Mclennon Drabbles

The tale of spilled milkshakes and suprising gifts

What started off as a quiet, calm trip to a local café was quickly becoming one of the most awful "dates" John had ever experienced.

He wanted to take Paul out to have a nice time and let things cool down between them before they were once again ushered off to a new city; a new hotel; a whole new surrounding in general. Their lives were starting to get a little out of control with all of the touring and and performing.

This rare and simple act of going out to a quaint little restaurant would help soothe their minds and keep them from going insane in the midst of Beatlemania. But unfortunately, it was also one of the most difficult things to do at the height of their careers, and nothing seemed to be going right.

-

The uphill battle commenced as they were in the hotel bathroom, sharing the small space to get ready.

Every time Paul tried to spit into the sink when he was brushing his teeth, John's elbow would bump into his ribs or chest.

"Watch your bloody arm!" He would say, getting a sheepish smile in return before it happened all over again.

They had both just gotten out of the shower, the tile wet and slippery because of how careless they'd been with letting the water drip from their bodies. Stark white towels hung from their waists and John would occasionally get a laugh by picking up a similar one from the shelf and twisting it up tightly; snapping it against Paul's lower back or bottom.

-

The real trouble began when they had both cleaned up nicely and shaved the stubble growing on their faces. It was when they were getting dressed in the adjoining bedroom and John was having a little trouble buttoning up his shirt.

He kept getting them in the wrong holes and without his glasses on it was difficult to see exactly where exactly they were in the first place.

"Goddamn it."

He swore under his breath, fingers fumbling with the pain in the neck that this simple every day task had become.

Paul, who had just settled on a grey knitted sweater and some slacks, was nearly dressed now but without socks or shoes. With an eyebrow raised in curiosity he turned to face his partner and took a step closer.

John had his back turned to him, facing the mirror to try to see if he was doing it correctly now, his already thin lips pressed against each other into a white tense line.

"Need some help?"

"No, you nit. Stop distracting me."

Paul watched as he continued to struggle with the garment, both amused and a tad bit irritated. This wasn't as nearly as childish as the oldest one was capable of behaving, but it was enough to make him dread taking him out in public already.

A rather awkward moment of silence passed between them, and only two buttons had been successfully fixed.

"Here, jus' let me-"

"No!"

John jerked away instinctively when he felt the hands reaching out and gripping at his shirt collar from behind. He moved in such a quick, sharp way that Paul had no time to react and the fabric was still clutched in his hand when two buttons were heard dropping onto the floor, ripped from the shirt entirely.

"See what you cause? Wha' the hell am I supposed to do now? You wrecked my shirt! It's rubbish now!"

John was moving his hands, gesturing them in a frustrated manner as he fumed at his flush-cheeked boyfriend. The latter of them just let him rant on, complaining of having to change into an entirely new outfit and so forth.