Paul gives John a little "help" with a song. (Warning: slash ahead)
“I still don’t understand how you’re so good at writing love songs, Macca,” John groaned, slamming his head against the desk. “You make it sound so bloody easy.”
“It is easier than you think. It’s just like writing any other song,” Paul reassured his mate.
“Well, that’s easy for you to say.”
“It is, ye stubborn git. You’ve just got to find the right words to describe how you feel.”
“But every time I try to think of the words, my mind goes blank.”
“Then, try not to think so hard.”
“What do you mean?” John asked, lifting up his head and staring at Paul attentively. Paul fiddled with the pen in his hands as he began.
“Well, when I write about a person I love, I write about how I feel about him or her at the moment. Y’see, another thing about writing love songs is that most of them just, well, come out unintentionally.”
“You mean they come out of the blue?”
“Exactly. When it happens, then I know what to write about.”
“Hm. I see.”
“Does that make any sense?”
“I suppose,” John replied, returning to his notebook.
“What do you have so far?” Paul asked, glancing at the notebook.
“Just some words an’ shit,” John grumbled.
“I can see that. I mean, what have you written so far?”
“I already told you. Words an’ shit.”
Paul knew John only acted this stubborn when he was stuck with a song. Then, he had an idea.
“Well, maybe I can help,” he said, putting down his pen.
“By wha-” Before John could finish, Paul had their lips locked and his hands grasping John’s face. John squirmed, but Paul wouldn’t let go. Soon, John stopped and let Paul’s tongue wander through his mouth. When Paul decided enough was enough, he slowly opened his eyes and let go. They gazed into each others’ eyes for a moment.
“Well,” Paul broke up the silence, “Did that help?”
“I think you’re nuts,” John muttered.
“How do you feel, though?”
“I don’t know. Sort of, dizzy, I guess.”
“Oh,” Paul chuckled, blushing. “Sorry. Thought it would help, y’know.”
They gazed at each other until Paul broke the silence.
“Well, I guess I’d better get going. Good luck with the song,” Paul said.
John couldn’t stop staring at Paul as he left the studio, or thinking about that kiss as a matter of fact. He had never contemplated having an affair with his best mate, but something about the way Paul made him feel at that moment sort of clicked. He didn’t want to say anything to Paul because he didn’t want to start up anything he knew he’d regret. At the same time, he wanted to get all those wonderful and confusing feelings trapped inside of his head out. But what could he do?
It took him a few minutes to realize he had a notebook with an unfinished song laying on the desk in front of him. He picked up his pen and began to write.