Paring George/Stu, some Paul/George, with a tiny bit of John/Paul
Rating Rish, nothing too graphic
Summary 405 words.
Takes place in Germany during my Hit and Runs in the Art Room series between chapters 5 and 6. Someone’s jealous of George and Stu.
Notes The title is German for “The Bathroom.” It was inspired by a dirty, smelly gas station bathroom somewhere between Wichita and Houston.
la_sabre is my main account, but belladonnadwale is where I store all my fanfiction and writing and art updates.
Cigarette smoke mixed with the smell of beer, cleaning products, vomit and other bodily fluids hit Paul’s nose as he stumbled into the filthy bathroom. He fought back the nausea as he stood in front of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. He tried to forget what he had just seen.
Geoge and Stu.
How he opened the door to find the two laying together on George’s cot. The two naked, gasping, kissing, fucking each other and covered only by thin, filthy sheet. George’s face with a divine expression on it as he lay beneath Stu. George moaning; calling out Stu’s name.
The German girl at Paul’s side. Hearing her mumble, “Oh mein Gott. I vas not knowing they vere that vay” before she let out a giggle.
And the two on the cot not noticing, or maybe not caring, that they now had spectators.
Paul. Trying to keep himself from attacking Stu to pull George away for himself. Paul fighting off the shock, mingled with disgust and jealousy. And hearing his voice say, no scream, “Fuckin’ queers” before he ran away. Paul running into the smelly bathroom and standing at the sink.
Another wave of nausea hit him again and he stumbled to the nearest toilet which he leaned over and began to throw up.
“Hullo Paulie,” a voice cackled loudly in his left ear. “Pretty Paulie’s puking in the potty, then eh?” John grinned. “Did you drink too much?”
Paul groaned and shook his head.
“Then, I take it you saw the little spectacle in our room,” John grinned as he light a cigarette. “Stu and little Georgie. Fucking.”
“What makes you say that?” Paul gasped, trying not to vomit again.
John shrugged, “I saw you leaving the room.” He leaned closer and whispered into Paul’s ear, “You wanted to fuck his beautiful, little brains out, didn’t you Paulie?”
Paul began to dry heave.
“Is that why you hate Stu? Is that why you beat him up in Liverpool? You want little Georgie all to yourself, don’t you Paulie?” John whispered.
“Leave me alone, John,” Paul said, his voice shaking.
“I can help, you know,” John said, dropping his cigarette and crushing it with his boot. “But for a price.”
John closed and locked the stall door and slowly unbuttoned his trousers as Paul collapsed on the toilette seat. Paul slowly leaned towards him as he opened his mouth.