Mademoiselle Kitty (Macca4Ever) One Shots

Do You Want To Know A Secret? (Lennison)

"Move, you lazy git, I need to use the bog," I said to him because I needed to use the loo.

"No," the addressed mumbled. "I'm comfortable. Sleep some more." I'm paraphrasing of course. In reality, it sounded more like "Hmmmmno'mcomfblsleepsummrrr," but that would leave too much to the imagination.

"Well, sleep on your end of the bed," I protested. " I'm not yer bloody pillow!"

"Aren't ye?"

The little fucker must have mistaken me for Paul or something because that's no way to talk to the leader of the band, is it? I decided to let that one slide, being the forgiving kind an' all, but I at least wanted my right arm back. I was in dire need of a wank and my arm was numb. Can't toss yerself off all that well with a numb arm, can you? And I suppose playing guitar with dead fingers is a bit tricky too. People might say, 'you've got two hands, why not just use your left?' but I never seem to manage a nice, steady rhythm with that one. So, ultimately, I needed both arms and sleeping beauty was pinning one down. Bloody gobshite. Never should've let him in the group, I'm tellin' ye.

"Fuckin' hell," I complained, "At least get off my arm, you bleedin' pillock! I can't feel my fingers."

"Possibly."

Cheeky git. "It wasn't a fucking request, right. Move!"

"Gorra cob on, Johnny?"

By this time, I could have just written what he said, because that's clearly what he said. Our princess on the pea - or should I say git on the fab rhythm guitarist - was well and truly awake, and taunting me.

"I will if you don't get the hell off me. And don't call me Johnny." Nobody calls me Johnny, not if they value their lives, anyroad. Finally, George shifted his weight, and I quickly pulled my arm out from underneath him before he could change his mind. "You know, yer dead heavy for a sack of bones, son."

"Am not," the lad protested, and instead of getting off me as he ought to, but climbed further on top of me. "See? Not heavy at all."

"Tell that to my bladder, son. If you don't move soon, I'll be pissin' all over ye," I told him.

"Sorry."

"Is that the best you can do?"

He shrugged. I'm not blaggin' ye, he just shrugged. No respect for his elders, that one. "What do you want me to do then?"

"Give us a kiss!"

I swear I didn't think he would. I always say shit like that, right? I was sure he'd do the opposite and finally get off me. Any sane person would have, wouldn't they? But the fucker just smirked and planted his lips on mine like I was some bird. It only lasted a second. Any longer and I would've decked him. With my left hand, because the right was waking up in pins and needles.

"Fucking hell, what'd you do that for?"

"You told me to." Yeah, but...

"I didn't want you to actually do it!"

"Well, don't say it then." I must admit, he had a point.

"Fine, I won't."

He sort of cocked his head to the side and pulled his unibrow together, asking "Why not?"

"Eh?"

"Why won't you say it?" Was he testing me? I think it was a test.

"Well, I'm not bloody queer, am I," I said. Because I'm not. Am I? No, I'm not - definitely not.

"Are you sure? You liked it, admit it." But of course, I didn't.

Did I? "I did not!"

Next thing I knew, he propped himself up on one arm and grabbed my hair with the other. Bloody arse bandit was fast, too. Before I half knew what happened, his lips were on me again. And I kissed back. Didn't mean to, but there's no doubt about it that I did. Bloody hell. You should've seen the smug look on that face.

"See, I knew you liked it." Now, what was I to say in reply?

I swallowed a few times, wondering what happened to my quick comebacks. All I could bring myself to do was stare into that face. He was so close, I could make out every little detail of it, even without my glasses. I saw the twinkle in those dark chocolate-coloured eyes. I noticed the little scars and spots that remained after his acne cleared up, not too long ago. I found myself drawn to that smile, which lights up the room on those rare occasions he laughs freely.

And as if it had developed a mind of its own, my hand reached up and brushed those high cheekbones. It didn't stop there, though. No, it landed at the nape of his neck, so that his hair fell over my fingers. Before I knew what I was doing, I closed the gap until our lips met for the third time in less than a fucking minute. There might have been some tongue there, too. How's that for a bloody comeback, eh? In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess. Must be going soft in the head or some such.

And you know what? He moaned. He fucking liked it. I didn't really know what to do. It was only for a lark. I think it was, anyroad. He was supposed to be disgusted and pull back so that not only could I go to the bog for a piss and a wank, he also would think twice about hugging me in his sleep again. But the tosser liked it and he seemed to really get into it. What was I to do? I couldn't be the first to pull back, that would mean admitting defeat. But going on with it? I'm not queer, you know.

Having said that, I've been thinking about it for years, you see. Brian obviously likes snogging blokes, as do some of our closest friends. There must be something appealing about it, or people wouldn't be doing it, would they? I've often wondered what it'd be like to get it on with a bloke, but I reckoned it'd be with Brian since he's been keen on me for years now. Or Paul; I reckon I can convince him to do just about anything; always have, right? Or even Ritchie; have you seen that lad's chest, all muscular an' all? But George? He looks like a fucking twelve-year-old for fuck's sake. But there we were right, snogging something fierce. And did I mention the bloody poofter liked it?

But here's the thing. I liked it too. A lot. Truth be told, the little wanker kissed better than Cyn, and I was beginning to dig it, you know? And why stop if you're having a good time, right? There's no shame in it. Besides, when opportunity knocks, it's rather rude to lock the door, isn't it? Next thing I knew, we were at it. And I mean: really at it, like rabbits. Pyjamas and knickers flying every which way, hands going places neither of us ever thought they would, and...

Well, I think you get the picture. I don't know what came over me, or him for that matter. Who would've thought little Georgie boy would be up for the things we did, eh? Can't say it seemed like something you'd expect me to do either, but there you have it. You can use your own imagination to fill in the specifics, but I will say I no longer needed to rub one out by the time we were done. Nor did he, for that matter. Did need a bath, though. Hazza, too. And I still needed that piss, of course.

That was a week ago. I'm sharing a room with Ritchie now, so I don't run the risk of waking up with someone lying all over my naughty bits. But you know what? I can't wait for the next time Harrison and I get to share a room again because as it turns out, my naughty bits don't mind having Harrison's bony arse all over them at all...