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It was cold. But it was winter, so that wasn’t a surprise. John didn’t particularly enjoy the cold, but he did enjoy what the cold meant. Every day, after spending hours in the studio, he got to go home with his three boyfriends, grab a blanket, and snuggle under it on the couch. It was perfect. Well, almost perfect.
There was just one teeny tiny problem: their blankets were too small. No matter how much they squeezed together, they could only fit three of them under a blanket at a time. There was no way around it—and they had tried everything.
The easiest solution—or, at least, the one that had sounded the easiest—was to use two blankets. But they couldn’t get the overlapped blankets to stay in place. The blankets always ended up pulling apart, leaving a gap for the cold air to creep through.
Next, they tried having one of them sit on someone else’s lap. This option always ended with one of two unfavorable outcomes. On some occasions, someone would just get uncomfortable and attacked by leg cramps. At other times, someone would get too comfortable, and their cuddling session would soon switch to groping, which in turn led to much more. That was one way to keep warm, but it wasn’t always what they wanted for their relaxing evenings.
They quickly ran out of ideas, and eventually settled on a compromise: taking turns under the blanket. Each night, three of them would cuddle up together while the fourth had his own blanket on the other side of the couch. It wasn’t ideal, but it made it more rewarding the next night when the one who had previously been excluded got his chance in the middle of the blanket.
So far, the plan was working alright.
Monday night was Ringo’s turn outside the huddle. As Ringo propped up his feet and dozed off, John enjoyed the warmth of George pressing against his left side, and Paul on his right. John kept one hand interlocked with Paul’s under the covers as his other hand rubbed back and forth across George’s thigh. Sighing, George turned his head toward John and pressed a soft kiss to the side of his jaw. “Feels good,” George muttered, and John whole-heartedly agreed.
On Tuesday, Paul was the odd one out. There was a lot more conversation this night, with John, Ringo, and George all cracking jokes. Then, after John peered over at George to tell him something over the top of Ringo’s head, John noticed a frown on Ringo’s face. He smirked at George, clueing him in, and they spent the next five minutes having a conversation above Ringo’s head to see how annoyed he would get. The verdict: very annoyed.
When it was George’s turn on Wednesday, the other three were spoiled. George made them all cups of hot cocoa before settling down on his side of the couch. John was thrilled—until he realized that drinking it would require removing his hands from the warmth of the blanket. Instead, he waited for Paul to take a sip, then stole a kiss before Paul could swallow. Paul sputtered and pulled away with a cry of “don’t you dare, Lennon,” but it was too late—John had already gotten a taste of the warm drink. He was proud of himself—and proud of Ringo when he pulled the same trick on Paul.
Then Thursday arrived. It was John’s turn.
John grabbed his lonely blanket to be shared with no one as his boyfriends snuggled up close, without him. He knew this was the deal they had agreed upon, but he still hated it. For their sake, though, he tried to put up with it.
Paul took a seat closest to John, then George, and Ringo. Before Paul draped them with the blanket, John caught sight of George wrapping his arms around the others’ waists, pulling them close. Paul eagerly nuzzled his head against George as Ringo whispered, “so warm, Georgie.”
John looked away and tried to ignore them, but each sigh, each giggle, each mutter of “that tickles” drew John’s attention back in the worst possible way. His frown grew bigger with each passing minute.
When he heard George say, “your lips are so soft, Ritchie,” John finally snapped.
“Get a room,” John grumbled.
“What’s that, love?” Paul asked. Paul, with his stupid, gorgeous eyes and his stupider, oblivious smile.
“I said I’m going to bed. Good night.” John stood up and walked over to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
He knew he shouldn’t be so upset—he had agreed to this, just like the others. But it still hurt to see them having so much fun without him. It was as if they’d be happier without him—
No. John stopped that train of thought. He had already expressed those fears to the others, many times, and they had done everything they possibly could to reassure him of their love. And he would believe them, no matter how unbelievable it felt.
A knock came on the door, interrupting his thoughts. “Nobody’s here,” John said, pulling his knees to his chest.
The door opened anyway, and Ringo stepped inside. “You’re turning in for the night awfully early,” Ringo said as he sat next to John.
“I’m tired.”
Ringo nodded. “Tired of what, exactly?”
John looked into his eyes, and he knew that Ringo knew. “I’m sorry. I just don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it either. It’s not right when there’s only three of us. It’s like there’s a part of me missing,” Ringo said.
Looking away, John nodded.
Ringo placed a hand on John’s cheek, turning his head to face him again. “We’ll figure something else out.”
“We’ve already tried everything,” John said, pushing Ringo’s hand away.
“I’ll come up with something,” Ringo insisted. “I promise.”
John still had his doubts, but Ringo’s determination made him hopeful anyway. “Thank you,” he said, grabbing Ringo’s shirt and pulling him in for a kiss. “You can go on back to the others now.”
Ringo glanced toward the door, then he looked back at John. “I could go. Or, I could stay here, and we could have our own fun,” he said, sliding his hand into John’s shirt.
Shivering, John asked, “What about Paul and George?”
Ringo shrugged. “They’ll join us if they want to. And if they don’t, then I’ll get you all to myself for tonight.”
John dropped backwards on the bed and tugged Ringo down on top of him. “You’re in an awfully selfish mood tonight, aren’t you?” He leaned up for another, sloppier kiss. “I like it.”
“Then you’ll like what’s coming next,” Ringo said as he started sucking on John’s neck.
It was safe to say that John’s anger over the blanket situation was very much forgotten for the time being.
When Friday evening came around, Ringo disappeared into the bedroom and locked the door. He even passed up on dinner, no matter how many times Paul and George knocked on the door trying to convince him to come out and eat.
Since it was Ringo’s day to be left out of the blanket anyway, the other three switched on the television and got comfortable. Ringo would surely join them sooner or later.
Then, finally, Ringo left the bedroom.
“Look who finally showed up,” John teased as Ringo stood in the entryway with something behind his back. “I was starting to think you had walked out on us.”
“I could never leave you, baby,” Ringo said, winking at John.
“What were you doing back there?” Paul asked.
“Making this,” Ringo said. He took out what was behind his back and unfurled it. In his hands were two blankets that had been stitched together, albeit very sloppily.
John’s jaw dropped. “You did that?”
“Yep,” Ringo said, smiling proudly. “My needlework certainly won’t win any awards, but hey—it’s holding together fine, isn’t it?” He tugged on the blankets to prove his point. “Now we can all fit.”
“Thank god,” Paul said, making John pleased to hear that someone else had been just as annoyed with the previous arrangements.
“Well, what’re we waiting for, boys?” John said as he stood up and ripped the old blanket off of them.
“Hey, what the fuck?” George gasped as the cold air hit him.
“Oh, boohoo, George, you’ll be fine,” John said.
“Just get back here and warm me up, you arse,” George said, pulling John down practically on top of him.
“Sounds good to me,” John said as he wrapped his arms around George and showered his neck with kisses, making George giggle.
A sigh came from the other side of the room, and Ringo started approaching the couch. “God, you lot have no patience,” he said as he spread the blanket over them and sat on the end, next to Paul.
“Woah, what’re you doing all the way over there, Ringo?” John said. “Get over here, by me.” John reached over Paul to grab Ringo’s arm and pull.
After a second of hesitation, Ringo shrugged and climbed over Paul’s lap to wedge himself into the middle.
“C’mon now,” Paul whined. “You don’t wanna sit by me, Johnny?”
“I’ve been sitting by you for fifteen minutes already—it’s Starr Time now,” John said. He turned to Ringo and kissed him right on the lips for good measure.
Paul scowled and pulled Ringo off of John. “You’ve been sitting by George for just as long, and I don’t see you shoving him away.”
George’s arms tightened around John, and he slung a leg over John’s lap. “I’m not going anywhere,” George said.
“I dunno what’s got you so upset, Paul,” Ringo said. “Now you get to sit by me.”
Paul hummed in thought. “I do like that,” he said, grabbing the edge of the blanket and wrapping it around himself tighter as he leaned against Ringo’s side. Now that Paul had calmed down, they settled into a comfortable silence.
“So much better,” George mumbled after a few minutes.
“Aw, is our Georgie falling asleep?” John asked as he ran a hand through George’s hair.
“No,” George said, but the way he could barely hold his eyes open said otherwise.
“Go to bed if you need to,” Ringo chimed in.
“I’m stayin’ here. ‘s warm.”
“It would be warm in bed, too,” John said. “We’ve got that big quilt on the bed, remember?”
“Wait.” Paul shot up, staring at the other three with wide eyes. “Why didn’t we just take the quilt off the bed and use that?”
“…We’re bloody idiots, aren’t we?”