You won't see me

N

2009-12-01T02:20:05Z

Writer's Block: Some words to live by...

2008-06-09T15:02:58Z

What words do you find wise enough to live by?

“I don't wear small shoes, or tight pants that squash your balls.”

George Harrison

"Good God" George moaned as soon as he stepped out of the room, a hand in his crotch trying to pull the pants down. They were painfully tight and yet they looked great, and that was what Brian wanted: he wanted them to look great.
Paul, of course, was more than pleased to squish himself into anything Brian told them to: the tight pants, the shirts with those narrow black ties, the waistcoats, the cuban heel boots. He loved all that stuff, anything that would make him look even better. But George felt incredibly stupid when he put on the clothes Brian had laid down on the bed for them. He was sure the teddy boy look was his thing, the leather pants, the jackets, the t-shirts. He looked like a schoolar with the suit.
But the pants...! George walked down to the lift fighting against the fabric that was squashing his balls, ignoring the shocked looks of some passing-byers. Cursing to himself he pressed the button for the first floor.
"Good morning" George turned around to find Ringo smiling at him, leaning against the lift's mirroed walls. "Or just morning, apparently" the shorter boy added, stepping up to George as the doors closed.
"It's the damn pants" George said, opening and flexing his legs.

{UNFINISHED}

Writer's Block: The Only True Question:

2008-05-30T04:44:01Z

If you could go back and fix your most regrettable decision, what would it be, and what would you do differently?

Or:

Pirates or Ninjas?

View 501 Answers

"What?"

"Pirates or ninjas, boys?" Brian repeated, lying on the unoccupied bed two long garment bags with tags on them.

"What are they for, Brian?" asked Paul as he walked out of the bathroom on a blue bathrobe and a white towel around his head. John groaned and folded his arms.

"For a silly photoshoot" he replied before Brian could say anything.

"Oh" said Paul, sitting on the edge of his bed. He took the towel off his head and looked at Brian "I want to be a cowb-"

"Ringo" interrupted John.

"Well, how about a-"

"George" added Brian, with an apologetic smile.

"Seriously?" Paul asked, pouting.

"Yes. Sorry, but you were the last ons to come back to the rooms. It's only fair" Brian saw by the corner of his eye that John was mocking him. "Anyway" he faced John, who looked straight and serious now "I need you downstairs in half an hour" his eyes went back to Paul, who was listening carefully "Costumes on". And with that he left the room.

John started rocking on the chair, his boots against the edge of a small wooden desk near the windows. "I don't want to be neither" he said, looking at Paul who was still rubbing his hair agains the towel.

"Are the fans tired of your suits?" Paul asked, standing up and leaving the towel over his shoulder, stepping into the closet and dissapearing behind its doors.

"You mean we should go nude?" John asked with a grin.

"Jesus, John" Paul said with a laugh "I'm not standing next to Ringo" he added, showing his head between the doors.

"He won't take off his cowboy costume anyway" he finally sat down and leaned forward resting his arms on his knees "I can hear him running down the corridor with his plastic guns trying to shoot down everybody".

Paul was silent until he came out of the closet in his boxers and a white plain t-shirt.

"He's the actual cute one, isn't he?"

"What?" John was lighting a cigarette when Paul sat down next to the garment bags.

"Ringo is the cute one. Who the hell am I?"

"You're cute too"

"Gee, John, that makes me feel special"

"What the fuck are you complaining about, Macca? You have a trizillion fangirls screaming your name"

"Still"

"...I don't get you"

"Whatever, John"

"Well, tell me what do you want me to say!"

"That's not how it works!"

"It's not working anyway, so you could just have a go and tell me, now could you?"

Paul lowered his head and turned his gaze to the garment bags. His left hand touched the label that read in a very clear handwriting 'pirate'.

"You could just tell me that I'm cute to you. That I'm special to you"

"That's a very faggoty thing to say, my son"

"It's not. Who am I to trust, then? Those fangirls we have in our beds every night? We're fucking gods to them!"

"Don't see the problem" John left the cigarette on the ashtray.

"It's just crazy, John. I don't want to feel like a god and I don't want to feel like I'm nothing"

"Did you put shampoo or philosophy on your head?"

"Be serious for a fucking second" Paul said, frowning.

"Alright. You want to know what I think? I think you're great. I think you're a fucking god and- yes, don't give me that look, son, because I'm being serious. You're cute and clever and talented, Macca. And I'm so glad I'm by your side in this crazy shit we are living where everything is just so unreal. I love you and there's no way in hell Ringo is cuter than you. But now, if you're even THINKING about wearing that pirate outfit" John got up and snatched it "you're losing it".

Writer's Block: Creepy Crawlies

2008-05-28T22:41:22Z

My classes for the day have been cancelled and I'm bored and too lazy to do homework/ write something serious.

If you had the chance to go crazy and completely overhaul your appearance, what would you do?

Or:

Recount a remarkable incident involving insects.

View 500 Answers

"Look, Rings!" Paul said happily as he walked up to Ringo's bed where the older boy was sitting next to the phone which he had recently hung up. Paul was barefoot and the warm air of the Miami winter entered the room from the glass door that Paul had left open as he walked up to Ringo from the balcony.

Ringo peeked into Paul's cupped hands "What is it?" he asked, looking up at Paul's smiling face. He was so excited about being in Miami, he loved the weather, the view, the people, everything. There wasn't a single thing Paul wouldn't talk about. He tried to seem cooler when the cameras appeared, or when John came into the room. It was understandable, sometimes Paul would seem childish and silly and he didn't want other to see that side of him.

"It's a beetle!" he said with a laugh, opening his hands and showing a small blueish beetle what walked up Paul's hand.

"So are we" Ringo said, smiling at Paul who laughed again, closing his eyes and making some wrinkles appear around his big hazel eyes.

"But this is you" Paul said, sitting next to Ringo and drawing up his hands to Ringo's eyes "See? Blue" he said and the beetle flew off Paul's hand to the open door to freedom. "You brought us luck, didn't you" Paul's eyes were fixed into the clear blue skies.

Ringo stood stilent looking outside too, with a tiny smile.

"But you're not leaving us, are you?" Paul asked. Ringo raised his eyebrows.

"Paul?"

"Well, are you?" he asked, turning to see his friend's face.

"I thought you were talking to the beetle!" Ringo tilted his head back and laughed.

"I am!" Paul retorted with a smile.

"Of course not" Ringo stopped laughing, but the smile stood in his full lips. "Why would I leave?" he asked Paul.

"I don't know, just asking" he said shrugging and standing up, walking towards the open glass door again. "I wouldn't want you to leave" he added as he stepped outside, the warm sun caressing Paul's shoulders as he leaned forwards and looked down at the beach.

Ringo watched him and sighed, shaking his head. He picked up the phone again and dialed his mother's number.

Update

2008-05-26T10:32:53Z

Title: Brian Knows Best
Pairing: Brian Epstein x Pete Best
Word Count: 2554 words
Disclaimer: I have not created them, I do not know them and this is fiction. I don't know if something like this happened and I'm making no money out of my crappy writing. I do not intend to violate anyone's copyrights.
Rating: PG 17 (sex and swearing)
Author Notes: First of all I hope this story belongs here, seeing that neither of them were actual Beatles ._. Do delete my entry if it's inappropriate, I'm sorry.
I had a difficult time with this. I tried to make it more slashy and I'm still very unsure about my vocabulary too. The pairing is rather unusual so I hope it works anyway D: I took quite a lot of liberties when it comes to facts and the such, of course. Well, if you're so kind to read, thank you! And if you leave a comment with some advice, corrections or something I'll appreciate it greatly!

"Brian Knows Best"

Brian lowered his head and rubbed his forehead against his palm, eyes closed, frowning. Everything had been going so well. The boys were adjusting to the new wardrobe, the synchronized bow, they had a lot of new and refreshing songs for the album, and managing them had turned out to be easier that he had thought. Yes, of course they could be rebellious (Brian thought of John for all kind of adjectives, sometimes contradictory in nature) but they longed for success and fame as much as he did. And he knew that deep down the four of them were aware of the fact that Brian knew best.

Best.

The aspirin went down his throat with a gulp of whiskey and Brian left the glass in the sink with a sigh. George Martin had made up his mind and had been firm about his decision: Pete Best was to be fired, and The Beatles should get another drummer. A skilled drummer who wasn't just a pretty face to woo the ladies, a drummer who would listen to advice and improve. Not Pete Best. Pete had already signed the contract, but Brian knew his way around it. It would be so easy if it had been his choice. But it wasn't. He didn't want to fire Best, he didn't want to face him and tell him off. He remembered well John's face, next to George and Paul's, as he asked him to fire Pete. Paul had stayed silent and Brian had to ask him if he thought it was the right thing to do. Paul's speech, unexpected, seemed to boost everyone's beliefs that they would be better off without Pete Best.

His apartment suddenly felt too big and spacious. Too silent and too uncomfortable as he sat on his sofa and buried his face on a pillow. He didn't want to fire Pete. He couldn't find the courage to tell him anything because he didn't want to. He liked Pete, specially because he was conceited and proud, which seemed to annoy the rest. Brian was sure that if they rose to fame as he hoped The Beatles would, Pete's drumming skills would not be a topic of discussion. He was handsome and charismatic, he doubted the fan girls would care about how good his drumming was. Brian didn't care. John seemed proud too and they loved him, even the boys looked up to him. Brian fancied John himself, but John had a certain something he couldn't quite explain. Pete was just handsome, like eye candy. Who doesn't like candy?

He changed positions on the sofa and stared at the ceiling, his face consorted in worry. It wasn't like he had an actual chance: the band wanted Pete out and the producer was very firm about it. He was the manager and his duty was to take care of everyone's needs. He looked at the side and saw his phone shining under the lamp. It was a quarter to ten in the evening and he had to call Pete. He had to let him know. Maybe... maybe he could convince him to change his style, or to take up some lessons with other drummers that Brian managed. That would have been great. Trying to push aside all the other thoughts crossing through his mind he picked up the phone and dialed the number.

"Hello?" a female voice sounded slightly worried.

"Good evening, Mrs Best. I'm sorry about the time, but I'd like to speak with Pete"

"Sure thing, hold on a second" Mrs Best covered the speaker with her hands but Brian was able to hear, very faintly, a very cheery "Pete, it's Mr. Epstein at the phone for you!" and the hurried steps of someone coming down the stairs and picking up the phone.

"Hello, Brian"

"Pete" he sounded surprised and even himself found strange his own voice tone. "How are you?" he had to ask, trying to organize the thoughts on his head.

"I'm fine, thanks. I'm surprised you called, what's happened?"

"Nothing's happened. I just..." Brian looked up to the ceiling "I just wanted to ask you a few things".

"Alright" Pete said slowly, he was becoming suspicious and didn't hide it well. Another point against him, he wouldn't do well with the press. Brian had to suppress that thought.

"Do you think you could meet Freddie Marsden next week?"

"What for?"

"...Pete" Brian frowned slightly. "Could you?" Brian heard a silence on the line and waited patiently.

"Can I come over to your place, Brian? I think this is something we should talk about in person"

Now Brian was the one letting the silence grow between them. He didn't want Pete over but probably that was his only chance to make him see eye-to-eye with him and understand, without exactly telling him about the other's decision, what needed to be done.

"Yes, sure"

"I'll be there in twenty minutes" Pete's voice was firm as he hanged up.

Brian looked at the silent speaker for a few seconds before placing it over the phone again. That hadn't came up the way he expected, now Pete was on his way there and Brian surely didn't want him around. He should have told him over the phone, he should have just dealt with it in the morning after having some restoring sleep. He should have written a note, called a lawyer and solve it with a cool head.

He led a hand to his head and tried to fix his hair, adjust his black tie and close his jacket around his waist. He wanted to look sure of himself, so Pete would finally understand how serious things were. The knocking on his door came as a surprise, he thought they boy would take longer to get to his apartment.

Brian walked to the door and led his hand once more through his hair and finally to the door knob that turned and revealed Pete, in his white T-shirt and black leather jacket, both hands in the pockets of his jeans smiling at the older man.

"Can I come in?" he asked, stepping in without waiting for Brian's reply. Pete looked at the apartment as he found the living room and sat on the couch were Brian had been worrying a few minutes earlier. Brian followed him and felt uncomfortable at Pete's reaction, the carelessness in which he conducted himself in his house. Brian sat on the chair across the couch and took a deep breath.

"Pete, I think you ought to know the producer is not happy with your drumming and that-"

"I know. That Martin guy told me" Pete said, shrugging and crossing his legs.

"He did?" Brian raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, but... you know, I don't care about what he thinks. We are going to make that record anyway so what actually counts is that I'm in the band and we're too good to be ignored just because George Martin doesn't think my drumming is fab" Pete oozed self-confidence. He was very good-looking, his clear blue eyes shone under a mass of slightly curly brown hair, and most girls had squealed over that. It was no surprise he was popular with the ladies and that he thought his place in the band was secured.

"Mr. Martin has influences, Pete" he tried to explain, his hands moving on his own lap senselessly "I really want you to meet Freddie Marsden and-"

"No" Pete frowned. "No way, Brian. It's not necessary, Martin loves John and Macca's songs! He won't back down just because he doesn't like me..."

"Is not that he doesn't like you, Pete!" Brian exclaimed, losing his cool "The boys think they'll be better off without you, too!" he spat, without being able to close his mouth in time. Brian left his mouth half-open and led to fingers to his upper lip as if he thought the gesture would censor the meaning of his words.

"What?" Pete looked shocked, his blue eyes big, his tanned skin losing most of its colour, his pink pouty lips parted. "Are you serious, Brian?"

"I-" Brian sighed "I am, yes".

Pete uncrossed his legs and he moved slightly forward, putting his arms on his knees. He looked at an imaginary dot somewhere over Brian's rug for a few seconds, uninterrupted by the bearer of the dreadful news. He couldn't believe it, he never saw it coming. Pete never imagined the other three plotting against him, talking about him behind his back. Yes, he didn't stay with them most of the time, wasn't interested in their jokes, but... After all they had been through in Hamburg and now in The Cavern, those two years and... he felt desperate. He didn't want to leave the band. He needed to stay with them.

"Brian, you have to help me"

"That's what I've been trying to do, Pete. You have to change your style and-"

"No! That won't help me now" Pete fell on his knees and crawled to Brian's lap with a pleading tone "Don't let them fire me, Brian, please!".

"Pete...!" Brian didn't know what to do. Where had all the self-confidence gone? The drummer looked at him teary-eyed, and placed his hands on Brian's legs, holding fast to them.

"Please!" Pete buried his face between Brian's legs, and even if he was inches away from his crotch, he couldn't help feeling aroused by the pathetic boy begging for help. Brian's legs shivered involuntarily and Pete looked up at him with concern, thinking the movement meant Brian wanted him away from him. But the notorious bulge between his legs told him otherwise. Pete felt disgusted for a second and moved away from his position, but his hands moved forwards to Brian's inner thighs and he saw in Brian's unmistakable turned on expression his chance to save his neck.

He lowered his face again and pressed his cheek to Brian's right thigh, closing his eyes as his hands caressed his legs slowly, he heard Brian's attempt of refusing his touch but it all became senseless mumbling as his hands reached his groin.

Pete stopped thinking as he undid Brian's zip and massaged his bulge as so many girls had massaged his. With his left hand he took his own jacket off and left it on the floor, clutching between the older man's legs. He could feel his own blood boiling, his ears being filled with Brian's panting and his own accelerated breath.

He stood up and took his shirt off, tossing it onto the floor as he sat on Brian's legs and undid his tie, unbuttoned his shirt and took off his undershirt fast, avoiding a kiss as he pulled it over the man's head and feeling his warm hard member pulsing under his legs. He pushed Brian onto the floor and took his pants off, leaving him lying down over and he took his own pants, shoes and socks off. Brian had taken his briefs off and was stroking himself slowly when Pete grabbed him by the wrist and placed the hand over Brian's chest.

He laid on top of Brian and closed his eyes again, breathing on his neck heavily as he searched with his right hand the other man's manhood and grabbed it roughly. Pete doubted of what he should do, did homosexuals do things in a different way? Should the position change? He began stroking Brian tightly, like he did himself on the privacy of his room, trying to stay in control to avoid losing his status as the dominant. Brian was gasping and moaning under him, kissing softly his chest, tonguing his neck passionately. Pete didn't want to look, he wanted to imagine he was servicing himself, that under him there was a fine bird that he had picked up after a gig.

His grip tightened. It was all happening too fast, and Pete wouldn't have wanted it otherwise. It would be over before he would come back to his senses and he was certain this little encounter would assure him his title as The Beatles' drummer.

"Don't let me go, Brian" he whispered, stroking Brian in his hand, the pre cum between his fingers as he picked up the pace, too fast to enjoy the shape of Brian's member, the texture, the size of its head. His own shaft was pressed against the manager's bare legs and he felt the heat go up to his crotch when Brian gasped and came in his hand, his legs shuddering and his stomach moving with tiny spasms.

"Brian" Pete panted as he knelt next to Brian's head, offering him his hardened member to the man with a swift movement of his hand. "Brian, don't let me go" he repeated, and Brian, sweaty and turned on took Pete in his mouth, sucking and stroking with his hand, the other massaging his testicles. Pete jerked his head backwards as he closed his eyes "I'll... God, Brian" he grabbed the back of the manager's head, his fingers intertwined with his light soft hair.

Pete had his eyes tightly closed, feeling the back of Brian's throat hitting his tip and the silky tongue almost relishing his full length. He opened his mouth to speak but he bit his lip when a hot wave of pleasure seemed to burn under his stomach when an unexpected finger in his backside hit something inside. "Brian, for fuck's sake!" he lowered his head and opened his eyes, realizing it was even hotter to see the manager sucking him, his eyes closed, his expression, his reddened lips around his cock and the shallow cheeks giving him the best blow job he had ever experienced.

"Brian, let me stay, Brian, I'm..." he closed his eyes tightly again and his backside clenched by the abrupt orgasm as he came in Brian's mouth with a groan.

Pete heaved and sat on the sofa, almost exhausted. He looked at Brian, who looked around with a strange frown, his cheeks blushed, his lips crimson red and his skin sparkling with the small drops of sweat covering his white skin. He ran the back of his hand to his mouth and looked at Pete.

"I think you should leave" Brian said, starting to pick up the clothes that were scattered around the room.

"...You're going to do something about the situation, aren't you?" Pete asked, catching the white t-shirt Brian handled him.

"Yes. Yes, of course. I'll call you tomorrow" Brian gathered his clothes and walked straight to the bathroom. "You can show yourself out" he said softly, without even a glance over his shoulder.

Brian stayed with his back pressed against the bathroom door until he heard the front door being shut after a few minutes. He stepped into the shower and let the warm water wash away the confusion. That had been a terrible mistake. He had been foolish, he hadn't been strong and decided.

"Pete, it's a call for you" on the morning of August the 16th, Pete was yawning as he took the call with a grin from his mother's hand.

"Hello?"

"Hello Mr. Best, this is Brian Epstein's lawyer-" Pete's grin disappeared from his face as he sat down, missing the lawyer's name. "...Your services are no longer required-" but Pete couldn't hear anything anymore.

::::

Writer's Block: Reacting to my bad mood

2008-05-18T08:39:24Z

When you're having a bad day, how do you react?

View 502 Answers

Usually it's written all over my face. People can tell, 10 seconds after greeting me, if I'm having a bad day. I'm usually cheerful and polite, but when I'm in a bad mood I tend to keep a straight face and I don't make eye-contact with anybody.

It sucks, because it usually leads to the feared question "What's wrong?" and I don't like to discuss my personal affairs. So... there.

Today's question for the Writer's Block was far too weird. Befriending inanimate objects? Er.