"Catherine!"

The sing-song call was nearly drowned in the cheerful chatter filling the room. The man on the stairs surveyed the happy crowd gathered in his living-room, climbing up a few more steps and pursing his lips. He pulled his sparkling trousers up a little and put his hands on his hips.

"Catherine!" he called again.

"'e's in the kitchen, dear," an exaggeratedly masculine voice replied, making people laugh and look up to him with amused faces. "Is he, really?" the man replied, narrowing his eyes in mock-suspicion.

"I think he's shagging Bowie on the balcony!" another man replied, whipping his long blond wig back and grinning at him with red lips and painted eyes.

"No, he bloody isn't!" an indignant voice replied and the man on the stairs could just make up the red of Bowie's hair in the crowd, standing by the bar long and skinny, smiling his crooked smile at him. "You wish!" the lady next to him stated loudly, and Bowie waggled his eyebrows.

Elton John sighed loudly and climbed down the stairs, shaking his head. "You're such a bunch of fairies." Hoots and cat-calls were his only reply as he made his way towards the bar. He was pouring himself a drink when someone patted his arm gently. Turning around, he met clever dark-brown eyes.

"I think he's in the study, darling. When I left, he was talking guitars with Brian." Elton took a sip from his drink and nodded. "Everything all right?"

The other man chuckled. "Oh, yes. I think the poor thing is just looking for a little straightness and Brian's more than happy to oblige."

Elton made a little face behind his oversized glasses. "I don't think he realised just how popular he would be, coming here."

"He's not that used to being hit on by men? I bet he got his butt felt up more in a single evening than in his whole life."

"Don't mock, Fred. He's enjoying it, I think."

Freddie gave him his strange wide grin and Elton nudged him in the ribs, following his advice still, slowly making his way through the crowd, stopping here and there to chat when people called him and finally making it to the corridor, ignoring a couple making out in the dim light to knock on the door of the study.

"Come in. Yeah, but that's the thing with Fenders, y'know?"

Sitting on the pool table with a discarded cue set across his lap was John, leaning forward and chatting with Freddie's guitarist, a tall, curly-haired man with a mild smile.

"Yes, I see what you mean. This is why I built my own, truly. I didn't feel a regular Fender would do."

John nodded, his eyes widened in awe. "Yeah. That's fucking impressive. You'll have to show me one day, I'd like to see it."

Brian's eyes lit up all at once, making the man sprawled in the sofa behind them groan. "Don't, man. He's gonna faint."

Brian's face coloured and he frowned, glaring at him. "Shut up, Taylor. You swooned when he signed your drumsticks." Roger held the drumsticks up triumphantly and then cradled them close to his heart, making John laugh and turn around as Elton came up to sit next to him.

"Hey, love," John said and Elton noticed he was still wearing most of the pink lipstick Elton had put on him earlier on, the top two buttons of his white shirt missing as if they had been ripped.

"Everything okay, Catherine?"

"Yeah, we're fine. Juss 'aving a little break, you know. Between butch men." He bumped his shoulder against Brian's, nearly making him topple over and fall from the pool table. Roger snorted loudly. "Well, sort of."

"That's good. Just wanted to tell you I we got a call from your fiancé and he says he's coming, after all."

John gave him a look but didn't correct him. "Is 'e? That's nice." He looked thoughtful for a second. "Any chances the fairies will behave 'round him?" he teased, making Elton chuckle.

"I could always tell them he's your man and that if anyone lays a finger on him, you'll break their hands?"

"Fine by me," John drawled, watching Elton leave quietly.

"Who's coming?" Roger's voice sounded lazy.

John waited for Brian to take a sip from his beer before replying. "George Harrison."

"Now, that was unkind," Roger stated a few minutes later, still patting his wheezing friend's back.

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The headlights of the chauffeured car illuminated John's slender frame in the dark as George's driver pulled up. He was leaning against the stucco columns in front of Elton's house, having a smoke and clad only in a half-ripped shirt and leather trousers though the weather was rather cold. He grinned when George climbed out of the car, teeth glinting in the bleak light.

George had honestly hesitated before coming. He would have preferred to stay in and had initially planned to do so, but a persistent feeling of guilt had tugged at the corners of his mind and gotten him out of his hotel suite, a few hours after John had left.

He'd felt bad about waiting until John had been ready to leave to tell him he wouldn't be accompanying him to the party, claiming to be tired. John hadn't seemed too convinced but had only pursed his lips in response, kissing his cheek and disappearing out the door, going nonetheless. George had stared, mildly surprised.

It wasn't that they did everything together but it was still quite a shock to see John leave without him. George knew he was being selfish. John had gone to plenty of his things, the most obvious example being George's tour, when John had been content to stay at the hotel while his lover performed and attended business meetings.

He knew it was only right for him to do the same in return and if going to Elton's party made John happy, George would do it. The idea of spending time with a group exclusively composed of gay men (or so he thought) made him a bit uncomfortable, still.

He didn't consider himself to be one of them. The only man George had ever had a genuine interest in had been John. He understood John's desire to immerse himself in the gay social scene but he didn't share his need to appeal to gay fans or rub elbows with other gay people in the industry. He would've preferred to just hang around with people he respected or found interesting, regardless of whom they preferred to bed.

He bounced up the steps, grinning to conceal his nervousness. "Waiting for me? 'm flattered," he teased, testing the the waters. "Am I fashionably late?" John smiled and flicked his cigarette to the ground. He didn't look especially annoyed. "More than fashionably, party's almost over," he replied, opening the door and inviting George inside.

"I suppose I'm just late, then." George followed, somewhat sheepishly. John cast a half-hearted look over his shoulder, making sure they were alone before he reached out, stroking up George's chest and pressing a quick kiss to his mouth. "'Doesn't matter, I'm juss glad you came." He smirked. "Thought you were piss-scared of the fairies. What made you change yer mind?"

Taking a quick glance around, George laughed self-consciously. "'m not scared. It's just --" He hesitated to continue, feeling more uptight than he probably ought to have been and lowering his voice. "I came here because you would've done the same thing for me. You've been pretty good about that lately, setting aside your things for mine."

"That's good of you." John's eyes were serious in the faint light. "I mean, you didn't have to if you didn't want to, I wasn't mad or anything, but still, it's good of you. And you know I don't mind making space for you. T's not like I have a whole load of things to do these days anyways, and I like it that way. Juss watching the wheels go around, y'see?"

"I know," George replied softly, touched by the selflessness John had displayed in their relationship, especially considering that both of them had been quite accustomed to being accommodated by their lovers in the past. "Is that lipstick you're wearing?" he asked, mildly amused by the sight of John with make up on.

"Yeah. Elton put it on earlier on. Good colour for my skin tone or something. Ya know." John rolled his eyes. "I think it suits me, actually. 'm considering wearing it on a daily basis, what d'you think?" The smile he gave George was blinding.

George's face briefly flashed with panic, his sense of humour altered by his state of nerves, making John's eyebrows shoot up on his forehead. "George," he said, almost reprovingly, watching as his lover understood that he was merely having him on.

"I like you best without it," George finally replied with a chuckle, trying to get into the swing of things. He knew he was being silly. Just because John was friends with a very flamboyant set of people these days didn't mean he wanted to change his image. Or at least, George hoped it wouldn't come to that. "It seems that you've had quite the night without me." He ran a hand down the front of John's partially ripped shirt, his lover waggling his eyebrows at him and leaning in for another kiss. "Quite. But I missed you."

"I missed you too but let's save the kisses for another time," George proposed awkwardly, hearing the sound of laughter and lively conversation down the hallway.

"They wouldn't mind, y'know." John frowned when his lover ignored him.

"Should we mingle?" George asked instead, raising his thick eyebrow at him. "You've got to promise to protect my honour. I'm a taken man."

"Can't promise anything, Georgie. I mean look at you, all handsome and shy, they're going to love you." He patted George's cheek and gestured for him to follow, wondering why George was so nervous. "They're all right. They know you're not interested. They didn't eat me, did they? Might grab yer butt a bit, though. Do try not to squeak."

"I'll keep that in mind." He fell into step with John. "How's your honour? I'm assuming that's still intact?" George playfully wiggled his eyebrows but he couldn't hide the seriousness underlying the question, not from John.

John stopped dead in his tracks just before they reached the door, turning around slowly. "You know what, sod you Harrison," he replied, his voice quiet and his eyes harsh in the bright light that came from the living-room. He let go of George's hand. "If you can't cope with this without being a jerk, you should've stayed home."

"I didn't mean it that way, John," George whispered.

John's eyes narrowed. "You meant it exactly that way. Don't bullshit me."

Shaking his head, George tried to back down. He didn't want to have this conversation there, especially when they could have had it quietly in the privacy of their hotel suite, with no chance of being overhead.

He didn't know why he was so worried about this, in truth. They had always had an understanding about other men being off limits, and it'd been easy for George to follow that arrangement. He didn't think John would let another man shag him either, but seeing his lover take so easily to this new group of friends made him feel unsure of himself.

"I just meant kissing and other things," he stated, embarrassed, and briefly looked away from John. "You wouldn't do that either. I should know. Usually do," he tried to explain himself.

The anger in John's eyes didn't subside, his lips pressing together in a tight, pained line. "How many times will I 'ave to tell you for it to get into that thick skull of yers?" he whispered in reply, roughly. "I don't even... I don't even want anyone like that, there's only you, always you, and you can't even..." He sighed and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses.

"You know... bloke earlier on, offered to go down on me." John looked at George, something unkind passing on his face as George's dark eyes briefly flashed with jealousy.

"Didn't know his name, no strings attached, that sort of thing. I considered it, for a second. You know why I did? Because I thought, well, I'll just close my eyes and pretend it's George. And then I realized, that was real stupid. So I let him down, easy." John's eyes were raw and honest. Can't you see, George?

"'m sorry." It was the only thing George could think to say in that moment. He felt terrible for hinting at John cheating on him.

"You'd better be," John hissed in reply, stepping aside to let a few people coming from the living-room pass them by and managing to smile and greet some of them as they were leaving.

"I don't suppose we'll be staying too long, then? I seem to have missed the livelier part of the evening," George stated sheepishly when they were alone again. John looked at him and sighed. "S'pose not." He bumped his shoulder against George's as a peace offering and nodded towards the bar, where a large group of people were still chatting happily. "Come on, then. I'll introduce you. Let 'em gawk a little and then we can go home. All right?"

George nodded. "I've had some practice with that," he replied good-naturedly, wanting to salvage the rest of the evening.

"I'd say."

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John and Yoko's divorce had been finalized earlier that year and they had managed to remain friends, keeping in touch through phone calls and the occasional letter or postcard. So, when her ex-husband had phoned to let her know he was in town, Yoko had gladly extended an invite for him to join her at a performance with The Plastic Ono Band.

The invite had included George, of course, but he hadn't shown at the venue and Yoko had not mentioned it, deciding that perhaps his absence was for the best. She had been pleased to see John again, especially in such striking good mood. Life with George obviously agreed with him and he looked great, relaxed and comfortable in his skin. A confidence radiated from him that had been missing in their last few years together, reminding Yoko of the good times they had once shared.

Being onstage stage with John again had been an exhilarating experience. She had almost forgotten how charismatic, how luminous and beautiful he could be, when he was in the right mood. Yoko was not the sentimental type and she didn't long for the days when it had been her and John against the world, but she found herself wanting this piece of him again, even if for just one night.

She looked over at him, sitting on the other end of the chauffeur-driven car, staring out of the window. His hair was slightly ruffled and somewhat damp. He had insisted on leaving right after the concert, not especially interested in going to the party that would assuredly follow. Yoko's driver was taking them to the Dakota and if John had noticed, he hadn't said anything.

"It was nice to be with you in this way again." She spoke in a soft and measured tone, her voice not revealing her intentions.

John looked away from the moving lights behind the car window and back to her. "Yeah, it was good," he replied just as quietly, reaching out to put his hand upon hers gently, a genuine smile softening his face.

She smiled in return, glancing at John's hand atop hers. "It's been far too long since we'd done that. You would've thought we never stopped performing together." Yoko felt that their interplay on stage had come easily. "We should do this more often."

John nodded and tilted his head to the side, agreeing. Being on stage with Yoko had felt familiar and comfortable, without the pressure that usually came when he was performing on his own. "Definitely. George and I are going back to London quite soon though, so it'll probably a while."

"Yes, well, next time you are in town we should get together again," she proposed smoothly and John grinned, leaning in to brush his knuckles under her chin. "You could visit. British audience has been missing you." His smile turned mischievous. "'specially the press. Can you imagine how tough it's been to find new targets for racial slurs since you've gone?" He shook his head, mock-disappointed. "Terrible."

"There must be better things to cover than me. Real news." The corners of her lips curved upwards into a small smile.

John snorted. "If only. Just found 'nother scapegoat, they did. They don't know what real news is."

Yoko hummed quietly, tilting her head. "That's a foreign concept to them. Are they treating you any better these days?"

"'T's all right." John paused, and then shrugged. "Lots of asking why 'm living with George and what 'm doing and why I'm not putting out any music and when are the Beatles going back together, but it's not too bad." He looked back at the streetlights through the window. "Could be worse." And it would be worse, John reckoned, when they would decide to let the world know about their relationship. If they ever did.

"It could be," Yoko agreed, wondering whether John and George would ever publicly come out. It was sure to cause quite a stir.

The driver stopped in front of the Dakota, causing John to look up in mild surprise.

"Would you like to come up?" Yoko slipped her hand onto his thigh, not seeing the point of dancing around the subject.

She'd left her lover behind at the concert and told him to find another place to sleep that night. It wasn't the first time they had done that, and he hadn't seemed bothered. Yoko had never truly believed in the concept of monogamy, not even when John and her had been together, and she was under the impression that John's views hadn't changed on that point since taking up with George.

John stared at her, disbelieving at first and then contemplative, seemingly considering the idea for a few seconds before he took her hand and pressed a brief kiss to her knuckles. "I can't," he replied, simply. Yoko was just as beautiful as she had always been, just as fascinating, but John could already picture the look of intense betrayal on George's face and the mere idea of it made his stomach churn.

He had been impressed by the level of trust George had put in him, letting him go and perform with his ex-wife without even giving him a warning glance, just stating softly that he didn't feel like joining them and wanted to go to bed early. It was a trust that had been hard to win and John was not about to betray it.

Yoko couldn't hide her surprise and a reserved smile graced her features. "I understand," she stated softly, though she didn't truly grasp this change in John or how George had inspired it.

John chuckled. "I don't," he said, not without humour. "But that's how it is."

Yoko slipped her hand onto the side of his face, contemplating John's devotion to George. How long could it last, she mused, before John slipped back into his old habits? These were hard to break. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, feeling John smile.

"It was nice to see you again." John nodded in agreement. "Goodnight."

Yoko turned her attention to the driver. "Take him wherever he'd like to go," she stated neutrally, the warmth in her voice retreating as she spoke with her employee. She looked back at John. "George is a very lucky man. He gets the best of you."

John smiled, almost enigmatic. "I get the best of him, too."

Yoko took one last look at him, taking a moment to really look, unsure of when they would see each other again. John looked back, quiet but serene, before she stepped out of the car and walked toward the front entrance of her building.

John's eyes followed the long shadow she cast on the pavement as the car slid back into the traffic smoothly, settling back into his seat. He felt calm. He thought about going back to the hotel room he shared with George and slipping into bed behind him, gently not to wake him up, George waking up nonetheless and mumbling something sleepily, sighing contentedly as John kissed his shoulder and curled against him.

He had no regrets.

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George was miserable these days. He'd received the most negative reviews of his solo career for Dark Horse and the North American tour he'd done to promote the record had suffered from that bad press too. The critics had written plenty of harsh things about him but the two he couldn't stop obsessing over were that he was preachy and that his voice was gone. George knew the latter was somewhat true. He'd taken on too much the previous year and it had all caught up with him.

He'd retreated to Friar Park with John once the tour was over, seeking solace in his garden, finally able to breathe again.

The tour hadn't been all bad with John by his side, his lover supporting him through it all. And yet George had began pulling away from John once they'd gotten back in London, slipping back into his old ways in an attempt to numb his mind to the criticism he'd received, drinking more and starting up with coke again. He'd tried to hide his use from his lover, never doing it in front of him, but he knew excessive sniffing and occasional nosebleeds had given him away.

The last thing George wanted was for the most important person in his life to think of him as a disappointment but he'd slipped into a depression he couldn't seem to shake. He didn't want to hide from John but he didn't want to drag his lover down either, which left him with little choice.

He'd taken to hiding out in his office, whenever he could drag himself out of bed. He did have business to conduct but he was rather overdoing it, especially since Olivia had proven to be an efficient assistant, and he knew that his go-to excuse of having to handle his business affairs wasn't something John would humour for much longer.

That day, George hadn't even been able to drag himself out of bed and was quite resigned to lay there until evening came, when he heard John outside the closed bedroom door. He turned onto his side and closed his eyes, feigning sleep as his lover opened the door as silently as he could, poking his head in the dim, heavy air of the room.

He watched George's back for a few seconds, sighing. He knew George was awake. John had seen and listened to his lover sleep enough times to realize that his breathing was wrong and that the line of his shoulders was too tense for him to be asleep. Why George was pretending to sleep was a mystery, though.

Toeing off his shoes and removing his jacket, John slid into bed wordlessly. George had grown quiet these days, too quiet for John to be entirely comfortable with, unwilling to open up. He had tried to ask whether he could do anything several times already and George hadn't been too forthcoming, so he'd shifted to showing physical signs of support and affection instead. George seemed to take it in stride but John didn't know whether it helped any.

He could tell that his lover was depressed over his bad reviews but it seemed to be more than that, and John couldn't decipher it. The drug use George had half-attempted to hide from him only made it starker. It bothered John. He hadn't commented upon it because hell, who was he to judge? , but it bothered him all the same. George was different when he was on cocaine, and not in a way John liked.

He shifted closer, curling being George, slipping an arm around his waist and kissing his shoulder-blade gently. George's depression made John feel guilty, helpless and angry in equal measures, the later only serving to fuel the first two, stemming from his frustration and from the fact that, while George was busy feeling sorry for himself, who was going to care for John's feelings?

To the prompting of many of his new friends, John had immersed himself in the fight for gay rights. The problem was so vast and so deeply rooted it made him tremble with rage at times, with incomprehension and disgust for some of his fellow humans and their cruel words. John felt helpless in that fight, as well. There was only so much he could do donating money and sometimes appearing at demonstrations or conferences as a gay-friendly heterosexual man.

He wanted to come out. He wanted to take George's hand, step under the spotlight, and tell anybody who had a problem with it to get bent. The mere idea of it made the pit of his stomach heat up with triumphant gall. It could change so much, having two famous people like them as openly gay men, two strong figures to rely on, as spokespersons for the movement, as an example for men struggling with their own sexual identities. John didn't like to be set as a role model (never liked it), but he was quite willing to make an exception this time.

Nuzzling the back of George's hair, John patted his hip. He wasn't sure of how his lover would take onto that idea. With a bit of luck, past his initial reluctance, it would be enough to set the both of them into a new, more positive dynamic. "George," he said, gently.

"John," George yawned, trying to sound as if his lover had roused him from sleep. John pressed his forehead to George's back and squeezed his eyes tight against the lie. He didn't say anything for a while as George kept his back to him, silently willing him to leave, knowing he wouldn't be good company right then but feeling badly for not returning John's affection.

"I just need a few more minutes and I'll get out of bed." He tried to sound upbeat but his tone was lethargic. He yawned again, trying to keep up the sleepy routine, thinking that perhaps John would have enough and let him alone with his self pity in the darkness of their bedroom.

"You don't need to, if you don't want to," John replied quietly, trying to relax and settle down in the warmth of their bed. "Can't hardly fault you for staying in bed all day long, I've done it enough." John carefully chose not to mention that he had only ever done that during his blackest bouts of depression, or while he was doing heavy drugs.

"You can't," George replied testily, immediately regretting his tone though not enough to apologize. He had been there for John in his darker moments and he thought that the least his lover could do was be there for him in return.

"I won't." John's voice was steady, giving nothing away.

George opened his eyes and turned onto his back, knowing John wouldn't leave, now. It was too difficult to look at him and see the hurt in his lover's eyes so he stared up at the ceiling instead, feeling cowardly for doing so. George wanted to apologize and promise his lover that things would get better, but he didn't know when they would.

"Fuckin' critics," he found himself saying. "They want Beatle George. I've got something to say and they don't want to hear it. Well, I don't want to hear them," he stated bitterly.

John slipped his hand into George's and hummed his agreement. They'd had this conversation before but if it made George feel better to let it out, John would listen all day. "Fuck 'em. They know nothing." He kissed George's cheek gently and kept his eyes closed. "I liked your album. I liked that you said what you wanted to say and didn't care what they'd think. That's not what they want but that's got to be better than the empty commercial crap you hear on the charts, these days."

George knew John was trying to make him feel better but it just felt like being placated, soothed like a fretful child. "Yeah, well -- what're you doing? Anything planned?" he asked, changing subjects.

John was keeping fairly busy these days and mostly without him, which George felt was perfectly acceptable. All of their interests weren't shared and for instance, the cause for gay rights that his lover was currently championing wasn't something George truly wanted to get involved in. John seemed quite committed still, devoting a great deal of his time and money to it.

"Good thing it's possible to start a revolution from a bed. 'm not completely useless just yet," George added wryly, a petty and unnecessary dig at John's bed-ins for peace from the 60s. He'd convinced himself that if he was nasty enough, he could get John to leave.

John frowned and nudged him but he didn't move. "Don't be a prat," he protested, keeping his tone even. "You're not useless. And no-one's asking you to start a revolution." He patted George's stomach, trying to meet his eyes. "Though you could, if you wanted. We could."

George sighed. "You're doing just fine without me." He knew what John was getting at and definitely didn't want any part of it.

"That's true, but I would be even better with you by my side." John paused. He wanted to come out, to tell the whole world who he was but he knew that, considering he lived with George and did everything with him, telling people that he liked men would out George as well, whether he liked it or not. He didn't want to trespass on George's need for privateness but he was growing tired of lying. "If people knew."

"What's wrong with just living our lives and not making a political statement out of it?" George replied, annoyed. George liked his privacy and thought John had a propensity to make too many things public."I don't like the idea of being the face of gay rights. 'm not even gay. It'd be hypocritical of me to go around speaking for those people on their behalf."

It was much simpler than that, in truth, and George confusedly knew that John would see right through him. Quite simply, he was afraid of coming out. He threw the blankets back and climbed out of bed. "If you wanted to get me up, it worked." He walked into the loo, turning on the tap and splashing his face with cold water.

"I always want to get you up," John called after him, but his heart wasn't into it. He got up as well, following George and leaning against the doorframe. "You don't have to be gay, George. It's not about you liking men, it's about you liking me, and me liking you, and us making it work. Don't you understand? It's even more powerful that way." He watched George, shaking his head. "You don't have to. You know I wouldn't make you. But think about it. I'd like for us to do it."

George glared at John in the mirror. "And if I don't want to?" He grabbed a towel hanging from the rack and dried his face. "Things will be -- they just wouldn't be right between the two of us." George sighed, taking his time with rehanging the towel, trying to buy himself some time to respond to John's words. John just sighed, growing irritated at how defensive and unreasonable George was being with the whole thing.

"You are making me," George stated, slowly, turning to face his lover. "You keep bringing it up, and my answer is always the same. If you want to come out you should, but I just don't know. 'm sorry. I don't mean to disappoint you, but what would happen to us if we were to come out? The press wouldn't leave us alone. And, what about Julian? Would Cyn still let him visit? You and I," he motioned between the two of them. "What if it doesn't work out?" George's thoughts were jumbled and coming out all at once.

John opened his mouth to reply to that, looking offended that George would even think about it this way, but his lover was quicker. "I just don't want this to be another cause you're passionate about at the moment, only to lose interest in it later on," he added, somewhat harshly.

The double meaning was clear from George's perspective. He didn't want their relationship to be something John was taken with for a while, just like the cause for gay rights, only to lose interest when something else came along. He knew his words were hurtful but his fear made him unsure of the stability of their relationship. "They'll be watching our every move, just waiting for things to fall apart."

"They're already doing just that, George. Watching us all the time, talking about us all the time, speculating about what we're doing, why we're living together," John pointed out, his tone biting. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

Stepping towards his lover, John reached out for him, holding him by the shoulders gently, looking into his eyes. "George. Listen to me. I'm not going to get tired of you. Gay rights, I don't know, maybe. Maybe I'll get bored of fighting for them and getting nowhere. Maybe it'll be too difficult. But not you. Never you. I love you more than anything I've ever loved, all right?" He cupped George's face with both hands. "This isn't what this is about."

"I know," George whispered, eyes downcast. "'m just afraid is all." He looked up. "It's -- you know, it's not going to be easy. I'm not sure if I can handle people invading our privacy more so than they already do." He sighed, burying his face against the side of John's neck. "You know how important you are to me, and that's all that matters." He pulled back and met John's eyes. "But if you want to do this, then I suppose we should come out?"

"George," John said, quietly. "I don't want you to feel like you have to. You're more important to me than any cause I could fight for." John snorted. "Bloody selfish, when you think about it." He petted the back of George's head, swallowing the painful lump in his throat. "I want to do this but not if you're not happy about it. I just want you to be happy, George."

John's eyes lost some of their focus, his voice reduced to a whisper. "But I guess it doesn't matter because I'm failing there, too." He pulled away to look into George's eyes again. "Why aren't you fucking happy?" He grinned a little then, wryly, and leaned in to kiss George. "Wanker."

"John," George said softly, protesting. "It's not you. I'm happy with you. It's just... everything else."

John sighed and held his lover tighter. "I know."

George closed his eyes. He didn't like the feeling of being made to do something and though John wasn't truly forcing his hand on the matter, his lover's insistence that hey come out was close enough for him. Confusedly he hoped that this would be good for them, good for everyone. He doubted it still, lacking John's genuine enthusiasm for gay rights.

"Let's come out," he finally decided, quietly.

John leaned away and met his eyes, knowing what this meant for George, and what a sacrifice his lover was willing to make for him. "Thank you." He stroked George's cheeks with his thumbs, leaning their foreheads together. "It will be worth it, I promise." George nodded slowly and John stole another kiss, lovingly.