Prompt One: Guitar
Title: While My Guitar Gently Weeps
"Would you mind taking a look at this song idea I have?" I ask Paul just before the start of another laborious recording session.
"Sure George. I'll have a look in just a minute." He answers offhandedly, before turning back to fiddle with his bass.
I watch as Paul's fingers slide gently over the strings of his bass, up it's neck and begins turning the machine heads,tuning it. I sigh and turn away. I walk over to my guitar, pick it up and begin plucking away at the strings. Feeling the weight of it, smelling the metal and wood, and revelling in the calming feeling it gives me. Everything has been out of sorts. I know we're falling apart. We have been for awhile. Part of me doesn't want to care. Part of me wants to just stand up and walk out, leaving Paul and John standing there with their hands waving in the air trying to figure out what happened.
I've spent years on the back burner. Being pushed around between John and Paul. They've always tried pushing me in any direction they thought best. Now, they don't seem to care at all. They don't have any input for me on my songs, they pretty much ignore me. I've wondered what's changed the dynamics of our relationship. But I can't seem to figure it out.
I lean back against the wall and play a melody out. A song was there, I could hear it, feel it, I'm just waiting for the words. I'm not stressing about it much, they will come when I'm ready.
Over the last few months I had been battling with some strange inner turmoil. I've felt so separated from John and Ringo. Separated from Paul. That was the most pain full part of it. Paul didn't seem to care anymore. Paul seems so diverted. The I woke up with this melody in my head, and things began to lighten. My mind became more open, I felt less stressed, I felt happier. But that same gnawing feeling came back-just as it always does.
My eyes close and I hum along with the strumming. It wasn't really a sad song, but a questioning one. At one point these recording sessions had been so full of familial love. Now it seemed as if that love had just been put on pause-it was sleeping. They didn't know how to love each other anymore. John is off in a corner with Yoko, Ringo's sitting on the other end of the room playing chess with Mal. And Paul-Paul is just sitting in the center of this mess, sitting there fiddling with his bass.
Two hours later and we hadn't gotten much done. John is restless and wanting to go. Paul seems frustrated, and Ringo is getting pissed with Paul's prevalent bad attitude.
"That's it. I'm done." John announces to us and stands, his little female shadow popped up with him. Paul scowls.
"John! We haven't gotten anything done! You can't leave yet." He sounds demanding.
"Piss off Paul. I'm not working anymore tonight. The energy's all fucked up anyway. And you're pissing us all off. Isn't he George?" John asks turning stormy eyes onto me.
This has been his new thing of late. Pulling me into arguments between Paul and himself. I simply stare at John refusing to answer in any way. John cackles and walks out of the room. Ringo stands up says a clipped "Good night." and leaves. Paul stands clenching his fists, staring at the closing door. He turns towards me-glaring. I do nothing.
Paul begins to stammer, he looks like he's trying to find something to say, without sounding like a twitty bitch.
"Well, you have to give him credit for trying at least." I think.
Paul takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. He turns back around and signalls to the producer and engineer in the sound booth that were done. I get up and started packing my guitar away. Paul went over and picked up his bass and then we walk out of the studio, into the cool September night air. I pause lighting a cigarette before moving towards my car again.
"George! Do you still want me to have a look at that song?" Paul asks, he's trying to sound amiable.
" I guess you can have a dig at it. I think I know where I'm going with it though."
Paul nodded and licks his lips, looking around as if he had something to say. He looks for a smoke, and when he starts looking frantic, I shake my head and hold out the desired nicotine stick. Paul grins and takes it.
"Ta mate." He says.
Nodding, I flick my lighter on and hold it out. As Paul moves closer, lighting his fag, my nose fills with the smell of his shampoo. A wave of nostalgia hits me. Memories of Paul being spread out naked beneath me; Paul coming out of the shower dripping wet; Paul's lips closing around my cock. Those same lips were now wrapped around the little filter, sucking on it. I groan slightly, but it's enough for Paul to catch it. Our eyes meet. Paul grins. Seeing the look filtering through my eyes, he turns slightly red. Quickly I look away and continue walking. Paul follows me.
"So do you want me to come over then?" Paul asks coyly.
"Sure I don't care."Answering flippantly as I reach my car. I pull open the passenger door and put my guitar case inside. Paul nods and scrambles into his own. I speed out of the parking lot and off towards home.
"What the hell was that? You shouldn't still be reacting that way to him. It's been too long since-since the last time." I think to myself. I can't stand that he can still do this to me. I hate it-and love it. The drive back home, with Paul following close behind me, seems all too short. I need to be in complete control of myself by the time I get out of this car.
I pull into the driveway. I check the rear view mirror watching Paul parking behind me. I chew on my lip and think about vast open fields. Tall,rocky,mountains; Calming oceans and lakes. Anything to get my mind to a calm peaceful place.
"Don't let him get to you. Don't let him get to you. Just don't." I shut my eyes and repeat the thought over and over. Suddenly, there is a sharp rap at my window. I stare at a grinning Paul through the glass,shaking my head, I step out of the car.
"So, where's Patti?" Paul asks cheerfully. "Shows how much he listens now." I think while grabbing my guitar and walking to the front door.
"I told you she went to visit her parents for a few days, I'm joining her this weekend."
"Oh. Right." Paul said. "So, we're alone?"
I have my head in the fridge, I'm not sure I want to come out. Grabbing two beers I turn around.
"Well, except for the gremlins under the sink, the shoddy old lurker I keep in the closet, and the few rabbits in the bathroom. Other than that, we're completely alone," I say deadpan. Paul chuckles and reaches for the beer that I'm holding out. We drink in silence, getting used to each other's presence. We each watch the other as we drank out of our bottles, sizing each other up. Then Paul drains the last of his drink and walks to the fridge.
"Mind if I have another?" He asks, reaching for a cold bottle.
"No. Grab me another too." I say and walk into the living room. Kicking off my shoes, and picking up one of the acoustic guitars that are on stands in the corner, I settle onto the thick carpet, the instrument propped in my lap. Paul comes in and hands me another beer before settling down across from me.
"So play me what you have then." Paul says. I nod and began playing the bewitching melody.
Paul leans back as he listens, the music floats over us. As I play the song, I notice how Paul's eyes are getting softer as they follow the movement of my fingers. The air in the room is heavy but comforting, wrapping us in a feeling of warmth and intrigue. I've missed this. Missed the way Paul looks when he falls into the music, mind, body, and soul. I stop playing and watch as Paul slowly comes back to reality.
"Well?" I ask.
"It's great. You have the words yet?"
"No. But they'll come." I answer, and my gaze shifts to Paul's mouth, down his neck, passed his shoulder, coming to rest upon his groin, tightly encased in dark purple pants. I'm not supposed to still want him. I thought I'd gotten over it.
"Play it again. Hum with it and let me hear what the vocals might sound like." Paul said.
I begin playing again. My voice flowing along beautifully with the sound of the guitar. This time, I'm more fully placed inside the song. I let my eyes drift shut. Nodding my head, slightly rocking back and forth. I barely notice as Paul starts shifting up onto his knees, moving closer to me as I play. Coming to a higher note my voice floated up, I feel Paul's breath fall against my cheek. My eyes jolt open and my fingers falter over the strings.
"Don't stop playing." Paul demanded softly. "Your guitar sounds like it's weeping."
Swallowing I try to continue playing. Paul is closer now. His hand was running gently over my hair, his lips nuzzling at my cheek. I faltered through more of the song. Why the fuck was Paul starting this again? I hated it. I wanted it so badly, and I hate that. I just keep playing, trying to ignore Paul's advances. Feeling a light kiss on the cheek, Paul's hand moving under my chin, and I knew what was coming next. Paul turns my face up to his and leans in.
"Paul don't." I whisper.
Paul ignores me and finishes what he started. Our lips connect and Paul's mouth is everything I had remembered. I groan in defiance as Paul's hands capture my face, pulling me in closer, demanding more. Paul's tongue pushes roughly into my mouth, claiming me, searching me. I feel like I'm being torn apart; the comfortable mental walls I had built up were crashing down.
Gripping Paul's shoulders, I try to push him away, to regain some semblance of control.
"Paul stop!" I gasp, I sound like I'm was pleading. I hated that too, he loves it.
"Calm down." Paul says while stroking my hair lightly. "What's the matter? You want it too."
I don't move, my hands clamped down on to Paul's shoulders. This is a bad idea, I know it. Paul looks me in the eye and slowly moves back. I start to sigh, whether it was with relief or despair, I'm not sure. Paul reaches out and strokes the neck of the guitar in my lap. His fingers run up and down the wood and strings. My eyes following the movement.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask.
"I just-just want to touch you, George. To feel you," Paul whispers. Moving forward again, he eases his weight down, watching for my reaction. Paul runs his hands through my hair, down my shoulders; my arms, and then my chest. The guitar pressed neatly between us.
"We need a break George. We need to relax. No one knows how to make you relax like me." Paul answers.
Finding the buttons, he pulls my shirt open, letting it hang from my shoulders. Paul runs his hands down my chest, fingertips pausing to stroke and knead nipples. My head falls back on to the couch behind me. I feel the guitar being pushed against me.
"You've wanted this again for a long time. I want to give it to you. I want to fuck you George. Let me fuck you," Paul said, his grip tightening on me, making it seem more like an order.
Arching up I meet the hard wood of the guitar; my cock strained against the barrier. Paul picks the guitar up, laying it gently on the couch behind us. Moving back, he rolls his hips into mine, enjoying the tortured hiss it drags out of me.
My eyes close as my hands move to Paul's hips. Fingertips digging in, rocking Paul harder on top of me. We groan, Paul leans forward burying his teeth into my shoulder. I frantically begin grabbing at Paul's shoulders trying to hold him back, Paul grabs my wrists, and forces them down against the floor.
"Are you going to let me fuck you?" Paul asks, continuing his movements.
I nod, and feel Paul shiver above me. I watch as Paul reaches down and quickly unzips his pants. Moving off of me, he takes hold of mine and pulls them off, roughly throwing them to the side. Paul licks his lips, his hands run down my thighs. Paul spreads my legs open, staring at me intently. I blush and look away, hearing him chuckle. Paul's hand falls to the middle of my chest, running down. Fingertips running through the patch of dark curls, and finally ghosting over my cock. His mouth is hovering just above where I want him.
"Fuck, Paul!" I gasp, muscles tightening, hips pushing up against his hands. "Blow me-fucking blow me!"
He laughs again, finally Paul's tongue runs over my tip, slowly moving down, twisting around me. Then I'm engulfed in a tight, wet, heat that is purely Paul. I bury my hands in Paul's hair, lightly stroking, tugging every now and then. Feeling my dick hitting the back of Paul's throat, I moan as teeth graze over me. A vibration runs through me as he hums a few bars of some tune. A few seconds later, Paul takes his mouth away.
"I love it when you get like this George, I'm going to get something for us to use." Paul whispers.
I lay back and fight the urge to touch myself. I want to explode. My head lolls to the side and I look across the room at my guitar case. Humming the melody to the song, I fall into a trance like state, barely even noticing Paul is back in the room. I feel hands running down my legs pushing them open, lifting them. Warm,wet fingers trace my ass, moving forward. I whimper as Paul's fingers trace my entrance, one finger slowly sliding in, coated in lubricant. Paul groans, soon another finger joins the first, twisting, pushing, prying me open. A third, a sharp thrust, and shocks run through my body, I bite down and my fingers dig into the carpet. Paul pulls back, he covers himself with lubricant, placing his cock, he pushes in.I watch Paul's cool composure start to fade as he pushes into me. His mouth becomes a perfect "O". I gasp as Paul fills me, pressing me open. After a moment, Paul begins moving, slowly in and out, towards a faster rhythm. I'm breathing heavily through my teeth with each stroke, reacquainting myself with this position.
I reach down taking my own dick in hand, closing my fist around it.
Everything is tight, and tearing in what feels like all the right places at once. Paul is thrusting and it's hard to keep still, or keep focused. I look up and see him biting his lip as he moves. My other hand is in his hair, right now there is nothing but this. The hot skin against skin, the taste of sweat, the heavy breathing; the sound of bodies moving together. I begin to moan as Paul's movements became rougher, faster, better. It's dark, white hot; and wet. With each thrust, my sweet spot is pummeled. Everything is taste, touch, and sound. Our love is unfolding. The urgent thrusts were a statement that no matter what comes next, at least we will remember this. My fist tightens around my cock, moving at a furious pace. My hair is pulled and I look up, Paul crushes his lips against mine. With a final thrust, Paul comes, emptying himself. I follow, both of us bucking against each other, my cum spread between our stomachs. We stay like that, I'm stroking Paul's hair with shaky fingers, waiting till our breathing evens out. And then Paul rolls off of me. It's quiet, and I want to sleep, but there is muffled movement, and I know I have to open my eyes.
I look to see Paul coming back from the kitchen, he's standing, wiping himself off with one of my kitchen hand towels. He looks down at me and his eyes are glazed over. I slowly sit up and Paul hands another towel to me. I move slowly, my body recuperating. I clean myself off, and then watch as Paul starts putting his pants back on. I wait, then get up and put my own pants back on. Paul is moving around oddly, gathering his shirt and scarf, pulling on his shoes, avoiding my gaze.
"What are you doing?" I ask. Paul adjusts his shirt, staring at the ground he starts biting at his lip. When he finally turns to me, his face is blank, the same face he wears for reporters, he is going on autopilot.
"Well, I've got to get up early, got some things to do." Paul says.
"So what the fuck just happened?" I asked. I knew this was what was going to happen, it had happened so many times before.
Paul looks at me. "George, it's just sex. I could've done it with anybody." My eyes begin to burn, I'm furious, Paul must have seen this, maybe he realized what he said, came out wrong. He got his well practiced apologetic look out, the one he uses when he bungles something in an interview.
"George, that's- I didn't mean it like that!" Paul starts walking towards me. I just shake my head and stalk towards the front door. Paul follows me, offering up a number of nice things, trying to erase what he'd foolishly said. I turn a deaf ear to him, and pull my front door open.
"Get out Paul." I whisper.
"George c'mon, I honestly didn't mean it! I love you, you know I do." Paul stammera as he stands in the door way.
"Just get out." I half hoped Paul wouldn't give up, half hoped Paul would demand to stay, but he didn't.
Paul's shoulders sagged and he walked to his car, glancing back. I slammed the door shut and fell onto the couch. I pulled my guitar onto my lap. I slowly began playing the song, humming along. And suddenly the words came to me. I started again from the beginning, and sang.
" I look at you all, see the love there that's sleeping, while my guitar gently weeps."