AN: This is very slashy, and it's really silly, so you shouldn't take it too seriously. I'm just fooling around. So, if you don't like the idea of Lennon and McCartney being together as a couple, there's a "go back" button.

Disclaimer: Obviously, this never happened. I don't own John or Paul, I just own the silly words I wrote.


John Lennon's P.O.V.

It's a bright and sunny day when I wake up radiant and happy. That isn't something usual on me. Most days I get out of bed grumpy with a bad mood; but today is different, because Paul McCartney is sleeping by my side. I yawn and turn around to analyze him: his breath is so neat, his bones don't dare to move, and his hair looks like a beautiful mess.

Minutes later, the bassist makes a yawning sound and slowly opens his big doe eyes.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," I kiss his forehead.

"Looks like someone finally woke up in a good mood. Why aren't you grumpy and complaining about everything?" Paul laughs.

"I don't have reasons for complaining today, because I woke up next to the person I love most." I explain, flashing him a smile he returns.

My boyfriend can't help but blush and giggle. We feel like the happiest boys on Earth; and we probably are the most in love. I lean over to kiss his lips tenderly, when he looks at the clock and screams: "Bloody hell!"

I give him a confused look wondering if I did something wrong.

"Brian's going to kill us. Today was our recording session and we're late!" He finally speaks, very worried. He always wants to be on time for everything.

As he gets quickly out of bed, I grab his arm and propose, "Let's say we're sick."

"We promised to be there, love, and you know I don't like lying."

"But you can do it for your boyfriend who loves you like crazy and wants to spend the day cuddling with his Macca." I use my manipulative voice, but apparently it doesn't work.

"C'mon, Johnny… You know I would love to spend the day only with you, cuddling and caressing your hair…"

"Then let's stay!" I keep begging while he's getting prepared. It's not that I don't like recording sessions; in fact, I love them. They are even greater than concerts, where by the way, I can't even hear myself playing. But something about today made the perfect day for staying home with him.

"John, have any idea of where I left my bloody shoes?" Paul looks for his shoes under the bed, but doesn't find anything.

"I won't tell ya," I smirk, showing one of my evil faces.

"C'mon, John, I need my shoes! Don't be mean." Paul implores while putting his socks on.

"Oh… It's such a pity you can't find your shoes… You can't go to Abbey Road without them on. What would they say?"

"I'll wear yours, then." he shrugs like any stubborn boy does.

"My feet are way bigger than yours."

"Then tell me where are my bloody shoes!" Paul exclaims while tightening his tie. He isn't going to win this.

"Nah. That way you'll have to spend the day cuddling with me; because, by the way, I don't have any idea where my shoes are, either."

He comes out with his pair of shoes on after heading for the bathroom to brush his teeth. Paul always wins.

"Oh fuck, you found your shoes…"

"Recording is fun, silly, you love it! It'll be fun recording A hard day's night."

Paul is right; he always is. Besides, we can't let Eppy, George and Ringo down. We all love recording sessions. We are going to keep working our third album, the first one with no covers: Just Lennon/McCartney songs. Today in particular, we will record A hard day's night, which we both sing lead.

All of a sudden, I am very excited about today's recording session.

"You're right, Paulie! And we're late! Let's go, go, go!" I say with complete enthusiasm.

I can see that I left him a little confused about my abrupt change of opinion; but I can also sense that he's also very happy, and that makes me feel like a total idiot for what I did before. I don't have the rights to complain about anything.

We get out of the house. I take my car, open the passenger's seat and invite Paul to sit in.

"Go ahead," I kiss his forehead, smile brightly, close the door and sit ready to drive to Abbey Road Studios.

"What made you change your mind today that you can't stop smiling?" he asks.

Without detouring my look from the road, I answer with complete honest: "You." I am not looking at him because I'm sure I would get lost in his beautiful eyes, totally losing the concentration in the road, and I would end up crashing the car. So I decide to not turn away and resist myself to not glue my eyes in my extremely gorgeous boyfriend.

Although I'm not staring at him, I'm sure he noticed the tenderness in my voice, and that I was not kidding when I answered what he asked.

"You smile because of me?" Finally, the lad speaks to inquire another of those silly questions I love.

"Because I love you." With that said, we arrive to the studio and I was able to once and for all glance at his sparkling eyes; both of us observing each other with infinitive tender; the one that doesn't need words. He leans over to kiss my cheek, and then caresses it softly.

"We better go inside," I grab his hand and we pass through the studio door, where Brian, Martin, George and Ringo are waiting angrily for us.

"Where the bloody hell were you? We haven't done anything because we can't record without you!" exclaims Epstein.

"It's not our fault! I couldn't find my shoes and John couldn't lend me one of his, because his feet are way bigger than mine!" Paul excuses our lateness by using the morning shoe-incident.

"Seriously? That's the best excuse you've got? I bet you two fucked till dawn and then couldn't wake up of tiredness." George rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, that too," I smirk and laugh.

Eppy got off his seat to announce, "Well, we better start recording!"

A hard day's night. Another great Lennon/McCartney song. I composed the music and he wrote the lyrics. We usually steal glances at each other when we play. Our connection through music is incredible.

Hours pass as we keep recording and repeating tracks for the album. Paul is even more perfectionist than Eppy when it comes to recording. He's never satisfied and is always saying things such as, "It doesn't sound neat, lads… Let's do it again!", and everyone's response is to give him an annoyance glance, and then repeating the whole thing again.

"Rings, you started the beat at the wrong time!" Paul complains.

"Like one second later! No one will notice, kid." Ringo states.

"I do notice! And if we don't repeat it, then every time in the future when I will listen the record, it will always sound weird to me and will be a curse!" Paul explains the situation, as George announces: "I'm hungry."

"You can eat after we finish." Paul says in reply.

"We would have finished by now if you weren't so bloody perfectionist" George shares a poor-hungry-boy look.

Although we are all hungry, we know we will end up staying till late night recording, and will only stop when Paul is happy with the result. I'm sure every band needs someone like him and his perfectionism, and that's one of the reasons our tracks are perfect.

We finally finished recording everything we had scheduled for today. We are all exhausted, but satisfied about the results. A new successful album is surely going to be released soon.

"Want to sleep in my house today, love?" I ask McCartney, holding his delicate hands.

"Of course, I'm practically living there now. I have my stuff there… Except shoes…"

I smile again. It's something common in me when he's near.

When we got home, Paul steps into the kitchen and asks: "You hungry?"

He already knows what my answer will be, because I haven't eaten in hours.

"I am, indeed." I reply, approaching and embracing him from his back.

"What do you want for dinner?"

"You." I reply, smiling naughtily and biting my lower lip. His eyes grow wide as I turn around to kiss his soft lips, and he responds by pulling me closer, tasting my mouth in his own unique way.

"No, seriously… What do you want to eat?" He whispers.

I keep insisting, "I am dead serious…" I peck his lips again, shaking his perfectly combed hair.

He moves away, leaving me in need for more kisses, and then he proclaims, "Pasta will be."

Together we make ourselves delicious spaghetti with tomato. Everything Paul does taste good. Fucking hell, every single part of Paul is extremely enjoyable.

"I'm tired," he announces letting out a yawn, right after finishing his meal.

"Let's go to bed, then."

It doesn't take too long for him to fall asleep in my arms, completely silent, while I was holding him with care. And that's when I start to think it should be like this every day. He should sleep in my arms every night and wake up by my side every morning. I don't want to miss anything he does. I want to be there for him every minute of his life. I want to marry James Paul McCartney.