#beatles ff

[patsdrabbles]

Snow Bob 2

Title: Snow Bob 2 Fandom: The Beatles; Bob Dylan Pairing: George Harrison/Bob Dylan Rating: Gen Word Count: 1302 Summary: After Bob was finally rescued, the promised hot chocolate is drunk. Bob tries to say some things, but finds it hard to come up with the words he wishes to say. Thankfully, George doesn’t need words to understand him. A/N: Continuation of Snow Bob! I was asked how the story continued and decided to write a sequel! ^^ My dear friend @savoy-brown-shoe made two gorgeous drawings for the first part of the fic, which you should check out. ♥  Anyway, this is 100% fluff, so please enjoy ❤

(links to AO3, Snow Bob & the drawings are in the reblogs!)

Back at the hut, Bob let himself fall into one of the big armchairs next to the still burning fireplace. George got to work immediately, putting a pot onto the stove to heat up some milk for the promised hot chocolate. He stood leaning against the door frame while he waited to the milk to simmer, watching Bob with warmth in his gaze. He was glad beyond words that Bob was safe and sound now. He was unaware of Bob sneaking in some glances in his direction, as well, when George turned around to finish preparing their drinks and fill them into two mugs. He handed Bob’s hot chocolate to him and made to sit down in the armchair opposite to his, but a hand on his arm made him pause and turn. “Sit down,” Bob asked, gesturing for him to do so. A light blush covered his cheeks- maybe the result of the hot chocolate’s steam or the heat the fireplace was emanating. But maybe… “Scoot over,” George replied softly, not needing a second to consider his answer. They slowly drank their hot chocolates, the silence in the room only occasionally interrupted by a louder crackle of the fire and covering them like a comfortable blanket. Things had always been this easy between the two of them. They really should have seen it coming, in hindsight. At one point, Bob slid his hand into George’s and George began caressing Bob’s still cold fingers softly. They returned to their shared room a while later and settled down on George’s bed together. George pulled Bob close to himself, then let his hand rest between their chests. He didn’t need to search for Bob’s gaze- blue eyes were already looking at him with an intensity that he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to. To think he could have lost Bob today… “I was scared as hell for you earlier, ye know?” There was pain and the remains of worry in his eyes and Bob nodded. “As I was for myself,” he replied, serious as he was finally allowing himself to admit it yet still trying to make it sound like half a joke. He wasn’t sure for whose benefit. He cracked a nervous smile and George returned it, but only halfway, as the earlier scare hat not yet entirely left his mind. His hand found Bob’s and squeezed it. Bob decided he would finally do something today. Some thoughts had gone through his mind as he had stuck deep in the snow, continuing to grow colder and colder. Some things he had never told George before and had almost never gotten the chance to tell him. But, for a usually eloquent – according to George “genius” – songwriter, he found himself oddly at a loss when trying to think of how to address his feelings for George. Instead, he shifted to lie closer to him and buried his head in his chest. He heard George’s increased heartbeat through his chest and, feeling surprisingly brave, placed a kiss on the place over his heart.

George hesitated for a moment, then placed a hand below Bob’s chin, making his friend look up at his face. “Bob, look at me,” he said, and it was soft, so very soft. Bob met his gaze with a lingering bit of uncertainty. He was fairly certain that George wouldn’t start disliking him at his revelation of feelings, but he also wasn’t entirely convinced that George wasn’t just… being George- being so kind it occasionally hurt him to think about it. Yet, as George smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head and began massaging his scalp with his fingers buried deep in Bob’s curly hair, he knew that he didn’t need to worry after all. Feeling safe with George was nothing new to him, George had this fiercely protective way about himself, after all. But this was a slightly different kind of their already previously existing intimacy and Bob suddenly knew that he had been craving it for several months already. He leaned forward and, while tangling their legs slowly, pressed a kiss (with just the slightest bit of teeth to make George’s breath hitch) to his throat. He found that he was starting to feel much warmer than the hot chocolate had been able to make him feel, and the warmth encompassed not just his skin but much more his entire being. Bob just felt his toes starting to warm up, too, now that his legs were comfortably tangled with George’s, when a thought occurred to him. He didn’t want to break the silence and had, in fact, to try twice before he managed to get the words past his lips. The half-formed question first had got caught in his throat. “You sure this ain’t gonna make things complicated between us? … Me and the others, I mean?” He looked up then, locking his gaze with George’s. He was met with darkened eyes looking at him from much closer than he remembered George’s head last being. He felt his own heartbeat speeding up, too. George didn’t wait long to reply. Once again, the answer seemed quite obvious to him. “It sure won’t make things complicated between the two of us. And neither between the others and us, I guess.” Bob glanced at him quizzically. “I mean,” George started. “We have always been… kinda close, haven’t we? This,” he pointed back and forth between Bob and himself, “won’t change much between us, right?” He smiled at Bob. There were crinkles around his eyes and his pointy teeth were showing and Bob leaned forward, finally, finally closing the distance between them and kissing him. George’s breath hitched softly for a split second, before he began kissing him back. It was the most sensible thing in the world to do, all of a sudden. Bob’s voice was rougher than usual when he laced his fingers through George’s. “No, I guess it won’t.”

Later that evening, hours after the others had returned from outside, the hut was quiet again but for everyone’s quiet breathing. The other three had long gone to bed, hoping to start the following day fresh and early (it wasn’t going to happen, but neither George nor Bob would ever tell them so). George had just finished peppering countless gentle kisses all over Bob’s face when he pulled back just a little. Bob immediately snuggled closer to him again.

“Bob,” George said, looking down at him. “M-mh,” came the reply muffled against his shirt. “We are going to have to talk about this eventually, though.” Bob pulled back his head minimally, still close enough to be breathing warmly against George’s chest. “Do we need to?” He asked, then corrected himself before George got the chance to reply. “Do we need to talk about us right now?” He looked at George with eyes that told George that Bob was too tired to have this conversation today and quite frankly, George felt the same. “No,” he said softly and pulled Bob closer again.

“Good,” came the drowsy reply as a pair of arms snuck around his waist.

“Love ya. G’dnight.”

George felt a tingling heat rise in his cheeks and placed his head on top of Bob’s as his eyes, too, closed at last.

“You, too.”

****                                                                                          

Joan snickered as she looked down at the postcard Bob had sent her. The front showed an ordinary picture of the Alps. It was the short but positively surprising message on the card’s back that had her attention.

J,

Vacation’s been terrible. Got chased by crazy Beatles fans & almost died in the snow.

I’m with G. now, though. As a couple. So, it’s fine.

Bob

She reread the message once more, then shook her head and smiled.

“Took you long enough.”

[mccartneyslegs]

Anyone up to be a beta reader for a mclennon ? (It will be a long, but i currently have only written the prologue)

[patsdrabbles]

Fixing What’s Broken

Title: Fixing What’s Broken Fandom: The Beatles Pairing: John Lennon & George Harrison; John Lennon/Paul McCartney (not yet established) Rating: Gen Word Count: 1055 Summary: John is angry and worried, George is a Good Friend. Co-starring Ringo, Paul and Eppy. A/N: The awesome @savoy-brown-shoe sent me the prompts G (a fistfight), W (waiting for something) and D (subtle kindness) for The Beatles from this prompt list and I immediately had the idea for this fic. ^^ Thank you ever so much for the ask, I had lots of fun writing this! ♥ Feedback is, no matter how short, super appreciated and helpful! ♥ Enjoy <3 (AO3)

“Ye bloody git, just let me to ‘im!” John was spitting venom, barely containing his anger at being denied entry every time he approached the white door at the end of the hallway.

“John, stop it.”

The hand on his shoulder made John clench his jaw and turn around with a murderous expression on his face. “He could be dyin’ for all we know, Eppy, don’t patronise me.”

“John.” It was Ringo. He kept his hands to himself, having seen John’s bad reaction to Eppy’s hand on his shoulder. “He’s gonna be alright.”

Brian nodded. “It’s just a broken arm. We’ll have to cancel the last show of the tour, but he’s going to be alright, just as Ringo said.”

John merely huffed as he stomped back to the seats at the other end of the hallway, from where George was silently observing John’s fifth attempt at going to see Paul. When John approached the seat next to him, he stood up and blocked John’s path, showing no worry whatsoever at angering his friend further. “Let’s go outside, John.”

John stopped in his tracks and looked at him dumbfounded for a moment. “Ye ordering me around now, too, Harrison?” There was an edge to his voice, but George had had enough of John being antsy for the day. It wouldn’t get Paul to wake up sooner and it was just driving the rest of them crazy. Besides, John’s last attempt, blocked by a clearly already overworked doctor, had almost led to a fistfight, prevented only by Ringo, Brian and George stepping in.

So John could really take his anger and stuff it elsewhere. George wasn’t taking this no longer. They were all stressed to a certain degree, what with never knowing how Paul might have reacted to the narcosis, and they all had had no sleep last night, but they didn’t let it on as much as John did.

When John just glared daggers at him, George gently grasped his arm and started to steer him toward the door. “Come along, Lennon. They’ll let us know when Paulie wakes up.” He and John both turned their heads toward Ringo and Brian, who had until then been talking softly on the other side of the hallway but now looked up and nodded in agreement, having overheard George’s words.

“C’mon, mate.”

John visibly deflated in front of them and followed George to the door, down to the elevators at the end of the adjacent hallway and down to the little café in front of the hospital. George steered them toward a free table and, after sitting down and looking up at the sunlit early morning sky for a moment, met John’s gaze dead-on.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“How-“ “I know you think it is, I know ye well enough to be able to tell.”

“I-“ John breathed out heavily. “I was joking around, makin’ a fool of meself as usual, and... when I winked at Paulie to join in on the joke, he tripped. ...It was me bloody fault alright, George.”

“Hey. John. Look at me.” George exhaled exasperatedly when his bandmate found the table’s surface between them more interesting than him. “Ye didn’t cause ‘im to trip. It was the bloody cables on the stage being places they shouldn’t have been, ye idiot.” George mentally patted his own shoulder when John finally looked up and met his gaze again. “If ye really think ye winkin’ at Paulie would cause ‘im to trip already, well. You really overestimate yerself.”

John swatted at George’s arm as his friend snorted in amusement, missing him as George had seen that reaction coming from a mile away. “Wait here, will ye?” George was still smiling when he stood up and disappeared for a minute, returning to their table with two steaming cups of tea. He set one cup down in front of John and the other in front of himself, immediately putting a sugar cube into his cup and starting to stir it with his tea spoon. “They didn’t have yer favourite, but-“

“Thank you, George.” The sudden statement startled George somewhat and he halted his stirring motion for only a second before a smile made its way onto his face once more. “Sure thing, mate.”

“Ye know I wouldn’t forgive meself if I ever caused ‘im any harm.” What was intended as a rhetorical question came across more as a statement of a matter of fact. George’s eyes met John’s for a silent second. “I know.” The additional I wouldn’t forgive myself if I ever caused any of you any harm was unsaid, but George heard it either way.

They drank their tea mostly in silence until Brian came outside to tell them that Paul had woken up and was conscious enough for them to be able to talk to him.

Several hours later – after a short group visit from all four of them and Brian bringing out the manager for a minute and telling Paul they’d have to cancel the last date of the tour – George and Ringo were back at the hospital again after a trip back to the hotel with Eppy. They had been told that only one person at a time was allowed to stay with Paul as he was still feeling groggy and somewhat dizzy from the painkillers he had been given and John had immediately claimed the right to be the first to stay with him.

George carefully opened the door to Paul’s room, not wanting to make much noise in case their friend was sleeping, and found that they might have trouble taking John back to the hotel with them after all. The man, while upset and angry before talking with George earlier that morning, was now sleeping peacefully, sitting in a chair next to Paul’s bed and his arms and head resting on Paul’s bedsheets. Paul himself was sleeping, too, his left hand resting atop of John’s head and his fingers buried under the strands of hair he must have been carding them through. Both of them wore soft smiles on their faces, so George only covered John with the comforter lying at the end of Paul’s bed with Ringo’s help, before they turned around and quietly left the room.

They hadn’t been earlier today, but they were going to be alright.

[patsdrabbles]

Snow Bob

Title: Snow Bob Fandom: The Beatles; Bob Dylan Pairing: George Harrison/Bob Dylan Rating: Gen Word Count: 1182 Summary: Bob didn’t want any of this. He only wanted to visit George, not be chased by some guys who wanted to see Ringo’s finger cut off and end up in the Austrian Alps. A/N: @savoy-brown-shoe and I got talking about this photo set that reminded us of the Help! cover, ended up with some headcanons that were too hilarious not to be turned into an actual fic, and she made this gorgeous drawing which you should check out. ♥ (AO3)

It was cold. Thankfully, it had stopped snowing some time ago and they could finally go outside after being cramped up in the tiny hut for two days now. Still, it wasn’t what Bob had planned on doing when he had come to visit George. Instead, Bob had constantly found himself being dragged along with George’s band the last couple of days.

Got caught up in some kind of conspiracy or something that had to do with a group of people wanting to cut off Ringo’s finger at all cost. All that chaos because of a damn ring.

And now he was somewhere in the Austrian Alps.

They seemed to have got rid of their pursuers for the moment, which Paul had immediately seen as good enough a reason to stay where they were for a while (“A vacation can’t hurt any of us!”) and rent that damn hut. At least they had a stove and a big enough stash of hot chocolate to last them for at least a week.

When they had rented the hut from the owners of a bigger hotel nearby, it had at first seemed as though they’d have to sleep in the snow that night, only having British pound notes (and a couple of American dollars Bob had on himself) at hand. Thankfully some businessman in the lounge area of the hotel had been happy to exchange some money with them. Bob couldn’t believe the luck these lads had sometimes.

And now? He found himself with George and Ringo on either of his sides, hands up in the air as the lineup of the Beatles and himself let itself fall into the snow. Or rather, he let them let themselves fall and just. Let himself be dragged down with them. He really wasn’t sure how it had come to all this.

It was only a few minutes later, the other four were just a few meters away goofing around again, when it happened. Actually, it wasn’t a lot that happened- in fact, barely anything at all happened. He just took a step forward, considering asking George if they could go back inside again, when the ground beneath his feet suddenly disappeared and he sank down almost two meters. He had moved his arms up in surprise at the sudden drop, but hadn’t managed to utter a sound before his head was already covered by snow.

On the snow’s surface, the Beatles didn’t immediately notice the sudden disappearance of their friend. It was George who, after a few minutes, began to walk around in circles, eyebrows furrowed in worry, and started shouting. “Bob? Bob, where are ye?!” When no reply came, the other three, too, turned their attention to their missing group member.

In the meanwhile, Bob remained where he was. Not because he had extensive training in how to deal with avalanches and similar situations, nor because it was his only real option at the moment anyway. No. Bob Dylan simply had had his fill of this week and all of its happenings, and he really couldn’t care about doing anything about his current situation anymore. Leave it up to the lucky Beatles to find him. For all he cared, he could stay here for hours.

George was the one who spotted the dark top hat first. “Guys, it’s ‘is hat!” He waved it at the others. As they came closer, Ringo commented: “But it’s the same as yours, are ye sure it isn’t yours?” “Rings, he is wearing his hat right now, this has to be Bob’s.” Paul gave John a look. “Could be somebody else’s hat too, though. Doesn’t have to be Bob’s.”

George interrupted them by pointing wildly at ground, where, between a lot of snow, brown curls could be seen sticking out of the surface. “Oh my god, he got sucked under the snow!” They all immediately crouched down and started shoveling snow away with their hands. At some point Ringo moved forward a bit to dig more on Bob’s (assumed) left side and got a “For fuck’s sake!” in response. He hadn’t seen Bob’s fingertips poking out of the snow, too.

Bob really wondered what the hell the guys were doing above him and at some point, it felt as though someone patted his head as if to comfort him. In his view, he could still stay down here for a good long time in peace, but alas. Now they were talking and chattering above him, pulling on his arms at times as though that would do any good. Bob decided that the next time he’d visit George, he’d make sure to grab the man and go on vacation with him before things could escalate as they had done this week. Leave it to the other three Beatles to fix their weird fan problems.

On the surface, John got wondering. Bob wasn’t moving an inch as they kept removing the snow around him and occasionally testing if they could pull him out already. The man resembled more a stick than a person. John leaned over the already uncovered brown locks and whispered loudly to George: “Yer sure it’s ‘im?” He really wasn’t so sure what is was they were digging out there.

George gave him a scolding glance and kept digging Bob’s face out, freeing his nose so he could breathe properly again. “It’s ‘im, ye dumbass.” He looked at Bob apologetically, but Bob only continued staring at the wall of snow in front of him. George’s worried frown intensified again and he put a hand on Bob’s cheek. “Only a few more minutes, Bob, I promise we’ll have ya out by then.”

It took them nearly half an hour in the end till they had finally managed to pull a snow-covered Bob Dylan out of the meters deep snow, but at least he seemed to be alive and well and grumpy as always, which, for some reason none of them could quite fathom, sent them right into a fit of giggles. George was the only one of the Beatles not to end up rolling around in the snow, laughing at the absurdity of the situation, still embarrassed that he had managed to lose Bob in the first place.

He smiled sheepishly at the shorter man, who still hadn’t moved since he had put his hands down once he stood on top of the snow’s surface again. “Ye wanna get a hot chocolate now?” Bob glanced his way, facial expression unreadable, and wordlessly grabbed George’s collar and started pulling him along behind him toward the hut. Behind them, the others started laughing even louder as John jokingly commented Bob’s move with an “ooh-oh” and a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

Then, a snowball flew and, while nobody knew who started it, all hell started to break loose behind Bob and George, while the former kept dragging the latter behind him with a tight grip on his coat, an unreadable expression on his face and a surprisingly steady pace for someone who only minutes ago had been stuck meters deep in snow.