet he had to admit he enjoyed when Paul let him play the seme.

“Why are you so shy when you’re beside me?” John grabbed onto Paul’s hips and yanked him close, smiling as the telltale blush overtook Paul’s cheeks. “It’s only love.” And sex, he thought.

“And I love you …” Paul said. “But …”

John kissed along his neck, gleeful as his partner’s words dissolved into sighs. He leaned up slightly to meet Paul’s cupid-bow lips, eager for that taste of honey.

A loud rustling behind him made him stop. Frustration boiled in his stomach as he felt Paul push him away.

“John – in the bushes. I’ve just seen a face.”

Christ, John thought. And he’d been so careful to make sure no girls had followed them. He took Paul by the arm, ready to move elsewhere, when he saw a look of recognition on Paul’s face.

“George?” Paul asked. He called out, hands to his mouth. “Geo-chan, is that you in there?”

Oh. John thought. Great.

The bush rustled again as George popped his head out, a crooked smile on his face.

“Hello!” he said to the two of them.

“How long have you been hiding in there?” John asked, unable to keep the irritation he felt from bleeding into his voice. “I thought I told you to spend time with Ringo today.”

The smile on George’s face melted, making him look like a puppy that had been kicked.

“Don’t be mean, John.”

“But Paul, he does this all the time, doesn’t he? When me and Cynthia were going out …”

“George is always welcome to come with us.” Paul extended a hand to their young bandmate. “Come on out, Geo-chan.”

The smile returned to George’s face. “ONIIIIII-SAMAAAAAA!” he cried as he bounded out of the bushes and into Paul’s arms.

John tried not to seethe as Paul stroked George’s hair. George cuddled up to him, making loud humming noises and moaning, “I need you, Onii-sama.” John was about to turn away when George looked over Paul’s shoulder. George stuck his tongue out at John. His right eye twinkled like a star.

Oh, that little …

“Baka gaki!” John bonked a fist against George’s head.

Paul’s mouth dropped open in horror as George sat on the ground, his hands nursing the large, red bump that appeared on his head (and somehow already had a bandage on it), streams of tears running down his face.

“Waaaai,” George cried. “John-niisan’s so mean, Onii-sama.”

“John!” Paul bent down, taking George into his arms again. “How could you?”

George sniffled loudly, and then looked up at John again. He winked.

John raised his fist again. “You little terror, you --!”

George screamed, then took to his feet.

“Yeah, you better run for your life!” John said.

John started to run after George, but George circled round and hid behind Paul, using him as a shield. George let out a noise somewhere between a pout and a moan, then ran his hands up and down Paul’s upper arms, caressing him. “Make him be nice, Onii-sama.”

Paul obliged, crossing his arms and glaring at John. “Apologize to Geo-chan.”

“But, Paul, he was …”

“Apologize.”

John sighed, turned his head away so he didn’t have to look at George’s crocodile tears. “I’m sorry for hitting you, George-kun.”

“Right, then.” Paul took George’s hand and pulled him closer to John. He slapped the two of them on their backs. “Now, hug and make up.”

For a moment, George’s tear-stained face disappeared, replaced with one of total disbelief. Good, John thought. At least he’ll find this as unpleasant as I do. John eagerly took George into his arms, squeezed him until the younger boy claimed he wasn’t able to breathe.

“There,” Paul said, adjusting his collar with the air of a man who’d just completed a job well done. “Don’t we all feel better?”

“Oh, sure,” John said, giving George another squeeze before letting him go. George wheezed out something that might have been “bakayaro” but John ignored it. He was still annoyed with George for ruining his day alone (and eventually naked) with Paul.

“Where’d you leave Ringo, anyway?” John asked.

“I didn’t,” George insisted, petulance rimming his words. “I haven’t seen him since we’ve got off the train with Brian-san.”

“Now, Geo-chan,” Paul said. “You didn’t run away from him, did you?”

George shook his head. “I told you. Ringo-san was just gone. So I followed you lot.” George glomped onto Paul again. “I’m so glad I found you, too, Onii-sama!”

“Enough of that.” John grabbed George by the scruff of his collar and yanked him away from Paul. “Course Ringo would be the one to get lost. He’s always the one getting us into trouble.”

“I don’t know,” George said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Seems like you like to get in plenty of trouble with Onii-sama, John-niisan.”

John was about to respond when Paul grasped onto his shoulder.

“Isn’t that Brian-san coming up the road?” he asked.

John looked up. The man running toward them with a worried look on his face was indeed their manager. Oh well, it was common for Brian to be harried by the business side of things. John waved to Brian, called out to him as soon as he was in earshot.

“Hey, Oyaji-san!”

Brian’s normally benevolent expression hardened into a frown. “Six years older than you …” John heard him mutter as he finally ran up to them, panting and scant of breath.

“And he looks not a day over 40, eh?” John swung behind Brian and spooned himself against him. “Course he still loves us despite how handsomer we are, doesn’t he?” John could practically feel the warmth from Brian’s flushed face as he ran a hand up Brian’s thigh. “And he’s always ready to guide us sinners to glory with the strong grip of an older man …”

Brian coughed loudly and wrested himself away from John’s grasp. “We need to be serious, boys. Which one of you last saw Ringo?”

“Can’t find him either, then?” Paul asked. “George said he lost him after we got off the train.”

“Oh dear, that’s worse that I thought.” Brian reached into the inner pocket of his blazer, pulled out a white piece of paper and handed it to Paul. “This was delivered to me about an hour ago.”

John huddled up next to Paul to read the paper, felt a hand on his shoulder as George peered over their backs to get a look for himself. Nevertheless, Paul read it aloud.

“Dear Beatles, We took him back. He’ll be happier with us. Signed, You-Know-Who.”

“Christ,” John spat. He snatched the paper from Paul’s hand and crumpled it up. “It’s that god damned Rory Storm. He was always mad about us taking Ringo from his band.”

“What?” George asked. “That can’t be! Ringo-san wouldn’t leave us on his own. Not after we showered him with affection. And love. And more money.”

“He’d be a bloody quisling if he did.”

“Well,” Brian said, nervously brushing an errant bit of dirt from his shirt, “I believe he did complain about being left out of your games, lately. And you all remember what you did to Pete.”

John felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as he sensed a wave of dark, chilling feeling beside him. He looked over to see Paul bathed in a dark aura, with a red phantom devil’s tail and horns sticking out of his head.

“Peeeeeete …” Paul hissed. “Pete had to go …”

“Oh, Oyajii-san,” John said. “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve brought out the tsundere in him.”

Paul raised his head, fire burning in his eyes. “NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO BE PRETTIER THAN PAUL MCCARTNEY! NO ONE!”

George shrunk back from Paul, his lower lip trembling. “O-O-Onii-sama … so scary …”

John leaned close to George, his right eyebrow raised in amusement. “Oh? Can’t handle his dark side, gaki?”

George immediately frowned and clasped onto Paul’s arm. “Onii-sama is sexy this way … Ow!” He withdrew his arm, shaking it wildly when he realized the sleeve of his jacket was now on fire.

“Enough!” Brian shouted. It immediately got the three boys’ attention, going so far as to turn Paul back into his normal self. “We need to find Ringo.”

George shook out the last bit of flame on his outfit, then looked up at Brian. “I could save him. I did it before!”

“We need to find where the band is first, Geo-chan,” Paul said.

A fifth, but not unfamiliar, voice boomed out over the street. “No need for that, Beatles!”

John glanced overhead, but only caught a glance of something large leaping through the sky, causing the branches of the nearest cherry blossom tree to shake. The thing landed on the ground, spun around like miniature windstorm. When it stopped, a man in a sharp blue suit stood in its place, striking a pose. Sparkles shone around his blonde, coiffed, Elvis-style hair.

“I, Rory Storm …”

Three other men wearing red suits slid next to him, said in perfect unison, “and the Hurricanes …”

“ … are here!”

John stared, dumbfounded, at the four men posing in front of him. “How does everyone know where we are?”

George pushed his way past John and Paul, pointed a finger at Rory. “Give us back our drummer, you villain!”

“You mixer!” Paul added.

“Yeah!”

“How’s your sister?” Paul asked Rory.

George nodded. “Yeah, is she doing all right?”

Rory shrugged. “She’s fine. I’ll tell her the two of you said ‘hi.’”

“Thanks,” Paul said.

Brian stepped in front of George. “Now Storm-san, we discussed this with you years ago. Ringo is part of The Beatles now, so let him go.”

Rory Storm shook his head. “Tell your boys sorry, Epstein-san. Dear Ringo-chan said they’ve been neglecting him. It’s time for him to return to the Hurricanes.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Paul said.

“Yeah, we always invite him to the weekly orgies –“

John elbowed George in the side before he could finish his sentence. “Remember why we told you not to speak so much in public?”

Brian’s face drooped with sorrow. “Weekly orgies?”

Paul pressed forward. “Ringo’s not leaving until we hear the words from his mouth.”

“Well, um …” Rory looked at his bandmates, who all seemed to stare off in every other direction besides Rory’s. He turned back to The Beatles. “He doesn’t want to see you. He’s too hurt and angry.”

“Right,” John said sarcastically. “Come on, we’re not as daft as you are. Just admit you kidnapped our drummer.”

“No!” Tears streamed in a solid waterfall down Rory’s cheeks. He pointed at John and spoke, his eyes blank circles of white his mouth a white rectangle of displeasure. “You’re the thieves, Beatles! He was ours, first! And you don’t appreciate him. I see you on TV. I see you and Paul holding hands. I see Paul and George cuddling. Do you ever hug Ringo? Do you ever kiss Ringo? No! It’s shameful. He’s your bandmate, you heartless fiends!”

“No one kisses me,” Brian muttered.

John shook his head, looked at Paul and George. “I think he’s just jealous, boys. How about you?”

“I am not!” Rory said, stomping his foot on the ground and balling his hands into fists. “You’re going to do the same thing to Ringo-chan that you did to Pete!”

“Peeeeete …” Paul grumbled, the black aura surrounding him again.

“Not now, Onii-sama!” George exclaimed.

“Come on now, you’ve always been the inferior band,” John said. “This is just a ploy to make yourselves more popular, and it won’t work.”

“That’s not true!” Rory said. “We’re just as good as you! We just don’t have the notoriety!”

Brian suddenly perked up again. John could see the glint in his eyes – the look of a man suddenly thrust back into his element. “Oh really? Then why don’t we prove your mettle, Storm-san?”

“What do you mean?”

“Meet us here again in two hours. I’ll order us a stage and set up an applause-tracking meter. It’ll be The Beatles versus The Hurricanes. Whoever wins gets Ringo. Sound fair?”

Rory Storm nodded. “Very well. You may be the popular ones now, but the Hurricanes …” He and his bandmates spun around multiple times, then stood with their legs spread out and their hands on their hips, “ … will STORM to victory!”

John scoffed. “Well, this should be easy.”

“John …” Brian said, a note of warning in his voice.

John rolled his eyes. “Come on, Oyaji-san. We’re The Beatles!”

“What did I tell you about showmanship, John?”

Paul, who was significantly calmed down by this point, placed a hand on John’s shoulder. “It’s good for our image.”

John groaned. It was always Paul who gave in on this point. Oh well.

“Prepare yourselves, Hurricanes. Tonight …” John twirled around, back to the Mersey River, and raised a fist. Paul and George crouched down at either side of him as a wave splashed in back of the three of them.

“ … you face the British invasion.”

~*~*~

Brian was as good as his word. Maybe too good. Within an hour he’d managed to get two stages rented and set up alongside the Mersey for both the bands, and within an hour and a half the crowd arrived. Even though John couldn’t see them, crouched as he was beneath the stage with Paul and George sitting across from him, the screams were so loud and endless that he and the others had to cover their ears.

“Onii-sama!” George yelled over the din. “Is Brian-san’s meter going to be strong enough?”

“’Course not!” John screamed back. “Oyaji-san’s making a point! Nobody can even hear our music at the concerts these days! Storm-kun could never beat this!”

Paul’s large eyes flitted in the direction of the noise, then over John’s shoulder, where the Hurricanes’ stage stood next to theirs. “But what about them, eh? If it were as simple as that why did they agree?”

John snorted, rolled his eyes. “Come on, now! If they were smart they wouldn’t have stolen Ringo and come to gloat to us about it in the first place!”

Despite what John said, Paul’s eyes were filled with worry. “I don’t like it, John!”

Before John could respond, Brian poked his head beneath the stage, waved a thumb over his shoulder.

“Let’s go!” John said.

He crawled out from beneath the stage and hoisted himself by his arms to the top, Paul, then George, following. While not the largest crowd they ever played for, the street was jammed with girls. They pressed up against the stage and each other, screeching and throwing Poifull jelly candies at The Beatles’ stage. John picked up his guitar, which had been left on stage for him, and looked over at Rory Storm and the Hurricanes. As they stood there among the amplifiers and other stage equipment (including a small black box near the back that John couldn’t figure out the purpose of), they seemed unfazed by the unequal adulation. John wondered for a moment whether Paul was right.

Brian, who now wore a white kimono under black hakama pants and conical straw hat on his head, walked between the two stages, carrying a small gong and mallet in his hands. He stood beside the meter set up between the stages, then spoke to the crowd.

“Good afternoon. Welcome to the battle for Ringo.” Brian had to pause as shouts of “Waaaaaaaaai!” and “Ringo-chan is so kawaii!” echoed through the crowd. “The Hurricanes will play first, then The Beatles. Whoever wins gets their drummer.” Brian struck the gong. “Begin!”

Rory Storm grabbed the microphone and lifted his hand over his head. He raised three fingers, counting down from three, two, one …

“Now!” he yelled to his band.

But instead of playing their guitars, the Hurricanes all raised their hands when they lowered them, four small explosions went off, and smoke filled the stage. The audience screamed. Some began to run away.

John looked over at Paul to see his face twisted into an expression of shock. Brian didn’t look much better. John ran toward the end of the stage to be closer to Brian. “You giving an edge to the competition with them smoke tricks, Oyaji-san?”

Brian shook his head fiercely. “I don’t know what’s going –”

Before Brian could finish his sentence John felt himself pitch forward, landing face-first onto the stage. God, he suddenly felt horrible – far worse than all those times he’d swallowed too many prellies with his beer. His body felt heavy, his clothes far too tight. He only just started to register how the stage felt weak underneath him when he fell through it, his clothes bursting off him in the process.

After he shook of the shock of impact, John raised his head to see Brian’s face – complete with a slackmouth and bulging eyes – poking over the side of the ruined stage through a cloud of smoke.

“Oh my God,” Brian moaned. He sounded on the verge of tears. “Oh my God. Are you three all right?”

John tried to get his bearings, looked down at himself. He felt his new, large tusks poke into his brown chest as he lifted his flippers to his face. “Not really …” he said.

Well, at least he could talk.

“Is that you, John?”

“Actually, I’m a beetle on the surface of its skin. The walrus was Paul.”

“Not funny!”

John squinted his eyes through the fading smoke, saw what looked like a juvenile Asian elephant with – yes, that was definitely a third eye in the middle of its head – coming toward him. (At least he hadn’t been the only fatty to break the stage.) A gray cat ran down the elephant’s trunk and onto the ground in front of John.

“I’m really Paul,” the cat said.

“Lucky you,” John replied. “Being the only one to lose weight in all this.”

Paul hissed, baring his new fangs at John. God, why was that a turn-on? It wasn’t as if …

No, best not to ponder the logistics of that.

“How did this happen?” George asked, his third eye blinking.

A loud, “Oh-ho-ho-ho” of laughter, something female that sounded like the triumph of a particularly snobby opera singer, pierced their ears.

“What’s that?” Paul asked.

“It’s coming from the other stage …” Brian said. “There’s still a lot of smoke. I can’t see well.”

John couldn’t see at all over the remains of the stage in this state. He tried to pull himself on clumsy flippers to the exit near the back, but George was already dealing with the problem, ripping and smashing through the broken wood with his trunk so he could get through. John moved behind him, and the smoke finally cleared around the Hurricanes.

Rory Storm stood on the stage with his hands on his hips. Beside him stood a very tiny, somewhat manly (yet somehow still fiercely attractive, John thought, like a bishonen, even) woman with a wave of shining black hair. Dark sunglasses covered her eyes.

“It’s over, Beatles!” Rory crowed. “I have found your weakness.”

“Yes,” the woman said. She removed her sunglasses, revealing her sparkling, seashell eyes. “I am a witch!”

Two robots, both of which towered over the woman and were shaped like men – even though one of them had a beard and the other didn’t, suddenly flanked her the way the Hurricanes flanked Rory.

“And what a great witch you are, Yoko-sama!”

“This latest spell is a testament to your inscrutable genius, Yoko-sama!”

“Oh-ho-ho-ho!” Yoko laughed again. “Klaus-kun, Alan-kun, you’re always so kind and so smart …”

Brian’s face was red with fury. “So, I set up a fair contest and you cheat!”

“We suspected you would all along,” Paul said. “Well, not the turning into animals part. That was unique, but …”

John looked over the Hurricanes. While two of them stood stone-faced behind Rory Storm, another surreptitiously picked up the black box.

Ah, yes … now John knew what was in it.

“You can forget about ever releasing another single after this, Storm-san,” Brian said, pointing a finger at Rory. “When I’m through with you, the Hurricanes won’t be able to get a job playing at garden parties!”

“It doesn’t matter. Even if you manage to break the spell, which you won’t, we’ll still have Ringo,” he blew them a kiss, spun around and raced toward the back of the stage, the others following him through the streets. “Farewell, Beatles!”

“Stop!” Brian yelled. He looked out to the audience for help, but they’d already dispersed as quickly as they’d come.

“I’ll get ‘em,” Paul said, his body curled up in rage. “I’ll come down upon their heads like a silver hammer!” He raced toward the Hurricanes on his claws.

The likely outcome of the situation suddenly hit John. “Paul, don’t!”

Too late. As Paul leaped for Rory, the man spun around and backhanded him, sending Paul yowling and careening back to the ground in a ball of fur.

“ONII-SAMA!” George cried. He trumpeted in fury, and then charged toward the group. He knocked two of the Hurricanes to the ground with his trunk. Next he went for Storm.

Yoko Ono spun around, her hair twirling behind her like a black flag. “Plastic Ono Band! Attack!”

The two robots surrounded George. Alan’s hand transformed into a cattle prod, which he jammed into George’s side. His third eye filled with tears as Klaus’s hand transformed into a gun. It shot out a net, which covered him and tripped him. He fell to the ground.

“Oh-ho-ho-ho,” Yoko smiled at George as he struggled with the net. “You shouldn’t struggle. Why don’t you give peace a chance, baka gaki?”

George thrashed his trunk against the net. “Fuck you, Oba-san!”

Meanwhile, John crawled past the scene, struggled to follow the remaining men, his eyes still locked on the Hurricane with the box. God, the man was so far ahead and John’s new body was practically useless. There was no way he could stop him like this. The bells of the ships in the river seemed to ring out his defeat and …

Oh … river. Right.

John crawled to the edge and dove in. The current was against him but his new body felt free and light in the water, and he swam through it with ease.

Moments later John emerged onto the riverbank, this time in front of the Hurricane. The young man was so shocked at John’s sudden appearance that he stopped in his tracks, which allowed John ample time to barrel into him and knock him to the ground. John positioned his tusks against the man’s leg, ready to pierce.

“Let go of the box!” John commanded. “Now!”

The Hurricane did. As soon as John moved his tusks, the man ran away as fast as he could. John sighed in relief. He wrapped his flippers protectively around the box, a warm feeling growing in his normally-cynical heart.

Then the box was snatched away.

John raised his tusks to strike, but saw Yoko standing over him, box in hand. She flashed a smile at him – although it was a kind one this time, not at all like the look she had given George, and he was dumbstruck.

“Oh, men, men, men.” Yoko kneeled down, stroked a hand over his head. “I’m sorry, Anata. I wouldn’t have normally worked with someone like that. I just … our time together was so short. This way I can change things … We can …”

She blinked, and a single tear streamed down her face, reflected in a shining beam. John didn’t understand it fully, but it felt like a picture of love and a deep, deep regret.

And in that picture, he was the walrus.

Before John could say anything, a bright light appeared behind Yoko. She turned back to see the light open into a portal. Two women – one blonde, the other brunette – stepped out from the portal and took Yoko by each arm.

“All right, Yoko,” said the blonde. “It’s time to leave.”

“What?” Yoko looked at the blonde, then the brunette. “What’s going on?”

“Sorry,” said the brunette. “You can’t stay here. It messes with the space-time continuum and dharma and … I don’t know. George explained it better. I’d just call it a deus ex machina.”

“But … but I’m actually Japanese! This isn’t fair!”

Paul came running up the street. “John, what’s going …?” he looked at the blonde. “Oh …” he trailed off, as if forgetting what he had come here for. He meowed and rubbed his gray fur against her leg.

The blonde sighed with a misery that John normally associated with lovesickness. “See, Olivia? This is why I don’t eat animals.” She grabbed the black box away from Yoko and placed it in front of John.

The blonde and brunette then pulled Yoko into the portal. Yoko screamed out “Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?” as it closed.

“That was strange,” Paul said.

“Onii-sama!”

John could feel the vibrations in the ground before he could see George moving toward them. He hadn’t known elephants could skip.

“Geo-chan,” Paul said. “Have you seen Brian-san?”

“Yeah, he caught Storm-san soon after I got rid of them robots. They’re with a bobby now working out the kidnapping charges. I hope they find Ringo-san soon.” George moved closer to John. “What’s in that box, John-niisan?”

“The last piece of this all. Think you can open it with your trunk, George-kun?”

George rubbed the tip of his trunk around the rim. “I think so.”

“Be careful, Geo-chan,” Paul said.

George gripped onto the lid of the box and slowly pulled it off. John looked inside to see a small bag filled with water, and inside the bag sat a tiny octopus with gold rings at the end of four of its arms. If John could smile, he would have when heard the happy gasps of George and Paul.

“Our own little tentacle monster,” John said.

George pulled open the string of the bag with his trunk and the spell was broken. Ringo sat with his legs splayed out over the edge of the box, his buttocks still stuck inside, dripping wet and naked. The others – John wet from the river, Paul and George dry – had returned to normal as well.

“Oh …” Ringo said, blinking and shaking out his hair. “Hello, everyone. I had the strangest dream … Why are we all naked?”

“Ringo-san!” George wrapped his arms around Ringo and cuddled against his back. “Storm-san said you wanted to leave us. That’s not true, right?”

“Well … What with you and John fighting over Paul all the time, I felt a bit left out. Still didn’t mean I’d leave you for that lot, though.”

“Better not,” John said. “All that money and fame. You’d be an idiot.”

Paul sighed and gave John a playful push on the shoulder. “He means we’re glad to have you back again, Ringo-san.”

Paul cuddled up against Ringo’s right side, and John followed suit against Ringo’s left. As they basked in a feeling of mutual friendship and camaraderie (and nudity), John decided that despite his foiled afternoon plans the day had went all right. He felt young and alive and there was no place he’d rather be than this. He reached over to slap George’s hand before it finished its descent to Paul’s naked ass, then hugged Ringo again.

“Oh, boys!”

John looked up to see Brian walking toward them.

“Boys, are you around? I just got away from the police. Rory Storm shouldn’t bother us again. I …” Brian got close enough to see what was going on, and his mouth dropped open.

“Hey Brian-san!” George said. “Look, we found Ringo-san! And we’re not animals anymore.”

“Yeah,” Ringo said. “That’s really important, that not being animals thing.”

Brian’s mouth had closed again, started to shake as tears filled his eyes.

“You …” Brian sniffled. “You never let me do anything fun! I do so much for you … I work so hard and you … you …” A sob escaped his mouth. “John no baka!”

“Hey! Why’s this all my fault?”

But Brian had already run away, tears streaming from his eyes, leaving the Beatles still curled up together and naked.

“I wonder what animal he’ll turn into when he gets captured by a rival band trying to win our fans,” George said. “I hope it’s a little piggy.”

“Geo-chan …”

George pouted. “Just thought it would be cool, Onii-sama …”

Ringo stood up, almost falling again when he tried to take a step. “Right, two legs,” he reminded himself. “Be best to follow him, eh?”

John really didn’t want to. Brian was great, really, but John was exhausted from the day’s events, especially swimming up-current while weighing thousands of pounds. He didn’t really want to put up with Brian’s demands at the moment.

“Why don’t you go, Ringo-san?” Paul said. “You too, Geo-chan.”

George looked crestfallen. “But …”

“Ringo-san needs the company,” Paul said. He rubbed the palm of his hand beneath George’s chin. “And you’re the one I can rely on the most, Geo-chan.” He leaned forward and kissed George on the cheek, causing deep red ovals to form under George’s eyes.

John tried not to puke. Or make immature puking noises.

George leaped to his feet, fresh-faced and happy (although not so happy he didn’t send John a dirty look, mouth the words “next time,” and point to Paul, then himself). He grasped Ringo’s hand and they ran after Brian.

As soon as they were gone, Paul turned to John. Before he knew what was happening, John felt himself being pushed to the ground. Paul’s mouth covered John’s lips. His tongue slipped inside, meeting John’s own. John raked his fingers down Paul’s back, so euphoric about getting what he wanted that he didn’t even care about not being the seme at the moment. God, he wanted him so bad. It was driving him mad.

Paul sat up on John’s waist, stuck two fingers in his mouth and sucked.

“There,” he said. “Now, no one will be watching us. Why don’t we do it in the road?”

John smiled. As if he would ever say no …

The End.

Comments

quietprofanity
Feb. 2nd, 2010 03:13 am (UTC)
YAY JEM AND THE HOLOGRAMS ICON
<3<3<3 THANK YOU KOUHAI-CHAN!!!!!

"Kanye turns into a peacock" brilliant.

Oh, Kanye turns into a peacock fic. We should all be so amazing every day of our lives. Like Kanye himself. <3

Profile

Asshole Writer At Work
quiprofanfics
quiprofanfics

Latest Month

May 2012
S M T W T F S
  12345
6789101112
13141516171819
20212223242526
2728293031  

Tags

Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Lilia Ahner