A/N: I'm back! Pardon any extended delays, my brain has not been in a writing mood lately and I haven't been able to figure out why.

John's POV

Once the bump in the road called Jane and Cyn was behind us—for the most part anyway, some pretenses were still necessary—life was relatively smooth for Paul and I. As long as we weren't going at it on the table, which to be honest didn't sound very tempting, Ringo and George didn't care much if we held hands in the studio, made occasional googly eyes at each other, or shared a quick kiss here or there. At this particular moment it was early 1964 and we were finishing up filming for our first ever movie. A trip to America was in our future as well.

"That's a wrap, fellas!" Dick Lester shouted. "Your movie is officially done filming!" A cheer went up from us and the rest of the actors and actresses we'd been working with. It hadn't felt much like work, most of the movie was just us messing around.

"They're gonna put me in the movies..." Ringo started to sing jovially, a grin lighting up his face. Somehow, everyone ended up singing, or perhaps shouting at the top of their lungs would be a more apt description. I patted Paul on the back, a gesture that probably looked innocent, but to both of us became less so when my hand 'accidentally' slid off and brushed across his backside. He jumped slightly and turned to look at me quickly. I smirked and shrugged, winking at him. Paul shook his head, rolling his eyes.

"And all I gotta do is, act naturally!" we finished, laughing and creating a ruckus that the directors didn't even try to calm.

That night in our hotel room, Paul cornered me with a mischievous glint in his eye. ""You," he began, "are terrible. Touching my arse in public? Cheeky."

I took a long step forward and erased the space between us. Putting my mouth against the delicate shell of his ear, I muttered, "You liked it though, didn't you?" A visible shiver of pleasure ran through him, making his breathing hitch and a wave of goosebumps popped out on his pale skin.

"You have no idea what you do to me," Paul's voice had lowered to the husky timbre he reserved for moments like this, mostly because he knew full well it drove me wild. He walked me backward, arms snaking up around my neck. "All day I want you and I know I can't have you. It's torture, Johnny. Torture."

I turned and gently pushed him back to the bed, clambering on after him so I hovered above him. "Do you want me to kiss it better?" I breathed, capturing his soft, full lips in a tender kiss. His mouth worked under mine, succeeding in quickly making me breathless.

We broke apart long enough for Paul to say, voice a whine of desire, "Oh God, yes."

We made love until the clock said it was around midnight. Panting lightly, I rolled to the side and snuggled under the covers. Paul pressed his back to my chest, sighing and almost immediately falling asleep. I put an arm around his bare torso and pulled him close, shutting my eyes and drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep. Before I was totally asleep, I thought if I had to stay like this forever, I wouldn't mind.

The next morning, I woke to an empty bed. For a moment I panicked, my breath coming in shallow gasps, until I noticed Paul standing at the window with his hands braced against the windowsill. He was wearing only his boxer shorts and an expression that told me he was thinking deeply about something. Sliding out of bed, I pulled on my boxers silently and walked up behind him, putting my arms around his waist and kissing his neck softly.

"You shouldn't think that hard, Paulie," I murmured. "There's smoke coming out your ears." He chuckled quietly, leaning his head back so his hair tickled my cheek.

"Really funny, Johnny," he said, bumping his ankle against mine.

"I am really funny and you know it."

"Uh-huh. Really over-confident, yes. Funny? I'm just not seeing it."

"Oh, you'll pay for that, sir!" I growled playfully, locking my arms around him and carrying him back to the bed.

"Will I?" he inquired, grinning impishly up at me. I felt my heart thump happily. "'Cause I don't think I will." I was so caught up in staring at him that I failed to notice him sneakily readjusting his hold on me. Suddenly, I found myself on my back beneath Paul. I blinked in confusion. Paul laughed at the puzzled look on my face, nudging my nose with his own.

"You were saying?" he said smugly.

"I hate you," I muttered dramatically, struggling against him half-heartedly.

"I'm sure you do," he rolled his eyes. "That's why you were moaning my name so loudly last night. 'Paaaaauuulll, oohhhhh Paaaauuulll'," he mimicked teasingly, running his fingers down my side. I squirmed.

"Cut that out, you cocky little sod!" I exclaimed. Thus far, Paul had not discovered that I was extremely ticklish and I was not eager for him to. It was fairly embarrassing.

"Cut what out?" he asked innocently, repeating the action. I tried to hold back a laugh without much success. "Oh, you mean this? You, the big, bad John Lennon, ticklish? Now I've seen everything."

"Goddammit, stop!" I choked, entirely failing to hide my laughter. Paul grinned triumphantly and began to tickle my sides with a vengeance. I tried to roll away from him and get him back since I knew he was also at least somewhat ticklish, but I couldn't.

"Not on your life, love," he said breathlessly, cheeks flushed from laughing as well. "Not until you say I win."

"Win what?"

"Just say it, go on!"

I contemplated not giving in, but I hadn't been to the bathroom yet that day and was in serious danger of embarrassing myself greatly. "Oh, fine! Get off, now!" Paul flopped down next to me, trying to stop laughing. He put his hands on his stomach, squeezing his eyes shut. I darted up from the bed and sped into the bathroom.

"Where are you off to?" Paul had finally stopped laughing enough to be capable of normal speech.

"The loo, you idiot! You almost made me piss meself, if you must know," I said dryly from behind the door. The sound of Paul cracking up again came from the bed. We were so mature.

When we finally wandered into the main room, George and Ringo were sitting in chairs across from each other, dutifully buried in some form of fan mail or another. "Hi, fellas," Paul said, sitting down on the couch. That did it; George snorted with laughter and set Ringo off.

"What on Earth could possibly be so funny?" I asked, taking a seat beside Paul.

"Have fun last night and this morning?" Ringo managed. Paul and I shared a look, both of our faces flaming bright red. Oops.

"What?" Paul asked, playing naïve.

"The walls are awfully thin in this hotel, y'know," George hinted, grinning in a way so we knew they didn't really mind and were just poking at us a bit, just like any one of us would if one of the others got a new girlfriend. The fact that they were treating our relationship like any other one made my heart swell with an impossible happiness. I couldn't possibly have had better friends than them.

The rest of the day was spent walking around in ridiculous costumes, going into little, mostly unknown record shops, buying fan mags to have a laugh about later, and eating out. Except for the fact that I couldn't be holding Paul's hand tightly the entire time, it was a lot of fun. Ringo nearly got found out when his beard slipped, but no other close calls occurred.

It only came to me while we were eating dinner that as much as the relationship Paul and I had felt like any other relationship, it wasn't at all. It didn't even bother me that much that we couldn't be seen together in public together. That wasn't really that different from before. It was the fact that I couldn't express the feeling of wanting Paul to belong to me and vice versa for the rest of our lives in the way that most people could. I couldn't ask him to marry me. I mean, I could, but it could never be done properly.

I wanted to be able to marry him, I knew that much. The only question was how.

A/N: Ooh, and the tension goes back up! Hope you enjoyed it!