The room was covered in a light smoky haze, courtesy of the cigarette of Richard Starkey, better known as Ringo Starr. The drummer was in a room with his band mates, winning a casual hand of poker against the guitarist. On the other sofa were the two other members of the group, John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Lennon was wearing the glasses that he hated while looking at paper which piled up the table. McCartney was lying down, his head resting in his songwriting partner's lap while John ran his fingers through the younger man's hair.
"Do have anything Paulie? George and Brian will be on us if we don't have anything for next week,'" John said.
"Nothing really," McCartney replied. Lennon then rubbed his fist firmly against his friend's head. "Lay off me John!" Paul replied, grinning.
"You got something; tell me! I know when you're hiding something," Lennon said.
"Fine, for you I'll think of something." Paul made a mock thoughtful face. "Thought of something for you. It's shit though. Utter shit. 'Just the sight of you makes night time bright.'"
John laughed. "That's corny as hell!"
"I told you it was shit," McCartney replied.
"It'll do I guess; it also works with some other crap I was writing. Good thing it ain't literature or I'd fail English 'cause of you," John replied.
Lennon scrawled the words out on paper and then consistently ran his hands through Paul's hair. He then leaned over and kissed Paul's cheek. "Thanks for the line, Mac."
"Oh yeah... No problem John." McCartney said quietly. "Are you drunk?" Paul asked. John had been acting unusually affectionate and McCartney could swear his breath was tainted with beer.
"Only a little," Lennon replied. He looked at the two men playing cards and said, "It was the last of it though, and I'm too tired to get more. No pot as well."
The group spent the rest of the time in silence, besides an admittance of defeat by George Harrison. Paul spent the time gazing in to John's lens-hidden eyes. He had looked infatuated with the young man, hence the following remark.
"By the way you to look, you could be queers for all we know," Harrison remarked with smirk, putting down his cards which would be easily beat by Ringo. This ticked John.
"Yeah, bunch of gays we are, eh Macca!" John said. The young man then bent over and kissed Paul on the lips, grinning as he sat back up. He then resumed writing, a satisfied smirk on his face. The three others in the room started at Lennon wide-eyed. Lennon sustained the grin, occasionally glancing at his songwriting partner.
A few hours later, Paul laid in his bed, thinking about John and the kiss. John seemed to enjoy it, although the smile might have just been of his egotistical nature. He himself had enjoyed it. It was a victory. He had wanted John to kiss him like that since he had first seen John, sweaty and singing with a guitar strap on his back. Perhaps someday John would know the he was the subject of the line that was pitched earlier.
Paul fell asleep and had a wonderful dream that John, instead of taking a girl to a seedy hotel without the knowledge of his wife, was sharing the hotel room with his songwriting partner. Not like what they did often on tour, but for simply the same reason he would have taken a girl. For pleasure. Blind, potentially meaningless pleasure.
When he woke up a song was in his head. He muttered it. "I want him everywhere and if he's beside me I know I need never care. But to love him is to need him everywhere."