George blinked, his stomach dropping. He couldn't believe it, but John obviously meant business; the older lad's tone was serious and rather cold when giving George the boot. It seemed to be so easy for him and apparently even gave him some perverse sense of pleasure. George shook his head. He couldn't be out of the band, could he? No, they'd come too far together for him to be cast away like that. He couldn't just go back to Liverpool, George lived and breathed music. How could John take it away from him so easily? 
2


                              
The young man threw the door open and slammed it shut behind him, standing at the top of the stairs, watching John take the last few steps down with a light-hearted bounce. He took off down the stairs at full speed. "John!" He called out. "Wait up!" He begged, panicked when his mate reached the bottom of the stairs. He was sure that he'd never see him again if he didn't get to him. In a hurry to reach his mate, George stumbled down the last several stairs, falling to the ground with a rather heavy thud. 
2


                              
John smirked thinly when he heard George storm out of the room and call after him, sounding pleading and scared. Ha-ah. Not feeling so cocky now, hey? He had smug chuckle although a part of him did feel bad for how panicked George seemed to be. He shut it up quickly, turning around with an eyebrow raised, fully intent on making George beg and plead with him, and just in time to see his mate trip and crash on the last stairs, tumbling head first on the ground. His first impulse was to reach for George and make sure he was okay but he repressed it with a sigh, giving a mean snort instead. "Can't even stand on yer own, now?" He asked casually, frowning when George didn't get up at once. 
+


                              
George groaned, slowly sitting up, seeing blood on the dusty floor beneath him. He reached up to touch his mouth, pulling back a reddened hand from his busted bottom lip, blood trickling down on his chin and dripping onto the front of his dirty white T-shirt, staining the fabric a dark red. He didn't move to stand, his vision blurry from tears and feeling rather defeated as he leaned his back against the wall, skinny legs stretched out in front of him. He waited for his mate to tease him mercilessly, but John didn't, just standing there. George wiped his tearful eyes with the back of his hand, the one that didn't have blood on it. He felt dizzy and slumped down the wall heavily, lying down down on his side. 
+


                              
"George?" John called, almond eyes widening a little in worry, finally giving in and crouching next to his mate when he noticed blood on the ground. "George, you okay?" He asked, hiding his concern under a disgruntled snarl. "Yeah," George replied softly, embarrassed and not looking anywhere near John. He sat up, sniffling and wiping his nose with the back of his hand before busying himself by checking on his bottom lip. The blood had nearly stopped flowing and began crusting over. "Am I really out?" He whispered, daring to look at John in the eyes even though he was still afraid of the answer. 
1


                              
John let out a heavy sigh, avoiding George's pleading eyes, a pang of guilt hitting him full in the chest when the wide and wet glance crossed his. "You bit yer lip," he stated, his voice neutral, sitting on the ground and patting his pockets for his handkerchief. "Might need stitches." He folded his hankie when he found it, tilting George's head up with careful fingers. "Lemme see," he demanded, dabbing his kerchief against George's mouth none too gently, trying not to get distracted by how pretty and pathetic his mate looked with his mouth a bright red and his eyes a liquid black. "Nah, you'll be fine," he declared after a few seconds, dropping it. "Juss need to wash it and ma'be lay down for a while." He looked away, his face closed.
+


                              
George's mouth throbbed with a dull pain that became acutely sharp and stabbing when John roughly handled his busted bottom lip. He ignored it though, far more troubled with the fact that his friend hadn't answered his question. "John," he paused, looking over at his mate and studying his profile. "I'm really out then?" He asked softly, placing his hand on John's sleeved arm. 
+


                              
John sighed but did wipe the blood steadily trickling down George's face more gently, ruining his handkerchief. He looked down to his mate's hand on his sleeve and he knew, just knew, that George would do anything he'd ask at this moment, provided he didn't throw him out. Anything. He swallowed dryly and chased the thought away quickly, because when it was somewhat alright to hump your mate when you were drunk and horny, blackmailing him into performing sexual favors certainly wasn't. "Will you behave?" he asked instead, eyes dark and guarded.
+


                              
George felt pretty low but he desperately wanted back in and was willing to do anything John wanted of him if it ensured he didn't have to go back to Liverpool. He leaned in and pressed his mouth against John's, clutching the older lad's arm. He pulled back when John didn't return his kiss, his cheeks flushed red with embarassment. They were sort of in public. Well, they were out of their shared room, and anyone could have walked into the back of the club. 
+


                              
John's breathing hitched very noticeably when George's bloodied lips pressed against his, smearing blood upon his mouth, but he leaned away sharply, shaking his head. "That's not what I meant," he protested, his mouth dry and his eyes dark. George's lips, even wet with blood and trembling with fear felt so good against his that he couldn't quite resist, leaning in against his best judgement and kissing George again, lightly not to hurt him, sweetly really, before he stood up, his cheeks bright red. "Get back to the flat, you need to wash yer face. You're not out, stop fucking crying." He hoisted George up determinately, pulling him towards the stairs.
+


                              
"I wasn't crying," George replied absent-mindedly, out of sorts from the gentle kiss John had given him. John sighed and led his injured friend up the narrow stairs, ushering him into their small room and making him sit down on the edge of the bed. The springs creaked underneath his frail body as John went to their rusty gas cooker against the dirty wall, pulling out a basin and pouring what was left of the water he'd fetched at the bathroom the night before, letting his handkerchief pool into it, watching the red of the blood ooze slowly into the grey water lapping at the chipped ceramic edges. 
+


                              
"You've got my blood all over your mouth," George stated hesitantly, studying his mate's face. John looked up to the mirror on the wall and wiped it with trembling fingers. "Wonder how it got there," he replied dryly, coming back to the bed and setting the basin between them, watching George's face carefully, tilting his chin up. "I want..." George said, his voice faltering. "I want to kiss again." He felt sick over the words he said to John, but still wanted his mate's lips back on his. John's mouth curled down in a strange mixture of irritation and pain. "I said you weren't out," he snapped. "Didn't you hear? You don't have to do that." 
+


                              
George nodded, looking down and feeling rather embarrassed, his cheeks flushing red all over again. "I want to, John," he said nervously, licking at his lips and tasting blood. "It was nice, wasn't it?" He looked up but was still far too embarrassed to make eye contact with his mate. He stared at his shoulder instead, focusing on the worn leather of his coat, which had seen better days. 
+


                              
John sighed and dabbed George's face with his wet handkerchief, cleaning dirt and blood from his chin and mouth with very careful moves, his usually rough hands strangely caring. He didn't say anything, his mind reeling with the question and focusing on what he was doing instead, deciding George definitively wouldn't need stitches and putting the basin away. George took a shaky breath, making eye contact with John. The older lad looked a bit irritated with him but not disgusted and he felt quite relieved, yet still oddly on edge. He leaned in, pecking John's mouth softly. "I want to," he repeated in a whisper, staring into John's eyes.
+


                              
"George," John said, sounding uncharacteristically unsure, his voice a little shaky and even defeated, his wet hands coming to rest on his mate's shoulders, stroking up and holding him by the scruff of his neck, as if afraid he would bolt up at any moment. He looked into his friend's soulful eyes. He could have brought up the fact that George had called him queer and fat and disgusting, he could have ruined the boy and put him down like he'd never managed to, could have won this battle once and for all. But he didn't want that. John wanted to kiss George again and who was he kidding anyway. "Okay," he croaked, leaning in and pressing his lips to George's rather carefully.
+


                              
Part two of this chapter was taken down by wattpad. You can read it on LJ: http://those-years-ago.livejournal.com/2281.html
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