A/N: I know I'm super late, but here's a little New Years fic. It's really choppy and weirdly written but at least I'm starting to post again.
10..
Paul had been waiting for a chance like this for what felt like years. It was New Year's Eve and everybody who was anybody had gathered in Stuart Sutcliffe's tiny apartment, at Gambier Terrace. Paul was surprised the lad knew so many people, but figured that word must have just got around and guests invited their other friends and so on.
The night had been going smoothly so far. They had played some games, gotten absolutely smashed with a seemingly unlimited supply of vodka and scotch, and little by little couples disappeared down hallways or outside to be alone in their own little celebration.
Long ago Stu had put on a record supplied by one of his mates from the art college, but the excited talk and noise all around had drowned it out entirely. At the moment everyone was simply conversing and passing around drinks as the countdown led them into 1961.
Paul had a blonde lass practically attached to his hip, who was probably only hanging around in hopes of getting a kiss at the stroke of midnight. She was definitely fit, and not extremely boring, but in no way did she replace the person Paul wanted to snog the day lights out of tonight.
He kept glancing around the room warily, searching for his auburn mate, wanting more than anything to find him alone; no Cyn, no Stuart. He was becoming increasingly desperate with each time the clock's hand ticked.
9..
The girl next to him had her hand on his shoulder possessively, her nimble fingers stroking the side of his neck. It was rather distracting and ticklish, and suddenly Paul was feeling rather suffocated.
"Almost midnight.." She purred, moving her hand to rest on the middle of his back.
"Mmhm." He nodded noncommittally, meeting her pale blue eyes.
Got to find him, that bastard..
"Do you want another drink?" Paul asked, his hand twitching as he pressed his fist against his thigh.
The girl nodded, boldly letting her hand brush against his backside before speaking. "Yeah. Hurry up, darling."
Paul scowled off in the other direction, the corners of his pouty lips turned downward. He held an empty cup in his hand as he fought through the adrenalized throng of people, not caring if his company noticed that he was not going towards the kitchen. He took a deep breath, coughing loudly and painfully when he ended up with lungs full of smoke.
Pushing his hair out of his face he forced his way down the hall, not taking the time to apologize to everyone he had to shove.
8..
He searched every room in the dimly lit hallway, blushing deeply each time he stumbled upon a couple making out or something of the like. Paul felt someone reach out for his arm, and he spun around quickly, which was not a good idea in his inebriated state.
"Where are you going?" Stuart asked him, eyebrows raised.
He didn't seem to be intoxicated at all, which was odd considering it was his place, his party. Paul squinted his eyes at him and tried to gather his thoughts.
"Uh, have you - you seen John lately?" He swallowed down his saliva, pursing his lips.
"Can't say that I have. If you find him, tell him I need to speak to him." Stu answered.
Not bloody likely, artsy prick. Paul thought to himself with a sense of superiority over the boy.
He was getting John to himself tonight, and no one was stopping him.
7..
The roof of Gambier was bleak and lonely that night.
Down below on the streets there was life and celebration, teenagers walking the pavement with alcohol in their systems and a lover by their side, completely oblivious and free. Their excited shouts and loud talking echoed off of the stone walls of the surrounding buildings and died out in the air. That was the kind of crowd John wished he was in right now.
He lay down on the roof and sighed wistfully, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the bright stars above him.
His night had been utter shit so far and all he wanted was away from that headache of a party. He figured no one would miss him much anyways if he wasn't present for the festivities.
6..
Midnight was approaching slowly, and everyone made sure to be with their respective partners, swaying with intoxication and waiting for the moment they could get their New Years kiss. Paul was in a panic.
John wasn't anywhere in the whole flat, which meant he had left, and probably not on his own. Paul's jealously flared up in the pit of his stomach at the thought of the lucky bird that was most likely getting it rough in some discreet alley nearby.
He decided that he better get out of this place fast, before the clock struck twelve and that chatty blue eyed girl tried to make another move on him.
5..
It was fucking freezing outside. Paul grimaced as soon as he made it to the door, taking the steps down two at a time to get the hell away from that place.
He was slightly drunk and less than coordinated, so his hand tightly gripped the railing all the way down. Even then he fumbled and swore to himself on the last couple of steps, his feet seeming slippery and clumsy.
He didn't know if he wanted to go home, or look for his bastard of a mate, or go somewhere and drink until it washed away all memory of tonight and his longing for a familiar pair of thin lips.
Christ.
4..
It was a miracle that Paul had heard the voice from all the way up there. It was a miracle that John had recognized him down on the street after he slipped his glasses onto his face. That white poncey blazer probably gave it away, it was so loud you would be able to see it from the top of the fucking Eiffel Tower if you tried.
But suddenly there was a shout of "Macca!" And Paul looked around wildly, wondering whether or not he'd gone completely insane.
He looked up, breathing shallowly and seeing it appear before his face in tiny puffs of air.
He could see.. A hand? It looked to be a hand, waving around frantically from the top of the building.
"Come.. on top.... roof!" He was only hearing bits and pieces of the sentences being yelled from above, but he got the general idea at least.
And he knew that voice. That voice that made his stomach topple over excitement, a huge grin hurting his cheeks. He gave a thumbs up, hoping it would be seen.
3..
John waited at the top of the staircase, watching as Paul climbed up them carefully, and he knew that the younger boy was pissed because Christ, he was clumsy.
Every time his footing slipped John drew in a deep breath, his hands shaking in worry.
"Be careful! You're goin' to fuck up if you don't watch your feet!" He scolded in a hushed whisper.
Paul started to go slower, his brows drawn in concentration and his chest moving up and down with every labored breath. Finally he reached the top, where his hand was grabbed by John and he was pulled safely onto the roof.
They stared at each other for a moment, eyes locked and lips parted, John's hand still tightly wrapped around Paul's wrist. They stayed like that until Paul turned his head and cleared his throat, cheeks beginning to burn with all the blood rushing to them.
"What time is it?" He asked, his voice shaking.
"Two minutes 'til. Come over here, I don't like you so close to the edge when you're like this."
2..
They sat on the middle of the roof and tried halfheartedly to make conversation, the cold wind chapping their lips and numbing their fingers. It was a tense atmosphere, and Paul's heart hammered at the thought of what he was going to do in less than a minute and a half.
"Why didn't Cynthia show up?"
John looked down at the roof upon being asked that, shrugging his shoulders.
"Dunno. Probably so she wouldn't have to put up with me. No one seems to want to, these days." He said, though a soft smile remained on his lips.
"How come you do, Paul?"
"It's a bit like when you find a stray cat or somethin'. You give it a name and suddenly you're attached." Paul answered, giggling quietly to himself.
He scooted closer, lifting up John's arm to take a look at his watch. His heart-melting smile grew even larger, teeth being revealed as he spoke.
"Thirty seconds. Quick, what's your resolution?"
1..
"Um, Christ, I don't know-" John stammered a bit, shaking his head quickly.
The fact was that he did know, but it wasn't one that he could just say, no matter how badly he desired to.
"- Get the fuck out of this shite town?" He finished, eyebrows raised as if to ask the younger boy what his resolution was.
Their eyes met once again; nervous and searching for some unknown truth, some sign that the other was thinking the same thing. Anything.
Paul unconsciously leaned forwards, the moonlight making his feminine features seem even more sultry and inviting. He had this irresistible nature about him without even trying, and it was in full force at this moment.
Twenty seconds.
"We'll get out of here."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I just am, John. I promise we will."
'We' meant the two of them. No Stuart. No girls. Them.
Paul's breath ghosted over his friends lips.
Ten seconds.
"Paul.. what's yours? Your resolution? You never said." John mumbled, looking at his mate's mouth.
His cheeks reddened when he realized he was, but he didn't avert his gaze.
Five seconds.
"Gonna start doing what I bloody want."
Two seconds.
Loud cheers sounded from the street below, whoops and yells and laughter. Lips crashing upon lips, an unbelieving gasp and a dull thud as two bodies reclined onto the cold roof.
Paul closed his eyes, feeling so free and alive, kissing his best friend as though they'd been doing it for years. He clung onto John's shirt for dear life, fingers dug into his shoulders.
John was astounded by it, didn't believe this was really happening as he kissed back for all it was worth, licking Paul's lips with a bold move of his tongue.
His senses were filled to the brim with the taste and smell of alcohol and he pulled away, suddenly worried.
"Paul, you're fucking drunk."
Paul looked at him curiously, trying so hard not to attack him again with greedy kisses.
"I am." He agreed, breathing heavily.
"You better fucking remember this in the morning, hear me?"
"I don't think I could forget, bloody hell, I've been wanting to kiss you forever, you prick." Paul spoke surely of himself, knowing somehow that he would always have this memory fresh in his mind.
They began kissing again, this time sloppier and desperate, not comprehending how they survived prior to this, how they had been so platonic these couple of years.
Paul pulled his lips away momentarily, resting his head on John's shoulder.
"Happy New Years." He whispered, not planning on letting go of John's collar any time soon.
John didn't mind.