✔ CHURCH BOYS ⇢ MCHARRISON/LENNSTARR

SEVEN

My motorcycle comes to a screeching halt in front of the church. His name is Beckett. If you haven't guessed, I like naming inanimate objects. I drag him into a parking space and start trudging towards the church. I look down at my hands and check for blood. Me and Ichabod were a tad busy last night so you can never be too careful. My palms are clean. I turn my hands over and sure enough, there's dried life juice spread everywhere. I begin to scrape at it with my fingernails. I was pushed about by people entering the church. I had come a tad late but we were supposed to be there early anyway.

Once I enter, I scurry to the back of the church. Everyone else was there. Hedy was tending to eyelashes. Eyelashes had a black eye and a cut lip. Ringo was just sitting there, staring.

"Hey, what happened to eye- Paul? What on earth happened to Paul?" I ask.

"I don't know. He won't tell us." Ringo responds. That was the first time I got a good look at his eyes. They were blue. The most deep, beautiful blue I have ever seen in my life. I can't help but stare at him. I have never seen such a beautiful pair of eyes. Normally, eyes are just another part of the face for me. But him? Wow. That's boner fuel my friend, boner fuel. His eyes are like seas. I just wanna dive into the them and drown. Wait, no. I don't want to drown. I want to dive into his eyes, ALMOST drown and then get rescued by a nice man named Steve.

I like Steve. Steve is alright.

"No, really, I'm fine." Eyelashes assures Hedy.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, don't worry, please."

"OH. MY. GOD. Just kiss already!" I grunt in frustration.

"What?" Hedy asks.

"Nothing." I reply, as fast as I can, "I think Ringo said that. Ringo, you pig."

Sorry boner fuel. Sorry.

"Don't drag me into this." Ringo laughs.

I laugh as well, a little too loud.

"So, did you learn the so- Is that b-blood on your hand?!"

And, with that, everyones attention is on me.

"No, it's ketchup."

"But it's 7:00 in the morning."

"Exactly." I smirk, beginning to lick the blood off my hand. As old as it was, it didn't taste half bad.

"Um...alright? Anyway, did you learn all the songs."

"Yep, I squeezed it in. I was a bit busy."

I think I could squeeze something else in...

"With what?"

I start to panic,

"Um...walking...practice...?"

"Okay, you're weird, Lennon."

"Hell yeah I am." I blurt out. I clap my hand over my mouth and laugh nervously, "Let's pretend I didn't say that."

"Yes, let's."

I sit down next to the other boys and gather myself. What was this feeling? It felt...bonerific. But, I'm pretty sure that isn't a feeling. Wait, but it has to be. That's the feeling any girl gets at an Elvis concert. Hell, I feel bonerific when I go to an Elvis concert. He has hair given to us from the gods that one can only dreaming of having.

I'm snapped out of my bonerific thoughts of Elvis when boner fuel softly says,

"Hey, mass is starting soon. If you want to adjust your microphone you should do so now."

I shiver, he was so close. I crossed my legs because John's little John is acting up.

"Okay, yeah, sure. Totally. Yeah. That. Microphones... Hey, do you know anyone named Steve?"

"What? No."

"Too bad. I like the name Steve."

He stared at me, not able to comprehend what had just happened and why. On the bright side, I wasn't the one doing the staring. Woop de -fucking- doo for me. I walked over to the microphone and moved it slightly upward. I look backwards, sure enough, face oceans was still staring.

I fought the urge to ask him if he liked what he saw. I mean, we were IN A CHURCH. Well, I did pull a gun out on the same guy in a church...

I entertained the thought for a while and then decided FUCK NO. Because you know...logic.

All I could do was stare at blue boy who didn't seem to notice. I had to find a comfortable position because, well, having a gun in your crotch isn't all that comfortable. As any normal person would infer. However, I am not normal. Oh, far from it, my friend. I'm about as normal as.... Let's see...

A whale shark... Juggling machine guns... Speaking Persian... While giving Marilyn Monroe a piggy-back ride...

So, I'm...interesting to say the least. There is a very fine line between weird and fucked up. I apply more to latter but I'm somewhere in between on that line. I'm too weird to live, yet far too interesting to die.

The mass begins and as expected, it's fucking boring. But then, we began to sing. I was singing my fucking heart out. But then, my voice softened. Why? Because I heard Ringo's. He has the most amazing voice in the world. It's deep, booming and wonderful. His voice makes me feel like smiling, crying and swooning all at once.

I had to fight to:

1. Remain singing

and

2. Remain my thoughts in tact.

I failed in the second department...to say the least. I've personally never felt this way about anyone. I don't think I've ever felt this... I don't know how to describe it. It feels like there's a million little butterflies, each fighting to the death, in my stomach. It feels like every time I see him is the first. I feel like I just want to tackle him and kiss him. Wait, I DO know this feeling. It's the same feeling you get at an Elvis concert. I feel...BONERIFIC!

~*~

Ha ha ha ha ha that was so dumb but so fun to write!