Work Text:
1965,
The days had grown long and hard, spending one half of their time doing excruciating press and the other performing a straining gig. The job was simply getting tougher, and the girls louder. Paul could no longer hear himself sing or hear how he played. How was he supposed to know how he was doing? How was he supposed to know if he made a mistake? The love for performing live was slowly weaning out… And all signs pointed to the rest of the band feeling the same. George just didn’t care anymore. John was changing the words in the songs to something crass because ‘they wouldn’t hear the difference’ and Ringo… Ringo, darling, did the best he could from his hiding position behind them. He could hear them just as well as they could hear themselves and had informed Paul one evening that he just watched their feet and the shake of their heads to see wherein the set they were. And he ended that sentence with calling Paul cute, earning himself a sweet kiss and cuddle.
Today had been no different. Paul felt worn down and well beyond exhausted once he finally arrived at the hotel and, after taking with various press, made his way to the room he shared with Ringo. His ears rang still from the loud, thumbing, bass he held for so long- the sensation of it still going through heavy in his thumbs. He followed along with the other men, John laughing loudly at something he had said to George; their exhaustion clear, shining through their laughter and smiles. Paul could feel Ringo’s hand bump against his own as they parted ways with the half of the Beatles and went into their separate rooms. And if fully embraced his once the door closed behind them. He looked to his lover with a tired smile and kissed him on the cheek.
“I’m so tired,” he muttered, stifling a yawn in the process, as they went towards the bed together. Ringo softly rubbed the knuckles of his pale hand and Paul felt him slowly letting himself relax as he sat down on the hard hotel bed. A jeweled hand cupped his cheek delicately, and the drummer leaned forward to join him in a slow, tender kiss. “Lay down, love,” Ringo said with an easy smile. “And I’ll take care of you.”
“Oh?”
Paul chuckled easily, tentatively; curious as to what his boyfriend had in mind. He laid back and sighed at the cool feeling the linens awarded his warm skin, finally letting the attempt of relaxation go through his body that was slowly the last of its strength. He felt his boyfriend’s finger pull his shirt upwards and silently let him do so, ready for whatever his lover had in mind… as long as it wasn’t all too straining. The shirt went over his head, messing up his hair, and he gave a breathy chuckle as he looked at Ringo looking down upon him from a very unflattering angle. Ringo placed a quick peck on his forehead before softly pleading him to turn over on his stomach; a plea of which Paul was quick to follow. Slowly, he felt Ringo’s hands move over his tired muscles. Over his shoulders down to his waist in slow and delicate movements. He felt himself slowly relaxing and dozing off under the soft touching and caring love of his lover.