"There's been a couple of rumor's going around that you're known as the 'fat beatle'…"

The ride back to the hotel was spent in an awkward silence, and John staring out the window with deep hatred in his eyes. Has anyone been brave enough, they may have squeaked out a few words, but since John was on the brink of destruction- silence was the best option. The arrival at the hotel wasn't much different. It consisted of the three other Beatles trying to start up a conversation and John heading straight to his room. One of them suggested going after him, but that just ended in nervous glances.

As soon as John entered his room, he picked up the nearest object and smashed it on the ground. Along with the glass shattering, John let out a noise that could best be described as some angry, un-tamed beast.

"Fucking sods!" John shouted to no one listening. He went to the one of the many stained cabinets and opened up the first overpriced liquor bottle he saw.

Taking a swig of the alcohol, John trudged to his bathroom and looked in the mirror. They think I'm fat? What a laugh. John set his bottle on the counter and took off his shirt in frustration. He studied his body, making sure to find every imperfection. His round face, his beak of a nose, the weary eyes, near double chin, anything else he could think of. He lifted up his head, ran his fingers under his chin once more, and wished he could rip off all his skin. Taking another chug from his bottle, John felt the rest of his body.

"I'm a bleeding pig. No doubt Cyn thinks so." John tried to think of Cynthia and Julian as little as possible. He couldn't handle himself and bloody well couldn't handle being a father. Cynthia's nagging about his 'neglection' towards Julian was the cause of John's many migraines at home. She doesn't understand. I'm not ready for any of this. I didn't want any of this.

Disgusted with the reflection, John dragged his feet to his bed. He also made sure to bring two more bottles with him.

"I wonder what Pa-" On second thought, he didn't want to mention his name. His eyes got blurrier than usual and they stung just a bit. Why is it that he cried when he thought of what Paul may feel about him? He should care about what Cynthia thinks. Why should he care what anyone thinks? Especially Paul. Because Paul is who keeps me going. He just doesn't have a clue.

John quickly downed the other two bottles with ease. Had he been sober he would have realized how incredibly stupid he is. Getting drunk on an empty stomach wasn't the brightest idea, but John had no desire to eat. Not anymore. He never wanted to eat again. Maybe…I'll…sstarve..meself.

"'Nother bottle…" John slurred as he clumsily made his way toward the built in kitchen.

Paul was worried, and when Paul is worried he tends to have weird habits. This time around he took a liking to biting his thumb nail. Anything that would keep him from thinking about the past few hours was completely grand. He didn't want to think about the interview, he didn't want to think about John's expression when they asked that bloody question, and he didn't want to think about how angry it made him. I should do something. I should do something.

Brian simply said to not worry about and to take it easy. Ha. Take it easy, eh? That's easy for you to say, you poof. Who was he to call Brian a poof? He was one himself, wasn't he? No, I have a girlfriend. John had a wife...and a son. John doesn't have…those kinds of feelings for me. I don't have those kinds of feelings for John. Paul knew John would never think that way. John was one of the straightest me Paul has ever seen. He was the kind of guy who'd rather drop dead than touch another man. Wasn't he?

"If you keep eating your hand, you won't be hungry for dinner." Ringo absent-mindedly interrupted Paul's thoughts.

Paul's eyes widened as he snapped out of his trance. He whipped his head toward Ringo, whose eyes were gazing at his hand. "Sorry, mater. I'm worried about John. Y'know…" Paul didn't finish his sentence, he was too paranoid.

George sighed and turned a page in his book. Without looking up he said, "Sure John is just blowing off steam. Y'know- destroying things and the like." Paul didn't know how George could remain so calm. Sometimes he wondered…

"Look Paul, if it bothers you that much, go visit the lad." Ringo twirled his drumsticks a few times.

Paul placed his hands on his knees and stood up. Fixing his shirt, Paul said, "You're right. I will Ringo." He cleared his throat and fixed his tie.

Ringo nodded to Paul and George acknowledged his departure as Paul left the room.

Standing in front of John's door, Paul thought of what exactly he was going to say. Perhaps he would simply enter the room and announce that he was there to save the day. It's a bird, it's a plane, no it's! It's! It's…Paul. That's ridiculous. Maybe he could slyly put his arm around John and tell him it would be alright. Don't worry Johnny 'ole boy. How cliché. Or he could go into the room and pretend like he was just passing by. Sounds peachy.

Paul slowly turned the knob and said a silent prayer to whatever God was out there. He asked for things to go smoothly. Really, all Paul wanted was protection from John's almighty wrath. I would love to not get a busted lip.

Once he got the door open (John should learn how to lock things), he crept inside the room. To his surprise he found John on his bed surrounded by bottles. He looked rather pale and Paul couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep. Maybe he's resting. As Paul walked ever-so-slowly to the bed in front of him he noticed the pile of glass on the floor. Shards were scattered everywhere and Paul wondered what they looked like all reconnected.

Clearing a path with his feet, Paul groaned. "Are you really this irresponsible that you must break something?!" It was just a god damn interview! Paul's brow wrinkled as he scowled at John.

Gently, John's eyes opened. "G..gettt out…y..you..prick." Judging by his appearance and voice, John was on the verge of passing out drunk.

"Oh, how lovely. You're bloody drunk." Paul mumbled audibly. "Anything else you want to ruin?" He was by John's side by the time he said this, towering over him.

"Allll…readee ruined ever'thing, mate." John's voice was barely audible. He looked up at Paul only to show red eyes and dampened hair. Paul was hoping he was being silly, but John's face was anything but. It was almost frightening.

Paul's expression softened and he slouched over John. He put his hand on John's broad shoulder and used the other to cup his face. There's no used yelling. You're so broken, love. Paul frowned and lowered his face to John's ear. "Let me help you."

John tilted his head and faced Paul. Their lips were mere centimeters apart and Paul could almost hear John's cry for help. The alcohol on his breath was just a familiar scent by now. If you weren't drunk- I'd kis- kill you. Paul made sure to correct himself. He always did. John was a friend. Paul liked girls. Paul liked-loved- a girl. What was her name? It started with a J. Like John. "Beautiful John." Oh blimey.

Ignoring his accidental spill of words, Paul took John's limp body to the bathroom. He knew John was going to be sick if he didn't help him get rid of all the whisky he had consumed.

"Wake up! Open your eyes, John!" Paul said whilst shaking John's body. "C'mon Johnny." He shook his head lightly and then sprinkled some water on him.

John's heavy-lidded eyes sprang open. "Jezuz Paul..iee. Stop doin' thattt. Will yaa?" Not only did John look drained, but he looked incredibly green. His hair was sweat ridden, causing it to stick to his forehead, and his eyes were bloodshot. Paul noticed John's shaking hands when he reached for them. "I feel sick." I know, John.

Paul's worried state only got worse as the other Beatle began heaving. Quickly he helped his friend to the toilet and balanced John as he vomited all that he had consumed in past day. As John's stomach emptied it's contents, Paul noticed tears escaping the brown-eyed man. Once John finally stopped, Paul cleaned him up. He wiped his forehead and gently wiped the tears from his eyes. Paul searched John's, trying to figure out why this beautiful man was so destroyed. You're a fool, John. Why do you do this? Paul moved John's hair out of his face and placed his lips to his temple. John signed and leaned into Paul.

The younger man wrapped his arms around John's naked torso and helped him back to bed. As he tucked John in, he debated whether he should stay or not. Ringo would probably come back soon, so he could take care of John. But- Paul wanted to be with John tonight. He wanted to sleep next to John's perfect body and tell him that he was a perfect human being. Those interviewers could kiss Paul's arse if they didn't agree. This drunken, destroyed, bruised, battered, unstable, reckless, stubborn, complicated, wonderful, amazing, sexy man was sleeping in such an un-worthy bed. Even his breathing was pleasant to Paul's ears. It was smooth, but erratic. His brunette hair was had a gorgeous shine and his face flushed a velvet-like pink.

Paul stopped. What have I become? Admiring my best friend, wanting my best friend. I'm a man, I shouldn't love another man…not like this. Paul gave in anyway. He stripped of outerwear and climbed into bed. He basked in the warmth of John's body heat and imagined John's arms around him. After checking John one last time, Paul joined him in dreamland.

"Ah, bugger. Spilled me tea." Ringo grunted. He picked up his mug and tried his best to clean up the puddle of liquid.

A yawn escaped his mouth and Ringo scratched his head. Maybe I'll get me some sleep. Today had been exhausting and he knew John must feel bad. Ringo had a good idea that John didn't feel too happy about his looks, but he didn't think it was like this. He just figured John wasn't rather confident. Ringo didn't want to get involved with this mess though. John wouldn't listen to him anyways. He can be a strange fellow, that John.

Ringo put away his left over tea and headed for his room. He secretly was hoping John would be asleep. Ringo was too tired to deal with John's late-night temper tantrums. Sometimes he acted as if Ringo was his father. It's not that Ringo didn't want to help John; it's that he knows John doesn't want the help even when he asks for it. I'm not a bliming psychiatrist anyways. Ringo shrugged and fiddled with his numerous as he made his way to the door. Sounds quiet. He opened the door and was surprised to find complete silence.

"Would you look at that." He said admiring the peace and quiet.

He kicked off his boots and made his way to the bathroom to wash up. When he passed the bedroom he noticed something strange. He did a double take, in fact, and then proceeded to rub his eyes as to make the scenario clearer. What in the bloody hell? Ignoring the scattered clothes and broken glass, there lay Paul and John intertwined in bed. A million things popped into Ringo's head then, most inappropriate, but he decided to block those out. Once his eyes got used to the darkness he could see the peaceful state that both of them were in. Ringo could swear there was a smirk on John's face. He wasn't all that surprised actually, these two could never surprise him anymore. They were just Paul and John, and that was that. Guess I'll bunk with George tonight. Ringo grabbed an extra pair of clothes and headed out.

John woke up because of two reasons: his blistering headache, and the warm body he could feel next to his. With eyes still closed, he tried to remember last night. Let's see… John rubbed his temples and rested his arm above his head. Interviewer called me fat. I got angry. I drank. And- well, fuck. What was it that I did? I didn't bed some bird did I? John fluttered his right eye open and emitted a guttural sound as the sun hit his eye. Being aware, he shaded his face with his hand and opened both eyes. He blinked a few times to clear his head and looked over.

John gasped and jumped at the site of Paul's body. What- the…Why is Paul-? He suddenly felt extremely flustered. What if John had said something? Surely Paul would have ignored him. Fucking twat. Why can't he just leave me be? John tried to push Paul away, but that just caused the younger man to sigh and put his arm around John. John looked down at Paul's arm like it was some diseased rat. He didn't want Paul touching him; he didn't want to feel- God damn it. Why was he fooling himself? He's loved Paul for so long. John couldn't even count the millions of times he's wanted to take Paul and claim him as rightfully his. Paul is mine. Now he sounded like those brainless girls who passed out at their concerts.

"Oh shit!" John exclaimed as he remembered: the show tonight. He jolted upright and looked the clock to check the time. Phew. It's still early. His heart rate gradually dropped down to a normal beat.

John breathed in deeply and let himself admire Paul for once. He already knew his favorite of Paul: that mouth. Not only were his lips beautifully sculpted, but his voice was pure magic. John cherished each fantasy he had of Paul trying his hardest not to scream John's name as he fucked him senseless. John could feel himself get heated, and feel an unwanted feeling in his stomach just thinking about it. Save that for another time, lad. John timidly reached for Paul's hair, so that he could run his hands through it. Just as he was about to, the chocolate brown eyes opened; John recoiled his hand in terror.

Paul's eyes shifted left to right as if he had forgotten why he was here. He lifted himself slowly, so he could sit up in the bed. Paul locked eyes with John. "How's your head, love?" Paul suddenly turned his.

At first John had a puzzled look. Love? It changed to a grin. "Hurts like hell, but I'll be fine. Don't you worry 'bout it, honey."

Paul looked back at John with slightly reddened cheeks. His frown soon turned to a smile. "I worry all the time." Paul's was all the sudden very meek.

John was taken aback. Well, in his head he was. No smart ass comments? "Is your head alright?" John cocked his head like a confused puppy.

Paul cleared his throat. If he was thinking what John was thinking, this was a rather awkward situation. "John…I…you're…" Paul bit his lip and avoided eye contact with the Beatle in front of him. "Why would you think that?" Sadness crept into Paul's eyes.

John was fed up with this. "Just let it be! We all know it's true anyways!" He didn't know if he was, but John felt like he was screaming. The anger and loneliness entered back into his heart.

Paul's expression stiffened. He clearly was thinking hard about something, but then gave up after a few seconds. He moved awkwardly a couple times and opened his mouth to say silent words. Finally he spoke up, "Oh shu-"

Then Paul's lips smashed against John's. Teeth scraped teeth. Hands looked for support. Tongues danced with each other. John's headache faded away as he reveled at Paul's touch. Paul's plumb lips collided with John's and he could feel the desire. John wasn't surprised at how perfectly their lips fit together, or how in sync their tongues were. John was surprised at how eager and hungry Paul was for this. Maybe Paul could be the man in a relationship, but John decided to block out these thoughts. He could hardly think anyways, this was all just too arousing. John clung to Paul's smaller body and touched his angel-like hair. Paul, however, took a liking to John's chest, touching and caressing and making John with pleasure.

Breathe. Once they broke apart, both were panting.

"Fuck." John whispered.

"Fuck." Paul repeated breathlessly.

John ran his fingers across his lips and he could still feel Paul's on his. Fuck was right.

Everything had just changed.

Paul broke the thick silence. "How does some tea sound?" He asked innocently, beaming at John.

"Yes. Tea. Lovely." John was still a bit incoherent.

John Lennon looked in the mirror and replayed the situation that had just unraveled. He was trying to hid his obnoxious smile, but with failed attempt. He made sure he looked good (there's a first time for everything) and he walked out of his hotel room to go join Paul for tea. Despite John's previous denial at this connection with Paul, he was willing to embrace it. Maybe this is what Brian feels like. John wasn't a poof though, he reassured himself. He just happened to love his friend more than he should. Happens all the time. And then you get hurt. I don't want Paul to get hurt. John would think about that later. Right now, he wanted to enjoy this un-normal normalcy. Er, that made more sense in John's head.

When John went to the lobby, he could smell a very welcoming fragrance. He smiled as he breathed it in. Paul came out and offered him tea, which John gladly accepted. They sat net to each other, legs touching. They sat in silence, but it was a comfortable silence. John didn't know how to start a conversation anymore; he felt any words he spoke would be choked back by his throat. He also had a feeling Paul wanted to say something, but just ended up making pouty faces. He was just as scared as he was.

"Ow, fuck!" Paul cried, causing John to have a near heart attack. John was going to ask what the matter was, but he soon found out.

Paul's jittery hands were desperately trying to clean up the spilled tea on his leg. John offered to help, but Paul just grumbled. The laugh that erupted from John's mouth only caused Paul to laugh.

"You sounded like a damned girl, you did!" John forced out between laughs.

Paul lightly shoved John. "Oh shush! You would have done the same!" Paul was still frantically dabbing at his pants.

John started to spastically move his body. "Oh Paulie! Please help me! I soiled me pants!" John tried to sound like a young girl, but he ended up sounding more like a grandma.

The younger Beatle smiled mischievously and leaned over him. "I'll help you alright, son."

John knew this was bad news. However, Paul knew the exact place to touch John, so that he would be completely helpless. Oh bugger! Paul went for the side of John's hips, and John couldn't help but release the most questionable giggle. He tried to whack Paul's hands away, but with no prevail. After a few desperate moments, Paul stopped his attack on John and let out a triumphant laugh. John opened his teary eyes and looked at Paul's smiling face. He was right on John's lap. They both went from hyper toddlers to silent men.

John began to feel his heart quicken in pace and his face redden. I'm acting like a bleeding horny little boy! Paul's eyes were riveted on John's lips. John's throat was threatening to close up as he snaked his hands up Paul's back; never breaking Paul's stare. John couldn't stand the silence, it was deafening.

"Macca." John croaked. What is wrong with me?

Paul's eyes shifted to John's, and the loving look he gave him could have made an angel cry. Painfully slow, Paul lowered his head until their noses touched. John could feel Paul's hot breath, and his body was so close. God dammit, Paul McCartney. I want this. More like needed, but John couldn't tell himself that yet.

John shortened the gap until his thin lips brushed against Paul's. He breathed in the scent of his friend's cologne. It was a husky scent, but it had a hint of something sweet. This smells better than any bird I've been with. Why was he wearing cologne in the first place?

Paul nipped at John's bottom lip and ran his tongue beneath it. Then, for the second time that morning, the two Beatles kissed. This time was different though. As John grasped Paul's back and Paul played with John's hair, this kiss was more than just desire, it was passion. It made John wish they could do this forever. The moan that escaped Paul's mouth only reinforced that wish. John responded with a moan of his own. Whenever they stopped for a breath, Paul would rest his forehead on John's making sure to stay as close as possible.

Footsteps. A yawn. John's eyes snapped open, and the two immediately stopped. Fuck!

"Hullo?" They heard George say from another room.

"Mmm. Macca get off!" John whined while he tried to stop Paul from kissing him. Paul didn't seem to have any intention to and went in for his lips again.

Door opens. With one last kiss, John pushes Paul off of him with a little too much force. John noticed he was half hard, so he quickly picked up a pillow and placed it on his lap.

"Morning John…and…" George's head turned to face the man on the ground. "…Paul." George went to turn on the tv, his bedhead bouncing as he walked.

"Sorry Paulie." John discretely whispered.

Paul looked at John with hurt in his eyes. What did I do? Paul stood up on wobbly legs and looked at George. "Excuse me, lads."

John noticed Paul was equally as hard. He would have chuckled at the thought of what Paul was really excusing himself for, but he found himself frowning instead. John was completely lost and confused. I just need to shag a bird. S'all. Get this queerness out of me head.

John excused himself just as Ringo entered the room. Ringo looked at John suggestively, but he simply just shrugged and continued back to his room.

Maybe I'll take a nap. My head hurts again.