FicWad

They lay entwined under the sheets, languid in the afterglow of the moment--of first the wild performance that night on stage, and then their equally wild and passionate performance in bed afterwards. On the television, the scene that had greeted them earlier now repeated itself in black-and-white: thousands of girls screaming, shouting and crying, tears running down their pretty little cheeks.

Everywhere they went it was the same, always, but somehow the shock of it all never faded. Neither did Ringo's edge of nervousness, his worry that somehow this madness might someday turn deadly.

"Look at how they cry for you, Ritchie," John murmured against his ear.

Ringo shuddered, thanks to the remark and also the hot breath on his skin. "For all of us."

"But they love you best here, don't they? They have good taste."

Ringo turned away from the television and snuggled in closer against John's familiar body. He didn't need to see more. He just wanted to wrap himself up in the security of his lover's arms.

"Don't worry, luv, I'll keep their grubby hands off ya. No one can have you but me," John assured him, sensing his thoughts perfectly.

Still, fear lingered. "But who will protect you, John?"

"Nobody. I can take care of myself. Always have. Don't you worry 'bout me."

That was John--always so confident, so tough. Ringo sighed and closed his eyes, hoping John was right, hoping he would always have this embrace to keep him safe and warm.