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“What’re you doin’?”
A question asked far too many times by far too many people that day. They were in the middle of recording A Hard Day’s Night, soon to be their first independently-written album.
They all treated it with a slightly-too-enthusiastic seriousness. Well.. all except John, who had spent the entire recording session goofing off and wasting precious time.
As of right now, John was playing the mouth organ every time someone talked, deliberately cutting them off with glee. Beforehand, he had been making so much eye contact that Paul couldn’t help laughing in the middle of takes. And to top it all off, he once reached over and completely untuned George’s guitar. That earned a rather frightening glare.
It was nonstop, and quickly becoming clear that they were running out of time in the day with little progress on the album. Ringo sighed from his place behind his drumset.
“C’mon, John—“ He was cut off by a musical fwee! of his harmonica.
Now it was George’s turn. “John, the album—“ Another fwee!, this time with an added little doot as an exclamation.
“John, love?” A pause.
Paul tapped his foot expectantly, pouting like a rather annoyed cartoon bunny. John kept his lips on his harmonica, eyeing Paul mischievously. The two were engaged in a stare-down. Paul spoke first.
“Take that thing out of your mouth!” He warned, but it was obvious he was holding back a grin.
John looked ready to reply, but realized he’d need to do what Paul said in order to talk. Instead, he blew a mangled, angry sounding fooo!
Paul gasped in faux offense. “You dare say that about me?” He asked in an over-the-top posh accent.
John cackled behind his harmonica, making an awful stuttering noise through the instrument. Paul softened for a moment, watching his face scrunch up in joy. It was only John.
Still, two could play at that game. Paul waltzed over, poking a finger into John’s stomach as he spoke.
“Now, listen here, young man!” He kept the posh accent, playing up the character. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you!”
John swatted his hand away, more chitters coming through the harmonica. His eyes were wide and full of mirth. It wouldn’t deter Paul, though. He continuously poked the man, stepping further in his space as a challenge.
“Come, now! Speak up, speak up!”
All he got in response was a series of frantic harmonica chitters. John backed away from him, nearly tripping over a chair in the process.
“Don’t kill the lad!” Richie warned, chuckling softly at the scene playing out in front of him.
“Then he oughta drop that foul instrument!” Paul called back, momentarily dropping the accent. “C’mon, Johnny! We’ve all had enough of it!”
Across the room, George had carefully pulled his guitar strap off, placing the instrument on its respective stand. He gave Ringo a pointed look, nodding at the two troublemakers in room. A silent invitation, but an accepted one nonetheless. They crossed the room to join their other halves.
John preemptively dropped the harmonica, wrapping an arm around his stomach.
“Now, now, lads! Let’s be reasonable!”
“Wasn’t reasonable when you fucked me guitar!” George pointed out, grabbing ahold of John’s free arm.
“Did I do that?” John questioned, smirk spreading across his face at George’s wording. “Hadn’t realized she had a hole to f—“
They didn’t give him a chance to finish that sentence. George and Paul practically wrestled him to the ground, shrieking and cackling and giggling the whole way. John flailed, attempting to dislodge the two of them, but George and Paul were practically sitting on top of him. Ringo simply kneeled next to the Beatle pile.
Realizing he had no way out, John began curling in on himself. George had already begun roughly poking and prodding his sides, earning bright giggles from the man below him.
“N- Nohoho! WahAHAIT! George!”
John squirmed, kicking his feet out as he squeezed his eyes shut. Now that he was truly being tickled, he wasn’t fighting back much.
“Where’s that usual fighting spirit, Johnny?” Paul questioned, a teasing lilt in his voice.
John’s eyes shot open, a flush spreading across his cheeks. He seemed to remember he was John Lennon, the Beatle, instead of John Lennon, the complete coward and resident clown. He reared up and grabbed George’s hands to stop his attack.
George squirmed in his hold, trying to free his hands, but John held him close. The skinny lad wasn’t getting anywhere; John had stopped his attack with the power of.. hand holding. George shot Paul a glare.
“Oh, don’t look at me! You’re the one tormenting the poor lad!” Paul shot back, scooting to John’s side.
“Though, you could just keep him still, like. Let the pros do their jobs an’ all,” He gestured between himself and Ringo. George’s glare deepened.
“I’m not bein’ a sacrifice for you, ya’ prick!” He cried out, struggling against John as the man in question cackled, rolling onto his side to keep his hold on his younger bandmate. His victory was short lived, though. As soon as Paul skittered his fingers across his side, his arms shot down to protect himself.
“It all worked out in the end, didn’t it Georgie?” Paul sang, running his fingers across John’s side like he was playing piano. “Free as a bird now!”
John’s huffy giggles soon became loud cackles as George began attacking his belly.
“NOOAHAho! Fuhuckin’— Jesus! EhaHEHEHE!” John yelped, spewing utter gibberish in between cackles.
“Didn’t catch a word of that,” Richie laughed. He was still sitting by John’s head, looming over the man with a gentle smile. He skittered his fingers across John’s neck. “Speak up, son!”
“W- Why— ehAHAH! WAHAHEHE!”
“Hm. We’ve broken him,” Ringo concluded.
“Hardly!” Paul giggled, “Just you wait, Richie!”
He drilled his fingers into John’s armpit. The man all but screamed.
“EEAHAHA! AHAHEEE! PLE- WAHEHEH!” He let out a snort, hands shooting up to cover his face as laughter shook his whole body.
Thankfully, Paul took pity on the man then, ceasing his attack.
“Alright, then. I’ve had my fun!” He giggled, patting John’s side and standing up.
George got in a few more pokes before backing off as well. As much as John had annoyed him today, he didn’t want to really drive him insane. That snort was enough to keep John humble for a week, at least.
Ringo stayed by John, though, watching the man curl up on the floor. His hands were still covering his face.
“Thought it was rather cute, that.”
John groaned beneath him, peeking through his fingers. The poor lad’s face was bright red, brows drawn in embarrassment. Ringo couldn’t help the smile on his face.
“That’ll learn you, won’t it?”
“Lehehearn me what..?”
“To not fuck George’s guitar.”