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John can’t be dreaming.
Or, was he?
He couldn’t have, the hair in the girls hand looked real and Ringo’s shocked, pale face went angry. Everyone around them were dumbfounded, including the other Beatles. John’s hand clenched around the cup to the point of the glass cracking. It was clear this “party” wasn't working out for then, the ticking bomb inside John was close to finishing. He could explode any minute even though Epstein never approved.
“What is wrong with you?!” Ringo’s voice cracked, anger and shock mixing into one bewildered state, staring at his large lock of hair cut near his collar laying on the girl's hand. “Why did you do that!”
She looked terrified, but no sympathy rested in John. “I-i’m sorry! I just wanted to have a piece is all!”
“You already have our signatures!”
“But I wanted more!”
“You can have any photo, album, or a damn sticker of us!” John spat, throwing his glass to the floor to shatter. The girl backed away, breath stocking as John stepped towards her languidly. “But you can’t just prance around and cut off hair from someone like its your fucking right!”
“I didn’t mean no harm, honest!”
Sure you didn’t, John thought. He could’ve punched the girl, throw his wit around verbally afterwards. But held himself back from all the people watching, all these posh reporters and ambassadors already loathed them enough, he can’t afford another scandal. Brian would have his head, or kick him out of the band.
Everyone was silent, mostly the reporters with cameras prepared in their hands, notepads and pens ready to write John’s next mistake. To the corner of his eye, Brian was standing cold, pleading John silently not to do anything, even Paul, though the extra thing was he wanted John to head towards another room, where it was silent enough for him to lay off his steam and doze in weed just from one hand gesture. He liked the idea, though his pockets were empty and cigarettes were the only thing attainable for no arrest.
John let out the breath he was holding, and to his surprise, for once listened to his manager and mind to back off and cool his nerves without physical fights. He went outside with the echo of disappointed sighs from reporters, loud and heavy, done on purpose in hopes to regain John’s irritation, but John knew their game and stayed away.
He leaned his back on the wall after a few minutes of looking around for a good spot. The night was cool and windy, chime bells that hung on one tree rang in an array of notes. John took an inhale and shut his eyes. Coming to the british embassy was a bad idea, he knew something was bound to happen, unless he jinxed it like always. It was already terrible from the start, a number of unidentified hands were touching him, some held photographs of the group and pens, begging for his signature. He denied even though that wasn’t much help at all. George, the poor man was trampled in the corner by the same people, pulling at his coat desperately even though they had his undivided attention. And now Ringo’s hair was cut? Christ…
“I need a light.” John mumbled, patting his coat for a grab of a cigarette with a match, lighting it with a cupped hand blocking off the wind for the match.
Stubbing the ember with the heel of his boot, John sucked in the smoke, the effects of nicotine hitting hard on his nerves. It felt just like his first time when he was thirteen or fourteen, inexperienced and all, it still managed to make him drift off in the clouds, turning off his biggest fears and worries into felicity.
Smoke left his lungs as soon as a cricket started chirping.
The whole embassy had left his mind, but one still stands,
Footsteps approached and John tilted to the sound, a few soft features were shown of the figure below the dim light, it had to be Paul because of the lips soft, plump lips. Nothing can top those. Probably as soft as pillows, John imagined.
Why does he always do this whenever Paul comes around? Fuck those lips!
He squinted and locked eyes with Paul. “What do you want, McCartney?”
Paul winced a little at the harsh tone, “Just wanted to check if you were alright is all” He said, leaning next to him.
John dangled the cigarette between his fingers, moving his gaze towards it instead. “Don’t know yet, this place makes me sick.”
“Me too,” Paul paused. “I never thought royals would be this snobby..”
“You didn’t know? That’s fucking obsured!” John growled, “You’ve dealt with a lot of rich scums enough to know!”
“Hey, you have too y’know!”
He rolled his eyes, and took a long drag. “You mean less, I avoided them skillfully, unlike you.”
Paul raises an eyebrow, “Doesn’t look like you have this time now, huh?” John would have thrown something witty, but Paul continued. “Name one time you avoided then.” His look was challenging, lips pressed tightly together, John huffed and pondered.
“Hm.. I can’t remember where but it happened in a magical land far, far away..”
That was only a year ago, yet it did feel far, John was so close to being caught by a rich woman flirting with him, He liked her, but there was definitely something she was trying to do, seduce maybe. He refused politely once he was told about her age, thirty something years older, yet she looked to be in her twenties. John still wondered if it was true.
Paul’s eyebrow goes higher. “In England?”
“Duh, that’s what I said, right?”
He chuckled, “Sure you did. England is far, but there's nothing magical there other than Rock and roll.” he started patting his own coat and took out a cigarette, “Aye, could I have a light?”
John struck a match and lit the cigarette for him.
Smoke curled around Paul’s lips and John shivered. “Ringo has been madder than you, surprisingly.”
“Can you really blame him? I’d be madder than a dog on heat if that happened to me.” John pointed out.
“Right, right..”
“Wait, actually,if you think about it, you’d be worse than me if that happened to you.” His lips formed a grin at Paul’s scowl. “Mr. Perfectionist.”
“Fuck you.”
John chuckled and stubbed his cigarette. “Fuck me? Oh, how sweet.” The wind started dying down to the point where he could hear his and Paul’s own breathing, the cricket kept going thankfully, for the silence might be awkward for both men to endure. “At least I don’t fix my hair every five fucking minutes!”
Paul gasped, dumbfounded. “At least I work to keep a ‘clean’ image, besides, it's every hour, get it right!”
“Well, your efforts are still overboard!”
“Oh yeah? Well-”
“Guys!” Both lads turned their heads and saw Ringo, wide eyed with visible dark bags. No doubt tired from that unbearable party. When John or Paul said nothing, he continued. “Can we go home now, please? I’m bloody knackered.”
George came behind Ringo with a ripped sleeve, “And I am too.”
“Okay, we’ll meet you there by car in a moment.” Paul said, his voice much calmer and quiet now.
Ringo and George nodded then walked back to the front of the building, John looked back at Paul after a beat. His eyes traced Paul’s lips, he could kiss him right now, but was it necessary? After all that’s happened?
To take his mind off of it, he looked away and stared down at the grass. “Should we go now..?”
Paul sighed next to him, a few shuffles here and there before the tips of his fingers were under John’s chin, gently lifting it up to make eye contact. Paul’s look was gentle and loving, unlike his own that were scared or harsh. “I know what you want, John. You can do it.”
“But-”
“It’s only me.” The soft swipes of his thumb to John’s cheek sent a thrill down John’s spine. “Nobody is around here but us.”
The reassurance was strong, it didn’t take long for him to make a decision. John tilted his head and connected their lips into a chaste kiss. Paul’s lips were warm and moist, the taste of champagne and cigarettes coating his own lips with every peck. It felt wrong though, the constant prickle of Paul’s stubble told him this was a man, who is his best mate, business partner. John didn’t care though, it was happening and his heart swelling inside in a haze of keenness, halted him from ever stopping.
When they pulled away to catch a breath, John had realized they were touching each other, his eyes went wide to find his own hand was cupping Paul’s arse. He moved it away to feel Paul’s hand under his shirt. Paul blushed and muttered an apology, looking down like a kid who stole candy from a store.
John cleared his throat awkwardly. “We better head to the car now..”
“Yeah, sure, alright.” Paul stuttered
“Or else Ringo would have our heads this time.”