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You never imagined you’d be one of the few people to find themselves right in the thick of peak Beatlemania. At first, you viewed the whole thing quite neutrally - much like a group of friends introduced to you by an acquaintance who happened to know the band’s bassist... But once you met the bassist, the guitarists, the drummer, and the entire inner circle followed. Managers, fans, the press, journalists. You couldn't recall the exact moment you signed the paperwork that plunged you into the heart of the Beatles craze; you must have been asleep at the time. It wasn’t that the men were crazy or unbearable - no. They were decent enough, just a bit... Peculiar. That was why you received a formal invitation to join the musicians on one of their trips. Could you even call it a tour? Honestly, you had no idea what you’d signed up for, but you were taking a train - that much you knew for sure, along with the fact that you’d packed as if for a two-week trip. Mind you, the journey was supposed to last less than two weeks.
In any case, the main reason you were invited to accompany the band was the concern that the four men might start arguing at some point during the trip - and let’s face it, everyone needs a strong, dominant woman to keep a few guys in line. That, then, was your role: acting as the group’s caretaker. Four grown men needed a caretaker. It was laughable, but you decided to let it slide and just enjoy the trip. You had hoped that the views from the train window would somehow make up for your situation. It was also a comfort that the trip gave you some time off work; sometimes, being friends with such popular people paid off.
Either way, you decided to settle more comfortably into your compartment and watch the scenery the area had to offer in weather like this. Your fascinated observation of the world through the window was constantly interrupted by four lively souls, all stubbornly intent on winning a card game - or something of the sort; you hadn't been paying much attention to them. As time passed, the four voices dwindled to three, and the three to two. It became... Unnervingly quiet. You felt compelled to glance at the two occupied seats where - to your dismay - only Paul and John remained. You secretly feared that a squabble would break out between them sooner or later; they were so prone to sudden arguments, whether in jest or in earnest. You could already feel cold sweat trickling down your back.
“Purely hypothetically. Do you think I could take Macca in a fight?” There it was. You glanced, somewhat bewildered, at Lennon and the equally bewildered McCartney. You hadn't the faintest idea what his problem was. You expected him to burst out laughing or playfully throw a punch at the other man any second, yet he sat there strangely calm. You didn't quite grasp the situation you had found yourself in.
"What?" You asked, wondering if you had misunderstood something.
"It was a purely theoretical question, luv. Macca likes the same pretty bird I do, and I don't plan on giving her up without a fight." John explained, prompting Paul to roll his eyes.
"No, you wouldn't beat me in a fight, Lenny, and no, I don't plan on fighting you," the bassist clarified, and you breathed a sigh of relief - there was a good chance they wouldn't be brawling right there in the train compartment after all. At least for now.
Unsure of how to resolve this strange dispute between the two men, you turned in your seat just enough to face them rather than the window.
"Maybe you should ask the girl which one of you she prefers?" You suggested, and the moment you finished speaking, you were certain the gears in the guitarist's head had started turning. He looked as though he’d just heard the best plan in the world - a moment for which you mentally patted yourself on the back. Crisis averted.
"Great idea. Which one of us do ya prefer?" John blurted out; Paul muttered something under his breath, looking flustered, and rubbed his face with his hands.
"That’s not how it was s’posed to go, Johnny." He remarked, while you glanced from one face to the other, bewildered.
"Which… What?"
"Which one of us you prefer - you told us to ask, so I'm asking."
"I didn't think you meant me!" You tried to smooth things over, silently praying for George or Ringo to appear in the doorway, you needed one of them there, pronto.
With a low grumble of discontent, John rose from his seat and forced his way in between you and the wall, compelling you to shift over; you ended up stuck sitting between the two musicians, practically squeezed tight between them.
"I said we could share ya, but he wouldn't listen, that daft." Paul blurted out, his voice laced with audible reproach.
"That would be a bit queer, Paulie." John snapped back, prompting a whine from his friend.
"It would be queer if we were kissing, not us kissing her!" With that, you began to feel somewhat excluded from the conversation - as if you weren't actually sitting between two grown men arguing over whether sharing a girl with a friend was a sign of latent homosexuality. Wow, okay. You had never given it any thought before, nor did you plan to now; your main concern was how to resolve the dispute between the bassist and the guitarist before they decided to call off the trip - or break up the band entirely.
"I’d be a better partner for her; I’ve had my eye on her ever since I met her." Paul decided to go on the offensive and lash out at John, trying to make him look bad in your eyes.
"And I’ve had my eye on her since even before we met her!" John shot back, and as the two men began to go at each other’s throats, you felt increasingly squeezed between them - and irritated by their childish squabbling.
"Oh, for God's sake!" You finally snapped, raising your hands slightly to show you had no patience left for their bickering.
"You can just share me - it’s not like it’ll be queer!" You probably said it a bit louder than you’d intended, leaving both men to hesitate for a long moment, wondering if this was really how it was supposed to go - or if they should actually roll up their sleeves and fight like real men.
"Are you sure?" Paul asked to be certain, and John - as it turned out - didn't need to be told twice; his hand immediately began to slide slowly up your thigh. Seeing this, McCartney joined his friend, though his hand found its place on the other side of you, resting on your waist. John wasn't particularly interested in waiting for you to be one hundred percent sure whether being shared between two men was a good idea. It seemed he already had some sort of a plan in mind.
The guitarist found comfort in gently brushing his lips against your cheek and whispering sweet nothings to you.
"As soon as we get to the hotel, I'll show you that I'm way better than Macca." he murmured - a remark that stirred a competitive urge in the man he’d mentioned.
"I could prove it to you right here, y'know." He whispered, brushing his nose against your earlobe. Their convoluted rivalry was starting to make your head spin, but you didn't stop them; you merely tossed out an indifferent "oh yeah?" wanting them to keep up the fight. Well, as it turned out, not every argument was as bad as you’d expected. Being at the center of such a squabble didn't bother you in the slightest - in fact, you actually enjoyed it.
Your ill-advised attempts to stoke a competitive spirit between the men meant that anyone walking down the train corridor could see two men practically devouring you with their eyes as they sat flanking you, their hands wrapped around you. As their lips grazed your cheeks, you felt almost desired - but the moment both men began slowly sliding their hands beneath your layers of clothing, you burst into loud laughter.
"Now, that kind of sharing would be a bit queer."