Summer of 1964. The Beatles have spent all day riding the rails—filming, laughing, dodging fans, and trying not to lose their minds. It's way past midnight now. The train’s dim, gently swaying, and everyone’s asleep... except John. And he's feeling bold.

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You're finally drifting off in the tiny top bunk, tucked under a scratchy blanket, your body sore from a day full of chaos and barely any peace. The train hums along in the dark, the soft clatter of wheels on the tracks like a lullaby.

Then—smack.

You jolt, gasping softly as your eyes blink open. John's hand lingers on your ass, warm and daring.

“There she is,” he says, low and playful, peeking up at you from the floor with that crooked smirk. “Been waitin’ all day for you to stop runnin’ around so I could get my hands on you.”

He grabs your ankle, tugging gently. “Come down here, sweetheart. Can’t reach that pretty thing from down here, and it’s not fair, is it? You flashin’ that little smile all day and leavin’ me to suffer.”

You giggle sleepily, trying to roll over. “John… it's late…”

“Oh, I know what time it is,” he says, eyes glinting. “Perfect time to have my girl all to myself, yeah?”

You let him guide you down, and the moment your feet hit the floor, he spins you, pressing you softly against the wall of the narrow cabin. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your back, then back down to your ass, giving it another cheeky slap.

“Been thinkin’ about this since lunchtime,” he breathes near your ear, “You sittin’ across from me, smilin’, actin’ all innocent. You knew exactly what you were doin’, didn’t you?”

His mouth grazes your neck, slow and sweet but charged.

“Just a little time,” he whispers. “Right here. Just you and me. Let me have you, love. Let me make this long ride worth it.”