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“Nobody fucking caressss,” John pouted, crossing his arms over the table, and Brian gave him a disapproving glare.
“Lennon, you promised you’d behave.” Then he moved his gaze over to Paul. “You both did.”
“It’s not my fault I need the loo!” Paul shouted back at him with a huff. “I don’t understand why I can’t just go. I’ll only be a minute.”
“This meeting would only be a minute, too, if you would cooperate.” Brian looked over at Mal and George Martin, but neither of them spoke up.
“We don’t even need to be here,” John spat. “We already do whatever the fuck you want us to, anyway.”
Paul’s leg started to bounce, shaking the table. “Paul, stop,” Brian said plainly.
“I have to take a bloody piss!” Paul shouted back, and Brian drew in a sharp breath. “Do I have to fucking spell it out for you?”
“After this meeting, you can leave. There’s your incentive for speeding things up.” He opened his mouth to continue on with the meeting, but the bassist interrupted him.
“My incentive is a basic need?” He laughed sarcastically and stood from his chair, accidentally moving around his bladder.
“Paul McCartney, if you don’t stay in that chair, I’ll strap you there until we’re done. Sit. Down.”
He sat back down in the chair. “You dirty fag. Bet you’d like me all strapped u--”
“That’s enough!” he shouted, doing his best to ignore the insult. Evans and Martin remained silent, and the other three Beatles were too stunned to even argue. “Now, if we could continue on…”
He spoke for a good few minutes before John raised his hand with a stupid grin plastered on his face.
“Yes, John?” Brian said politely.
“May I stretch my legs?” George snorted at him, grabbing a hold of one of Brian’s papers and balling it up to throw at the other man. When it hit John square in the face, he grabbed and chucked it at an unexpecting Ringo, who nearly jumped with fright.
Brian stuck his arm out at Ringo, knowing that the oldest of the four was mature enough not to give into their games. And sure enough, he handed the paper to Brian.
“Killed our fun, Richie,” George whined, reaching out for another paper, but Brian slapped his hand away.
“Now, if you’re done with your games, can we please--”
“I still have to piss,” Paul said in an annoyed tone. “And now the meeting’s being held up by something I’m not a bloody part of.”
“Let’s just finish it real quick--” Paul stood up again, and Brian glared at him. “If you walk out of this room, McCartney…” But his threat was empty.
“What are you going to do then?” Paul taunted, walking closer to the door. He really was on the verge of wetting himself.
“Sit down. Right now.” Paul got a step closer to the door, and Brian exploded. “I am trying to find a way for your stupid bloody tour to be fucking safer for all four of you! This is all for your safety! I don’t have to bloody do this, but don’t blame me when you get stabbed walking into your own damn hotel!” He buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed by their horrible behavior. “Paul, if you don’t sit down right now, I’m gonna make this meeting last so long that you piss yourself!”
“Is that what you want?” the bassist replied quietly. He was in too bad a mood to comply. “Is that what you fucking want? Me to piss myself?”
“That’s not what I said…”
“Well, you might as well have!” He closed his eyes, sheer anger written all over his face. His breathing started to get a bit fast.
“Macca, just go take a piss,” John said.
“Sit down.” He did. And as Brian opened his mouth to continue talking, he was interrupted by a small voice.
“Sorry,” Paul whispered almost inaudibly. John looked over at him to see a single tear run down his face, and then he heard a loud hiss that sounded strangely familiar. And when he g;anced down at his friend’s pants, he saw that they were already completely soaked. And liquid started to drip onto the carpet floor, running down his legs.
Everybody in the room knew exactly what was happening, and Paul just closed his eyes.
For about a minute, it went on, and when he was finally done emptying his bladder in his pants and on the cushion of the chair, he stood up and ran from the room in tears. John got up too, muttering a quick, “fuck you,” at Brian before chasing after his friend.
He was led to the toilet, where Paul had locked himself in a stall, and John stood right outside of it for a few minutes while Paul just cried as quiet as he could.
“Macca?”
“Go the fuck away, Johnny. I don’t want to talk to anybody.” He sniffled, and then spoke again, realising John was only there to help. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Go home?” John suggested with a small laugh. “I mean, you basically got us all out of that meeting, you know. Thanks for that. Pretty nervy of you.”
Suddenly the bathroom door opened, and in spilled Ringo and George, laughing like maniacs.
“God, you totally did that on purpose, didn’t you, Paul?” George laughed, and Paul couldn’t help but smile behind the stall door. He had done it on purpose, but as soon as it began, he regretted it like mad.
“Lad, Brian’s a wreck,” Ringo said.
“He what?”
“He’s freaking out. Don’t know what’s wrong with him, but as soon as you and John left, he practically fell to the floor like a sobbing mess. Probably feels bad.”
Paul felt a wave of sympathy. Sure, Brian had been a complete wanker, but Paul had been pretty rude, too. All the man wanted to do was get through his meeting. The bassist opened the stall door.
“I can’t believe I actually did that.” The others glanced down at his pants.
“You actually pissed yourself just to spite Brian. Didn’t know you had it in you, Macca.”
“Sod off, John.” Then, much to the surprise of the others, he walked right out of the bathroom and back to the room where Brian was with Evans and Martin. As soon as he opened the door, they all stared at him, Brian’s face bright red with an emotion that Paul couldn’t quite place.
“Paul, I’m so sorry. I am so, so--”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. I was being a bit extreme, and I should have let you use the loo when you had to, and I didn’t and you--”
“Bri, I said it’s fine.”
“I really didn’t know you had to go that bad. I thought you were just trying to get out.” Paul decided to stop arguing with him.
“I’m just gonna clean up the seat and then I’ll be out of here. Sorry about the cushion…”
Brian shook his head. “No, you don’t have to clean it. I can do it, just go home and clan yourself up.”
The bassist nodded, not having the nerve to tell the man he did it on purpose, and left the room, going to change and have the longest shower he’d ever had.