Beatles smuts and fluffs;)

Insult (John) *short*

     We always said things we didn't mean. I would say things like, 
"Fuck off, John." And,
"You complete asshole,"
"You're such a pig, Lennon."
He would reply with things like,
"You're pretty fucking annoying yourself,"
"Shouldnt you be dancing on a pole somewhere?"
And my personal favorite,
"Ah, the bitch continues."

    From the way we act, you'd think we hate each other. We technically didn't, but there was a part of me that hated him, a bit.
"You're a dick,  you know that?" I jeered, watching him inspect his fingernails. We were sitting in a hotel, the boys were on tour and I was their assistant.
"And a diva." I added.
"Keep talking, Y/N. Maybe your just mad that you're not talented." He sneered.

We both knew I could actually sing. I remembered the time when he accidentally heard me. He had snuck up behind me as I was doing paperwork.
"Lovely voice, I'd like to hear it scream my name sometime." He smirked, leaning against my desk.
"Think again, John. While you're thinking you can take a long walk off a short pier." I pointed a pen at him  threateningly.
"Cat's got claws," he mumbled, giving a sarcastic wink before leaving.
The memory flashed through my head.

Anyone who watched our bickering marveled. They wondered how two people who seemingly loathed each other managed to stay by each others side. But that's the secret, all the bickering turned out to be a mixture of hatred and love and sexual tension.

"You know, Lennon, I hate how smart you are and how you know it." I slurred,  after a couple hours in a hotel and a bottle of scotch. "You know how handsome you fucking are and its not fair. You are a sick bastard." I growled.

His eyes turned to me, and his mouth turned into a smile. Not a mocking smile, but one of realization.

"I could say the same for you. You're so nice,  all the time. Except for when you talk to me. You're always so happy and smart and good. Look at me, Y/N, I am a sick bastard. I cant understand why ye'd be around me all the time."

In my drunken state,  I sauntered over to him. Plopping in front of him on the bed, I leaned onto him, and immediately his arm wrapped around me.
"You're not...all that bad..ya know," I said, quietly,
"You're cleverer than the devil. You're nice, sometimes."
He mumbled a thank you, before speaking up,
"You are really pretty. Maybe I hate the way you make it so hard for me to flirt with you.."
"Telling me you want to fuck me isn't flirting, John."
He continued to mumble about how it works most of the time. Before getting up.

He paced around the room for a bit, and my eyes followed him.
"I, uh, I really dont know what I'm trying to say here." His accent grew quiet.
"...maybe, we dont.." I said slowly, and he turned to look at me quizzically.
"...hate..each other?"
"Of course I dont hate you,Y/N. How could I?" He huffed out a laugh.
"I dont hate you either."
"You haven't given me a reason to hate you. You've given me plenty of reasons to love you. You're the only girl who can match my level of attitude."
I smiled at his compliment, then it faltered when I rewinded his words in my head.
Plenty of reasons to love you
"John," I got up slowly, and crept up to him. His eyebrows raised as I got closer.
"John, do you...love me?"
My heart sped as I asked him this question.
"I dont know, do I?" He asked, sarcastically. I frowned, looking into his eyes. He was becoming nervous, and he looked down avoiding eye contact.
"John, do you love me?" I repeated, taking his face into my hands, making him look at me. His eyes were almost closed as he looked at me through his eyelashes.
"Yes," he admitted with a whisper.
I grinned shyly. He grabbed my face like I was doing to him, and pulled me to his lips. They tasted heavily like whiskey, but so did mine, and he smelled like cigarettes.

It was over as soon as it began, but it was still enough to leave me panting. He was panting too, and his large hands went to my waist. His nose rubbed mine as our foreheads touched. We kept our eyes shut.
The whiskey was still in my system, but I knew I wasn't drunk to forget a single thing. I whispered this, and he let out a breathy laugh.

"I'm not really even drunk right now, just a little buzzed."

We stood there for a while, until the door clicked. Paul walked in to see us holding each other.
"Ah, uh, sorry, bad time," he stuttered,  his eyes wide. He closed the door, but said loud enough to hear,
"George!! I was right! You owe me 10!"

"Cheeky git," John grumbled rolling his eyes and smiling. I grinned at him.

He pulled me in for another sweet kiss, and the taste of whiskey mixed with the pleasure of his company. I sighed as his mouth rubbed over mine.