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They were losing their minds. Physically and emotionally, metaphorically and literally.
Hamburg moved beyond humanity and had become pure energy. It would’ve been impossible to keep up if the maid hadn’t offered them the pills.
Prellies, she called them. It would keep them awake through the long shifts they worked. Problem was, it began working a little too well.
By the time they made it back to their beds, they’d still be riled up like they hadn’t been playing for 8 hours straight.
Oftentimes, they’d stay out until the wee hours of the morning or find a girl, any girl, to bring back. Anything to release that energy so they could finally get some rest.
On this night in particular, only three members of The Beatles made their way back to their dingy little room. Their drummer, Pete Best, had managed to find a girl to go home with. Stu, their bassist, had simply gone home with his girlfriend, Astrid. It seemed like the man spent more time with her than away.
So that left John, Paul, and George to their own devices. Still hopped up on prellies and awake enough for another shift despite being bone tired.
“Christ, I can’t sleep like this,” Paul lamented, though it sounded more like a whine. He sat on the edge of his top bunk, above George.
George rolled onto his side, grunting a complaint. He was desperate for sleep, and certainly didn’t care to listen to Paul’s whining.
Across from them, John had been tossing and turning in an attempt to get comfortable. Frustrated and still sleepless, he sat up.
“About ready to smother myself!” He groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Fuckin’ hell. Shouldn’t have taken so many.”
Now that was rare, John admitting he fucked up. Paul sighed and climbed down from his bunk, giving George a light kick as he did and earning an angry huff.
“Reckon there’s still some girls hanging about?” Paul questioned, looking to his rumpled day clothes on the floor. In all honesty, he wasn’t even randy. He just needed to do something.
Sensing he wouldn’t be getting any sleep, George finally sat up.
“Only the fat old prozzies, I bet. Good luck gettin’ yer rocks off to that.”
With a dramatic whine, Paul dropped himself on George’s bed and threw himself onto his side.
“I knoooow! God, it’s awful. I can’t keep taking those pills, Georgie.”
George almost bristled at the nickname, always feeling so small when it was used. Always the little brother, he was.
“I told you to quit callin’ me that!” He warned, reaching over to give Paul a harsh poke in the side.
Paul loudly gasped and rolled away, quickly rubbing the spot George poked in an attempt to get rid of the sensation. John squinted, brows furrowed in confusion.
“What’re you doin’ to him, son?”
George rolled his eyes and poked Paul again, earning a similar reaction. This time, he curled up further with a light giggle. In the years they’ve known each other, George had become very familiar with just how sensitive Paul was.
Across from them, John had put his glasses on. Those thick-rimmed Buddy Holly specs. Practically blind without them, John became very interested once he could finally see what George was doing to poor Paul.
“Ticklin’ each other like a buncha birds, are we?” He teased, but couldn’t fight the genuine smile that made its way onto his face.
George’s frown morphed into a pout.
“Not me. Paulie’s the ticklish one,” He declared, and drilled his fingers into Paul’s side. Paul yelped, and kicked his legs out wildly as he tried to protect himself.
“K- Knohohock it off! Hehe!” He giggled, daring to push George’s hands away. “Georgihihihie!”
John crossed the room then, his faint smile turning into a grin.
Paul turned onto his back, eyes widening as he saw John approach. His head whipped between his bandmates. He note of George’s tired determination and John’s need for mischief, and held his arms tighter across his stomach.
“Now, hehe- hold on..!”
John pounced then, grabbing a foot to scribble his fingers against. A squeal tore through Paul’s throat. He tried desperately to pull his foot back, hiccuping and gasping all the way.
“J- EHEHAH! JOHNNY! I cahahan’t take it! Not there! Nohoho!”
John cackled, tightening his grip on the man’s foot. He had known Paul was ticklish before, having brushed against the man enough to make him chuckle, but it was always fleeting. John hadn’t gotten close enough to most people to see them like this. It was an embarrassingly welcome change.
George tried to look grumpy when he joined in, but Paul’s happy giggles were contagious. Soon, he was laughing along with him— giggling as he squeezed and poked the man’s tummy. Paul was curled into a ball at this point, doing anything to protect his poor torso, but George managed to get through his defenses.
Meanwhile, Paul was laughing the hardest he had in years. Stuttering hiccups between giggles, breathy gasps punctuating his laughter. It was taking everything out of him.
“Fuhuhuck! Pl- Please! Oh god, hah- Ehehah! Ehehehe! I can’t-!” He begged, tears welling in his eyes. “Nohohohooo..!”
“Please what, Paulie? Be more specific!” John teased, scritching at the sole of his foot.
“Stahahap! EHEH! Dohohon’t!”
“Don’t what, Paulie?”
“Tihihickle me!”
Everyone froze. Through tears, Paul could just make out George’s lopsided grin. He felt John tighten his grip on his ankle. It took a moment for Paul to realize what he said.
“W- Wait a minute!” He gasped, eyes wide.
They did not wait a minute. The scribbling and scratching and poking and prodding continued, George focusing on his belly while John attacked his feet.
Paul all but screamed, rolling on his back in an attempt to get away. He threw his head back, cackling laced with shrieks and gasps. The poor lad lasted all of two seconds before he started begging.
“F- FUCK! STOP! EHHEEHE! N- NOHOHO! I- I CAHAHAN’T!”
Satisfied, George backed off. He knew Paul’s limits well enough, and could tell the lad was reaching his breaking point. He shot John a warning look for good measure.
John only scoffed in response, giving Paul’s foot one last scritch before dropping it.
Paul hugged his legs, effectively curling into a ball on George’s bed. He panted through giggles.
“Fuhuhuck.. Ohh my gohohod..” He whimpered, blinking away tears. The poor lad was absolutely wrecked.
“Christ, mate. We didn’t kill you, did we?” John questioned, a twinge of concern in his voice.
“N- Noho.. Very nearly did, though! Fuckin’ hell..”
Paul blinked, realizing just how tired he was. In fact, he felt ready to sleep. And just looking at the others proved they were in nearly the same state. He would’ve felt proud of the fight he put up if he wasn’t exhausted.
“Christ, I’m knackered. How’d we manage that?” He slowly sat up, still guarding his stomach.
George, upon reaching the same conclusion, grinned. “Well, now we know how to tire ourselves out!”
“Absolutely not! I’m not lettin’ you two torture me every night!” Paul sputtered, indignant. “I’ll lose me mind!”
With a smirk, John plopped himself next to Paul, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t you worry, Paulie. We’ll take turns, see? You an’ I’ll get Georgie next.”
Now, it was George’s turn to protest. “Hey!”
Soon enough, they found themselves sleeping soundly through the night. Paul dragged himself into his top bunk and promptly fell asleep before pulling his shoddy scrap of a blanket over himself. It was the best he had slept in weeks.
-
They wouldn’t try this unconventional sleep aid again for another week and a half. Admittedly, John felt a bit silly about the prospect of introducing it to Stu and Pete. Stu felt far too mature for such an activity, and Pete… well, none of them were particularly close with the lad, were they?
But the moment they were alone again, John was itching to get his hands on his mates. (He’d unpack that desire another day.) He could tell they knew what he was up to on the walk back to their shitty dwelling. George would jump and glare if he got too close, and Paul wouldn’t stop giggling even when nothing was particularly funny.
He just didn’t expect George to jump on his back the moment they stepped inside their room.
“Wha- Hey! Fuck are you doin’?!” John cried out, trying to dislodge the little bugger.
“Yer not gettin’ us, cunt!” George clung to his shoulders, hanging off him like a cape and laughing like a madman.
“You little—!” John wasn’t able to finish his sentence before he lost his balance. George wasn’t heavy by any means, but damn was he scrappy. Hanging off of him like a feral cat, clinging and pulling hard enough to bring them both down.
He couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. That little bastard actually managed to wrestle him onto the floor, face first. Thankfully, his nose was still intact from the fall. Above him, he could hear George giggling from his spot on John’s back. He was about ready to turn the tables when he felt a pair of hands dig into his shoulder blades.
His breath hitched. “HeheHEY!”
The fingers persisted, though. That same sort of noodling that George would do on his guitar. He could even hear the boy laughing with him.
Paul kneeled down beside them, looking all too innocent.
“Sorry, mate. I struck up a deal with Georgie, y’see..” He explained as the boy in question climbed off of John. He took the opportunity to turn on his back. “You can handle it though, can’t you?”
In all honesty, John didn’t know if he could. Mimi certainly wasn’t the tickling type, and he was usually on the giving end with his mates. His eyes widened, giggles spilling from his mouth. He reached a hand up to cover his mouth in an attempt to regain some control. Paul only tutted disapprovingly.
“None of that!” He scolded, prying John’s hand away to pin at his side. “I wanna hear that laugh of yours, Johnny!”
That sentence alone would spark more internal unpacking he’d need to do, but that was a problem for another day. Instead, he let out a hyena-like cackle as Paul attacked his sides.
“A loud one, I see!” Paul giggled, delighted. He dug his fingers underneath John’s leather jacket, right up against his thin shirt. It hardly did much to protect him against his scribbling fingers. He slowly moved his hand upwards in a spidery motion, stopping at his underarms.
John twisted and shrieked, trying to wrench his hand free from Paul’s grip, to no avail. George scooted closer when he realized John couldn’t escape.
“Can’t hear a fuckin’ thing over him!”
“He’s got a nice laugh, doesn’t he?”
They were talking like he wasn’t even here! He tried his best to retort, but all that came out was incoherent nonsense.
“FUHUHUCK! WAHAHA! Y- YOU! HEHEHAHAAH!”
“Who, me?” Paul tilted his head, batting his eyelashes ever-so-innocently.
“PIECE OF SHIHIHIHIT!”
Beside him, George began lightly poking and prodding at his sides. Just gentle touches, as if he were still wary of John’s ability to escape. The boy was thrashing, after all.
“Why’re you squirming, Johnny? Too ticklish?” Paul teased with a grin.
“SHUHUHUT UHUHUP!” John managed through frantic cackles, squeezing his eyes shut.
A hand traveled up to his neck, gently tracing the skin. John let out an embarrassing squeak, scrunching his shoulders to block the hand from such a sensitive area.
“What was that?” He heard George giggle before the hand retracted.
“He’s just being dramatic!” Paul replied, still spidering his fingers into John’s armpit. John bucked and kicked but Paul wouldn’t fucking move.
“FUCKIN’— AHAHEEHEE! PAUL!”
Suddenly, John shot out his free hand to grip Paul’s shoulder. He wrangled the man down, holding him against his chest. Paul yelped and stopped his attack, frantically pushing against John. It felt more like an aggressive hug than wrestling, but at least it made Paul stop. He saw George scramble away out of the corner of his eye.
“Bahahastard..” John panted, tightening his grip on Paul. “You’re so fuckin’ lucky I’m tired..”
Paul sighed in relief, relaxing in John’s hold. “Put up one hell of a fight. Wore both of us out, didn’t he Georgie?”
George hesitantly nodded, now raising a brow at the two. “Well, yeah. I’m not bein’ queer about it, though.”
“Queer?!” John cackled, shooting an arm out to grab at him, “You cling to my back like a randy bird and you’re callin’ us queer?”
George kicked at him, letting out a small giggle. “You’re huggin’ on the floor, mate! That’s queer!”
“Just you wait, Georgie!” Paul grinned cheekily. He wrenched an arm out of John’s hold to point at the boy. “We’re gonna get you next an’ then you’ll be a queer too!”
Just like last time, they slept peacefully. It was proving to be an effective, albeit childish, solution to their problem. It was something light they could do to get their last bits of energy out, and without needing to hunt down a not-so-appealing bird! Surely, it would become routine.
-
Okay, so maybe he had it coming.
George had taken more than his usual dose that day, and the rest of the band could tell. The boy was being an utter nuisance. When asked to guard John’s drink, he had simply downed the thing himself. On stage, he hogged his and Paul’s shared microphone, not letting the other get a word in. He even took one of Best’s drumsticks to bang out a choppy tune in the middle of their set.
Typically, George was the best version of himself on stage. He would play and perform just as hard as the others, if not harder. But he had never been an attention whore, or anything of the sort. In fact, he became rather nervous when the crowd’s attention was on him alone. The way he acted tonight was just as surprising as it was endearingly annoying.
When they finally packed up for the night, George practically skipped up to John and Paul. The two had been chatting about the performance with hushed tones, clearly displeased. It didn’t matter to George right now, though. He was riding the high of those extra prellies and pointedly ignoring the light tremble in his hand.
Paul gave him a look, brows raised. “Feelin’ alright, George?”
George scoffed, that sharp toothed grin never leaving his face. “I’m not a kid anymore, Macca! A few prellies won’t hurt me none!”
“Certainly hurt me wallet. Those drinks aren’t free!” John sneered, dropping a hand on George’s shoulder with enough force to rock the boy. “You owe me, son!”
George laughed, a bit dizzy. “Cash or check?”
“Neither, Georgie,” A fox-like smirk crossed his face. “I’ve got my own form of payment in mind.”
It had taken a moment for George to catch on, and another moment to realize Paul wouldn’t save him this time around. Last time, he had struck up a deal the moment John got too playful. He had no one to team up with now.
Initially, George felt a pang of anxiety. Being on the receiving end of such activities would likely cement his position as the baby of the group, regardless of age. It would be fun, sure, but would it be worth it? Could the Nerk Twins be normal about this? Not likely.
The walk home was like a march to certain doom. John and Paul practically trapped George, walking on either side of him while they chatted as though he wasn’t even there. The grip on his shoulder only tightened when they walked through the door.
“Georgie?”
He could hear the smile in Paul’s voice.
“Just don’t be queer about it,” He grumbled, losing any mercy he might’ve earned.
Two pairs of hands descended upon him, wrestling him to the ground with ease. That didn’t stop him from putting up a fight, flailing his limbs like it would actually do something to deter them. They were stronger than him and all three of them knew it.
Paul seized his wrists, shushing him like a fussy child. “Come on now, there’s no need for that!”
“Fuck off!” He spat before he could stop himself, giggles already spilling from his throat. “Fuckers!”
“Ooh, very distinguished-like!” John taunted, wiggling his fingers in the air, mere inches away from George’s torso. The boy squirmed wildly, trying to free himself. It was like he could feel the touch before it even made contact.
“Don’t tease the poor boy, Johnny!” Paul giggled. Finally taking mercy on the lad, he dropped one of George’s hands to attack his ribs. George howled.
“S- STAHAP!” He wailed, protests giving way to boyish giggles. “Assholes! Ahaha!”
“Don’t be mean, Georgie!” Paul scolded, wagging a finger at him.
“Yeah, Georgie!” John cackled, scratching at the boy’s sides. “Respect your elders!”
George threw his head back, giggles rising in pitch. He had no fight left, knowing he was trapped between these two for as long as they wanted to torment him. At the very least, Paul released his hands.
“Fuhuhuck! I- I cahahahan’t!” He cried, melting into the floor.
“Yes, you can!” John leaned closer. His pokes and scratches became rougher, much to George’s loud dismay. “Remember, son! You owe me!”
“I don’t owe you shihihit!” He snipped, eyes squeezed shut. “P- Plehehease!”
Paul’s soft spidering traveled from his ribs up to his neck, then finally over his ears. His shoulders rose up on their own, trying to guard the sensitive area. His giggles became airy and his face began to flush.
“Paulihihihieee!”
“Yes, Georgie?”
“Kn- Knohohock it off!”
“Hmm,” Paul paused his movements. “Why should I?”
The boy’s giggles never stopped, only growing in intensity as John began to squeeze his hipbones. “I- I cahahan’t! P- Paulie, pleeeaase! EHAH!”
Paul and John exchanged a look, knowing George wasn’t usually one to beg. Wordlessly, they came to an agreement.
“Alright, Hazza!” John agreed, sitting back on his haunches. “But I still need me treat, don’t I?”
“Wha- Whahaha..?”
Paul hoisted him up and brought him into a tight hug from behind. George tried to squirm but found that Paul’s grip was iron tight.
“And..” Paul began, and George could hear a smile in his voice. “We’re both rather fond of raspberries, y’know.”
What?
John scooted closer, his face mere inches from George’s. The latter felt his flush spread to his ears. They were never usually this close, but it wouldn’t be unwelcome in any other situation. It was made all the more intense when John tucked his face into George’s neck, earning a light gasp and a shiver.
“What’re you—“
The man dramatically breathed in, before blowing a raspberry on George’s neck. He yowled, practically jumping out of his skin as his leftover giggles became full belly laughs. He threw his head back onto Paul’s shoulder, inadvertently giving John more room to torment his neck.
“NOHOHOO! J- JOHN! PAUHAHAL! HEHEHELP! EHAH!”
He could feel tears stinging his eyes— the sensation was far too much. But thankfully, Paul took mercy on him and gently pushed John’s head away.
“Alright, alright. I think he’s had enough, don’t you?”
John took one look at the boy before bursting into laughter himself. “Awh! The poor baby’s too tired now, isn’t he?”
George had gone limp in Paul’s hold, giggles still wracking his body. He had refused to let any tears fall though, instead squeezing his eyes shut. Sympathetic, Paul gave him a light squeeze.
“All done. Doing alright, love?”
“Ehehe..”
“Johnny! You broke him!”
“I did not!”
They began to bicker, all while Paul held George like a teddy bear. In all honesty, George didn’t mind.. whatever this was. As much as he joked about how queer it all was, it was nice to be close with them. He was practically goo in Paul’s hold.
And when the other two noticed him nodding off, he pretended not to notice the way they tucked him in. He pretended not to notice the way John sat next to him, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. He especially pretended not to notice the two of them crawling into his already-too-small bed, caging him between two bodies.
He had it coming, and maybe he wanted it too.