Work Text:
”I told you not to book it this week.”
"I know, but there were no other choices. The lads were already a week without a tour and it’s the middle of July! We can’t have that."
"He is gonna kill ya when he gets back, you know that right?"
"I know." The manager rubbed his forehead as a headache came with full force.
The reason he was to be killed was that he had booked the lads for a trip to Australia and even though he was warned about the raining season there, he booked it. Now the four lads were due to come back from the open car ride and it was a sure thing that they would not be happy.
"Fucking hell!" George shouted in an annoyed tone as he entered the main room of their shared rooms.
"Where does that much water come from anyway?!" Ringo shook his head, trying to shake some water out of his hair.
"We were probably being punished! Oh dear god I’m sorry for turning so many of your pure ladies into dirty little girls" Paul spoke sarcastically with a huge grin as he ran his hand through his hair, putting it back a bit.
The three lads were upset at Brian, but none came even close to how pissed off John was. Being the last one to enter he didn’t even stop to remove his soaked through clothe, he stormed to Brian room shouting. “BRIAAAAN!”
Brian’s head tensed with the echoing sound of John’s voice.
"The fucking hell was that?! Open car in the fucking rain?!" He shouted as the managed stay with his head down in his hands. John’s words were blurted into his mind and stored away god knows where. When the angry Beatle stopped talking Brian simply looked up and nodded. "It was my mistake john. Won’t happen again."
The manages quietness and lack of fight quieten John, sending him away to his room.
Nothing was said about this, till 3 weeks later, while in the studio again recording their new album the result of the wet trip down Australia came about.
"For tomorrow may so I’ll follow the sun.” The vocalist for the song stopped at once, along with the rest of the band due to his voice going completely out of tune.
"Finally becoming a MAN macca?" John teased with a childish grin as the other two laughed.
Paul in response just made a face, sighing.
"Come off it Paul, it was only a joke." George put his hand on Paul’s shoulder as he smiled, only to have it shaken off. "Sure let’s just get on with it."
They tried and after a few horrible attempts Paul gave up. ” fuck this, I’m going for a cuppa tea.”
As the moody one left, the other three couldn’t help but wonder why his mood had shifted so much. It wasn’t John’s joke, he was used to that, so what was it? The lads all eventually went down to the cafeteria, joining Paul. “Better Paulie?” Ringo spoke with a smile, sitting across from Paul.
"Yeah, but I was just about to go down again. It’s too bloody cold here." The lads notices Paul shiver, but as John sat next to him he saw that Paul was actually sweating. He raised a brow before softly, but without any warning, putting the back of his hand on Paul’s forehead.
"… What are you doin’ John?"
"You are not cold Paulie, you’ve got a bloody high fever." John spoke, changing his hand from Paul’s head to his neck.
"A fever?" Ringo worried.
"But I’m f- f- fine." He shivered.
John looked closely at him as the others asked questions. The voices echoed on the back of his mind as he closely noticed Paul’s sick expression. He wasn’t like that before, was he? His eyes were deep, sunken and lacked shine. His skin was whiter than normal with only a strange flush to his cheeks(probably due to the fever). All and all Paul looked sick, very fucking sick.
"We need to take you home." John spoke almost in command.
Paul twisted his face in a mocking matter. “I’m fi-” as he spoke he stood up quickly, losing his balance and falling down. All three Beatles, especially John, who was closer, came quickly to sit him back down.
"Who turned off the bleeding lights?" That was all he needed to say for John,George and Ringo to go rushing him into George’s car and driving off to his house. During the car ride he begins getting dizzier and dizzier and by the time they are at Paul’s home he has to be carried out.
John takes the job without any complains putting one arms around Paul’s back and the other under his legs picking him up off George’s car. As they walked to the house, slowly due to John having trouble carrying Paul, the man in John’s arm let his head rest on John’s shoulder. Their bodies relaxed, but for John that only lasted a second, soon tensing up as his mind rushed to try to think of ways to help Paul.
Paul was placed on the couch. His fever still burning and body still limp."He must be hungry." George commented as he took off Paul’s shoes. "I’ll go make something."
John nodded and responded. “Make some tea too, a strong one.” He opened a few buttons of Paul’s shirt and sweetly ran his hand through his hair, putting it back a bit, taking the damp strand off Paul’s forehead.
Soon Ringo, who had walked off, appeared with a little bowl and a towel. Wetting the towel, just lightly, he ran it through Paul’s forehead and neck as John payed attention very closely, like a watch dog. “What’s that for? Voodoo or something?”
Ringo smiled, noticing a deeper breath coming from Paul, soon followed by his eyes opening a bit. “It’s too cool the fever down. We can’t call a doctor without Brian causing a hurricane, so this will help. Nurses did that to me all the time in the hospital as a little lad.”
John couldn’t help, but grin evilly at Ringo before having his attention pulled away by Paul sitting up. “Hey, you feeling better?” He spoke very softly.
"I feel hung over and sick." Paul groaned.
John chuckled. “Dunno about hungover, but you are very sick.”
"Just stay there I think George is trying to actually make food. I’ll go check." Ringo smiled politely and walked off.
Paul looked around a bit after sitting up and asked “How did I end up here?”
"I carried ya, you weren’t really awake." John spoke, sitting down on the small vacant bit of the couch that was made when Paul sat up.
"Carried?" Paul grinned lightly. "My hero" they giggled. There was a bit of a silent moment before George and Ringo arrived with a platter with tea and heated scones that were in Paul’s frige. "Food is here!"
"Finally" John commented sitting up a bit."Is it ‘eatled’ George?" John arched his brow, trying to not laugh at his own teasing joke.
"Shut up, it’s made with /loooove/" The cook laughed pouring Paul a cup of very strong apple and cinnamon tea. The sick one was the first one to eat, feeling a little better and actually being able to carry out the conversation.
That was, till everyone was done and suddenly Paul ran to the bathroom vomiting everything he had eaten. John quickly followed standing in the doorway to make sure he was alright.
“Bleeding hell” The sick, now lightly white bassist cursed after he seemed to have vomited his whole stomach out.
"It was the scones." John joked handing Paul a towel to clean his face.
"Don’t even say the name." He spoke in a sick tone, burping.
"Oh what a health!" John giggled. "Come on macca, let’s sit you down a bit on the couch, away from this shit." John helped him stand, the younger one being a bit weak.
"I stink. I should shower." Paul suggested closing the toilet lid and sitting on it.
They settled on having just a little bit more tea to help Paul feel less weak, than after George and Ringo left they went up stairs to Paul’s suite.Not a lot was spoken as they entered the bathroom. John simply sat on the lid of the toilet, after having put the tube to fill up, watching as Paul took his cloth off, slowly due to his slight weakness.
First came off his shirt, than the t-shirt underneath. After, he sat down on the edge of the tube taking off his trouser. During it all John just quietly watched, no dirty looks or fantasies, just simple, innocent worry.
Paul turned his back to him as he removed the last piece before entering the warm and now quite full bath. He sighed as the warm vapor cleared his breathing and the even warmer water relaxed his muscles.
"Want me to help. Ya know with yer hair and back and all that?"
It wasn’t need, but wanted. “Sure”
John flashed a shy smile as he kneeled next to the bathtub, rolling up his sleeves. “Which one is it?” John said looking confused at the bunch of bottle along the bathtub.
"The one you like the most is the blue bottle. It’s the one you say smells like strawberry fields during spring." Paul spoke softly looking over at John, who picking up the bottle with a sneak grin on his lips.
It was funny, that moment, for the actions were all done in pure instinct. None of the boys were actually thinking of where their hands were and whether or not the feelings flowering within them were wrong or right. They both were so focused on simply being there. Thinking was not something they wanted to do.
Feeling was better.
The soft touch of John’s hand rubbing the shampoo into Paul’s hair. The way John massaged his shoulders. Putting just the amazing, firm amount of pressure on them to completely relax the previously tense muscle.
Smelling was good too.
The soft smell of the shampoo John had picked, which filled the air with a lovely scent of spring. Flowery, but with an edge that reminded them of the burn that comes with a drink of whisky.
Taste was something else.
The bad sting of vomit couldn’t hold itself against the soft caress of apple and cinnamon mixed with a soft edge of nicotine, all going from a foreign source.
At that moment neither the sickness or the confusion, both coming from past events, could make either of the men stray from their point of focus. Each other.
"Done" John smiled shyly as he stepped back from the edge of the tub, standing and opening up a towel for Paul. The younger one blushed as he stepped out of the tub walking into John’s cloth covered arms and being involved in the soft, warm fabric.
Paul was distracted by drying himself when John threw another smaller towel on his head laughing John began drying Paul’s hair. “Boo” he joked removing it. The taste of apples and cinnamon came back for a second.
Silence.
Their minds began awakening as they moved to Paul’s room. Again John was just watching for a while, sitting back against the bed.
"You should rest." John spoke. No response was delivered.
"Just lie back in bed. I can bring up some more tea." He went on. Silence stayed for a whole, but just as he was about to speak again there was a response. "This could ruin everything."
"Just tea mate, It’s no skin off our teeth mate." John smiled.
"John." Paul called.
"off our backs" John joked mindless avoiding the subject.
"It’s illegal" Paul confronted.
“You thought it was nose.” John again ignored Paul, watching the other man as he put on his shirt and sat next to him. Now fully clothed.
Their eyes met as silence fill the room again. Paul’s deep, tired, sick eyes were focused as John’s rested ones, which seemed to be plotting something, so distracted, confused, when suddenly they closed.
Their lips met. This time their brains were fully aware of everything. Their bodies tense at the combination of tastes. Apple and cinnamon with a edge of nicotine. Their skin heated at the familiar feeling of soft, lingering, shy kissing. All making both men almost relive the hauntingly nice memories that had confused them so, in the past. John’s hand softly came to Paul’s neck, relaxing the muscle under it as they took a breath, before kissing into each other. None were aware of how long or short the kiss was and as they pulled away both blushed wildly.
“You’re gonna get sick too kissing me like this, you fool.” Paul laughed as he got up. His movements were a bit graceless, awkward, shy as he sat back against the bed, almost missing it from looking at John and not at where he was sitting. He felt like a chubby little teddy again.
John smiled at the bassist slip up and came closer as well, speaking. “Will you take care of me if I do get sick?” His voice sweet, but with a hoarse little touch to it.
Paul grinned with sass as John lied next to him against the headboard. “of course, son.”
“well then…” John softly put Paul’s chin between his thumb and finger pulling his lover to him, connecting their lips in a soft, sweet kiss. “That’s just my kind of sickness.”