Work Text:
1969,
George was on his knees, hands on Ringo’s thighs, in a silent prayer of worship and love. Eyes closed as he took in the sounds of careful breathing, and the slow pulsing, beating through the veins of the older man’s thighs. The indication of delicate life. And, oh, how delicate Ringo was. His skin glistening from sweat, his hair shagging to just barely touch his shoulders as he sat staring at the meditating guitarist. George could imagine him perfectly in his mind’s eye, from years of studying the other man in silence.
The changes of the years and the band were taking a toll on him but wonderful, wonderful Ringo stayed the same- exactly how George wanted him and needed him to be. His soft hands and large blue eyes giving him the comfort of spiritual release in the continuing hardships of being a Beatle. He could touch the soft, warm skin- embrace the tender skin of Ringo’s stomach between two fingers and forget all about when the going got tough, embrace his hands and lips and forget everything else.