(A/N: Sad short story. I like stories like these. I'm weird like that, Enjoy!)
"Dammit, John!" Ringo groaned and threw his head back as John claimed all his cards.
"Haha! Well, son, you needa practice" John chuckled and grinned smugly.
"This is your third loss, Ritch" George stated from the side and inhaled his ciggie. He laid his hand over his crossed legs and closely eyed their card game from the couch. The two eldest Beatles were on the floor with their legs crossed, dressed in comfy clothes, and a pillow between them which the cards were laid on.
"Shut it, Harrison" Ringo narrowed his eyes. "Another game"
"Oh, Rings" John sighed dramatically.
"Jus' distribute the cards!"
John shuffled the deck of cards in concentration, leaving his cigarette hanging off his mouth.
"What shud we play for?" John asked.
"Hmm...loser gets to kiss George"
"Excuse me?!" George exclaimed, leaning forward in his seat.
John laughed hard and clutched his stomach, now very much interesting in the game. "You're on!!"
Ringo chuckled nervously. Shit, why did he offer that! He's gonna loose. He knows it.
"My friend, you're 'bout to get a mouthful of George"
"Hey!! Don't I get a say?!" George hollered.
"George, if you don't agree so help me god, I'll will tell everyone that you-"
"ALRIGHT" George frowned, feeling extremely embarrassed and angry. Fuck. He should have known John would use that on him...
"That's my boy" John smirked and winked.
A confused Ringo blinked. He didn't even wanna know what exactly they were talking about.
John continued to lay out the cards, in the corner of his eye, many things were going on. George was on the couch, watching him closely and sulking, probably blushing like a swine, knowing he was gonna kiss one of them pretty soon. Most likely the drummer. Ringo was lightly tapping his cigarette on the ashtray that was near his knee and pulling out another one from a packet. The clocking was ticking from the table, making a soothing, home-like noise. The air conditioning was blowing softly, making the maroon curtains move slightly. And Paul was slowly and silently leaving the hotel room.
"Where do you think you're goin'?" John asked calmly, causing George and Ringo to look up at the scene. John though, still didn't look up from the cards.
Paul visibly gulped. "Out" He said simply, his hand still on a handel.
Ringo and George almost immediately stiffened in their spot.
"Where?" John casually cocked his head, he looked like he was only focused on shuffling the cards, but he was really only doing that so he wouldn't be clenching his fists.
"J-Jus' to the bar, downstairs" Paul's voice clearly trembled.
Ringo clenched his eyes shut. No no no, Paul. Don't.
John chuckled and shook his head, almost sounding heartly, but everyone in that room, including him, knew it wasn't "No you aren't"
"Yes I am"
John slammed the cards down, bending them on impact, and stood up.
"Gonna go get a whore for yerself, Paulie? Fuck her real nice and good. Make yerself the big man for once, eh? Make ya feel good?" John's voice was loud and dripping with sarcasm, his eyes were wide open, and he stood tall.
Paul shook slightly, but he wouldn't back down. No. Not this time.
George and Ringo were now dead frightened, yelling at themselves in their minds. Desperately trying to telepathically tell Paul
Paul, don't. Please, don't. Jus' go back in your room, Paulie. Please.
But it was no use. For the time being, they didn't have the heart to speak up.
"John, I-I jus' wanna go out.."
"Well, ya AREN'T!" John shouted, now standing face to face with his lover. Noses almost touching.
"I only want fresh air" Paul tried.
"Then open a bloody window" John's teeth were gritted.
"No, John, I wanna go DOWNSTAIRS!" He shoved John away, causing him to stumble backwards.
Shocked, the rhythm Guitarist's eyes were bulging at the bassist.
"John I-" Paul desperately pleaded, trying to calm the situation, deeply regretting his action. But it was no use.
John's fist collided with the bassist's chin and then again in his stomach.
Paul yelped and clutched his stomach, coughing.
John grabbed his shoulders and shoved him back on the wall and kneed his groin hard, causing Paul to cry out in agonizing pain and fall to the carpet ground with a thud, holding onto his bruised crotch.
Ringo and George winced horribly. Unable to witness the scene, their eyes were shut and their jaws were grinding, trying to think of something else then the reminder that their best mate was currently in need of help.
"H-Help!" Paul choked out and cracked an eye open, tears streaming down his face.
"Shut the FUCK up!!" John growled and gripped the mop-top of Paul, dragging him into their room.
"We'll finish this later, lads" John called back to the other two Beatles.
Paul writhed and cried out things, his poor hair being pulled and his butt being dragged on the carpet and thrown into the room.
"R-Ringo, George! Hel-"
A door slammed shut.
Ringo and George clenched their ears shut with their hands, rocking slightly.
Ringo leaned on George's legs and looked up at him with watery eyes.
The same thoughts in their head.
Why aren't they doing anything? Why are they still sitting here?
Horrible horrible guilt flew through them as they muffly heard pounds and cries through the rooms.
