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George pushed roughly against sweat-drenched bodies as he struggled to make his way to the back of the club. It was getting increasingly harder to follow Paul who’s his black leather jacket and raven hair blended in with the club’s dark surroundings. Every once and a while it helped though to see a peek of John’s auburn hair shining above the crowd. The oldest member of the band was in front of Paul, holding Paul’s hand and dragging him through the crowd.
After what felt like forever, George emerged from the mass of dancers. Mindlessly he brushed down the shoulders of his jacket and ran his hands along his greased hair.
“You alright there Georgie?” John spat at him with his characteristic smirk. George rolled his eyes at the childish nickname and in the process caught a look of the other boys still intertwined hands. He threw a smirk of his own back at the guitarist and motioned with his eyes back down at the two holding hands. John dropped his gaze in accordance with the younger boy, and quickly pulled his hand away from Paul. A blush crept onto both boys cheeks, and Lennon's hand begun to nervously lift his hand to scratch the back of his neck.
“I’m gonna go get us some drinks, yeah?” John said eyes still cast downwards. As the oldest boy walked towards the bar, George took a look around. The back wall of the club was lined with booths bursting with drunken men and women piled on top of one another. Everyone seemed to have a drink in one hand and a cigarette in another. Girls in small skirts were draped across men with red faces, all enjoying their drunken stupor.
Paul then spoke up, “Ah Geo- there’s Rory and them.” The bassist pointed to the booth in the back corner with (almost) all the members of Rory Storm and the Hurricanes.
George immediately looked over to where Paul had been pointing looking for a particular blue-eyed drummer. As much as he wished that his first thought wasn’t of Ringo, recently all George could think about was the man. He would wake up and picture his kind eyes and jeweled hands, and watching his preform was even more mesmerizing. He pulled himself out of his thought when he realized Paul had just spoken to him and was waiting for a reply.
Hazel eyes sparkled with confusion as Paul spoke again, “George? Let’s go sit, yeah?” George just nodded and fell into step beside his friend.
“L-look who decided to drop i-in” Rory Storm both stuttered and slurred at the two Beatles.
Paul shot back a smile, “Hello Rory, boys” George waved and muttered his own hellos. Rory sat in the middle of the booth, a bird on either side of him. Both girls had bright red lipstick and pinched faces, all in all not that pretty to George. Rory had on a white button-up shirt and black trousers, and probably had a jacket but has lost it after consuming copious amounts of alcohol. Other members of the Hurricanes were dressed similarly, all with greased hair and black trousers. George frowned, where was Ringo?
Paul had been thinking the same thing apparently as he asked Rory, “Hey Rory, where’s Ringo gone off to?”
Rory just spurted out laughter, “He's gotten himself into a big mess over there, all the b-birds all over him.” George mentally silenced Rory’s giggling and searched the room for the drummer. Like the other man had said, Ringo really was having himself a time. In the other corner of the room closest to the bar, a slouched Ringo sat in the middle of his own booth surrounded by four girls all scantily clothed. He was wearing a black button-up shirt and grey trousers, but his outfit was brightened up by the layered rings on both of his calloused hands. Ringo raised one of the aforementioned hands to his face to take a puff of a cigarette before letting loose a loud laugh at something one of the girls had said. The birds around him all giggled, and one of them was running her hands through his hair, playing with the strip of silver hair that ran right above his ear. He really did seem to be enjoying himself.
George felt hot all of a sudden and pulled at the collar of the shirt that had seemingly gotten ten times tighter. Jealousy, no, anger ran hot like blood through his legs and arms as he felt his fist clench and unclench. He felt betrayed? Angry? Sad? He didn’t know what but It wasn’t pleasant. He knew one thing for sure, he was going to get plastered tonight.
Almost as if by cue, John Lennon emerged holding two beers, one in each hand. He smiled at Paul and held out a glass to him. Paul accepted with a “ta” and began sipping at the lager. John squeezed between George and Paul to say his hellos to Rory and the gang, but George was hardly paying attention.
“I’m gonna get a drink” the boy muttered as he sulked to the bar.
John trailed George with his eyes and turned to Paul, “What's got ‘im all upset?”
The bassist replied, “Dunno, like that since we talked to Rory.” He took a long swig of his beer before speaking again, “Let's find a place to sit for when George comes back with the drinks.” John nodded and guided them to the booth beside Rory’s.
Paul knew that he could talk to John forever and not feel as though a second had gone by, but even he began to realize George had been gone a long while. Both he and John were thoroughly drunk, maybe himself more than John. Paul had realized he had been laughing loudly and his cheeks felt hot. Somehow he had wound up on John’s lap, birds and hurricane members sitting next to them but paying no mind to the two boys. John had one hand on Paul's waist and every once and a while squeezed the boys hip. Paul had noticed John had taken off his leather jacket and was wearing a simple black t-shirt and black trousers. His auburn hair had gotten distinctly more messy as time went by. Paul looked down at himself only to notice his jacket was gone as well and his white button-up shirt was stained with sweat and what seemed like alcohol. He would have been embarrassed by his looks if he was half as drunk as he was now. He turned his gaze back at John, admiring how chiseled his chin looked as the boy let out a raspy laugh. There was a slight stubble on the older boys chin, he was probably too tired to shave this morning. He caught himself admiring the boy’s lips too before letting out a drunken giggle.
John turned to him quizzically, “I know 'm not as pretty as y’ are Paulie, but no need to laugh.”
After taking a long deep breath, Paul managed to slur back at him, “Johnny y’ know y’re m’favorite member of me band.”
“Your band?” John feigned a look of shock, “Wow, you must really be drunk, last I checked it was my band”
Drunk Paul thought that was the funniest thing he had ever heard as he fell into a fit of tight laughter and giggles, causing a smile to tug at John’s face. John admired his best mates flushed cheeks and long hair as it fell against the top of his forehead. He had always thought Paul was pretty, beautiful even. And even when he was pissed drunk like he was now, it only made him look better. He pulled himself away from his thoughts before he started thinking of what it would feel like to kiss him, it would most definitely be sweet. John forced himself to be distracted as he spoke out loud, “Hey, does anyone know where George went?”
George knew he should get back to his friends, but he couldn’t remember where they were. What was one drink had turned into two which had turned into many, many more. He stumbled through the crowded dance floor, trying to keep up with the floor that kept tilting back and forth. He didn’t feel sick yet, actually, he felt quite good. He wasn’t thinking about Ringo at all. Nope. Not at all. Finally he focused his blurry vision enough to see a drunk Paul McCartney sitting on top of one John Lennon. George refocused his efforts on lifting one foot in front of the other until he had managed to get close enough to their table to use it as balance. John and Paul both looked at him with concern on their expression.
“Jesus, George where have y’been? And how much have y’had?” A slightly angry but more motherly John Lennon shot at him. George wanted to reply, he really did, but his tongue felt fat inside his mouth and he couldn’t stop the room from spinning.
Somehow he managed a very half-hearted response, “Been a’the bar.”
Paul, who had somewhat sobered up to converse with his visibly drunk and hurt friend, “Obviously, you should sit down.”
George let go of the table and went to move to slide into the edge of the booth, but for some reason found himself stumbling sideways. Right before toppling over, he felt two large hands steady him at his hips. He mumbled a small thanks before turning his head only to meet the blue eyes of one Ringo Starr.
“Georgie y’downright almost fell over mate? Are you ‘kay?” The drummer spoke with a small laugh at the boy's uncoordinated drunken state, but only a small laugh because the rest of him was filled with concern for the boy. He had to admit he had a soft spot for the mysterious dark-haired skinny guitarist. George was obviously very good-looking and made Ringo blush more times than he would like to admit.
George had to blink a couple of times before registering that Ringo's hands were on his waist and that he was staring right at him, almost through him. George turned his body around and placed his palms on Ringo’s chest in an effort to push him away. “Geroff me, just a bit drunk s’all”.
Ringo was a little shocked at his friend's outburst of anger, “A bit? You’re a little more than a bit mate, try and sit down, yeah?” The drummer was now a little more concerned at the state of the boy. George was still just a boy, he was just 19 and had only a year of legal drinking experience and even less experience in clubs.
Once again George pulled all of his focus together to make sure he wasn’t about to topple over as he tried to (as gracefully as possible) slide into the booth next to Paul. He would have done it too if the room had stopped spinning. He thinks what happened was he sat down too early; he thought he was already in the chair where in reality he was a few inches away from it. George found himself butt on the ground and Ringo’s hands again on his arms asking him if he was alright. Ringo helped the boy up and realized that George was heavily leaning on him. He had managed to get George to stand straight before Lennon-McCartney started to yell.
“Christ, Georgie! Will y’sit down? You just fell straight onto the floor” an angry John Lennon spat.
Paul, still very much drunk, slurred “Juss siddown George you're’ fallin on poor Ringo there.”
That seemed to be the wrong thing to say as George burst out, “Poor Ringo? He's doin’ jus fine with th’birds over’ there. He should g’back an leave m’alone.” Somehow the young guitarist managed to push himself off the table and back into the sweaty mass of dancers on the floor of the bar.
Ringo grew nervous. George was definitely not in the state to push his way through that crowd let alone walk onto the streets. He turned back to John and Paul who were now also worried and told them he was gonna follow the boy. John wanted to go help, but he found himself in a new situation.
“Macca slow down!”
Paul had stood up too fast and the world around him spun wildly. He reached blindly out and landed his arms on John who had come up behind him to help him keep steady.
“Let’s go at it slow Paulie, you’re a bit drunk too y’know. Never could hold down a drink you bird.” John quipped as he slung Pauls's arm around his shoulder leading him to the front of the club.
Ringo had said his fair share of sorrys as he struggled to push through the crowd to catch up to George. The boy was so damn skinny even drunk he managed to filter through the crowd easily whereas Ringo, despite his short stature, had to try immensely hard to pass through couples and groups of dancers clinging tightly to each other. Suddenly it got surprisingly easy to fit through the crowd as a pocket of space cleared up. He glanced at the newly formed space in the middle of the dance floor only to see a big german man holding a much smaller skinny black-haired boy by the collar. Oh no.
“George!” He yelled as he pushed his way into the fighting circle and up to the big german man with his hands on his Georgie! “Get off him!”
The German man growled back and spit phrases in german back at Ringo who had no clue what the man was saying. Ringo had no choice. He started to pull at the german’s hands to pry them off of George and the man angrily let go. As quickly as he could he tugged George to the front of the club and out the door. He leads the boy to the wall of the club and slowly sat him down allowing his head to rest against the brick wall. George was breathing heavily, and blood slowly dripped from the boy's nose. Ringo pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at the blood trying to clean the boy's face as best as he could.
“Jesus Geo, what happened in there?” Ringo questioned but all George could mumble was something about running into a girl? Ringo sighed and decided to ask again later.
As he continued to dab at the boy's face he heard George mumble again, “G’nna b’sick.”
The drummer shot up and pulled George with him guiding him to the alley next to the club. George fell down to his knees and proceeded to throw up. When he was done he fell back towards the front of the building and again rested his head against the cool wall. Ringo wanted to be angry, he was young and in the dirtiest, naughtiest city in the world. He deserved to be drunk and enjoying himself with his friends, and yet he was caring for a dumb, sick boy outside of the club he should be in right now. But, when he looked down to the red-cheeked sniveling George, he felt nothing by sympathy, and he wanted to do everything in his power to make him feel better. George sniveled again before murmuring a small, “s’rry”.
Ringo bent down next to the boy and place his hand under George’s chin. As he lifted George’s face up to meet his eyes, Ringo smiled at him, “its alright Georgie, let's get you home, yeah?”
Ringo helped the boys stand up but it was obvious George couldn’t walk. Ringo opted to carry the guitarist bridal style, and he was light enough for him to do so. George’s head lulled against Ringo's chest, the boy's lips slightly parted and cheeks flushed. Ringo thought he looked beautiful.
“Did y’like havin' all those birds, Ritchie?” George managed to speak. Ringo looked down at him, confused.
“Yeah, they’re alright.” George just closed his eyes and sloppily nodded at that. Ringo decided he would take a risk right there, I mean the boy was drunk enough maybe he wouldn’t remember if it manages to go wrong. “y’know George, I was waiting at the bar for you.” Ringo had all of a sudden felt very insecure, and prayed George would say something back to him, but Ringo was met with nothing but silence.
A few minutes later George slurred again, “I l’ve y’ritch.”
He thought he understood what George had just said to him, but there was no way he was right. “You what?”
He waited for the boy to let out a laugh or anything that signified his previous statement wasn’t sincere. But nothing ever came, instead, Ringo noticed the boy's eyes had closed and his breath had evened out. George, now asleep on Ringo’s shoulder, would definitely have a massive hangover the next day. Ringo entered the hotel both his band and the Beatles were staying at, using his back to push open the door to his own room. He knew George’s room was locked and did not feel like waking him to ask for the key. He lay George’s limp body onto the bed before standing up to admire him. Looking down at the guitarist sleeping his facial features softened and his body curled inwards to himself, making him look much more like the child he was. Tired from lugging the boy back to the hotel, Ringo went to get some water. Just as he had finished filling his glass he heard a small groan from the other room. Coming out from the bathroom he was met with a drunk George rubbing his forehead and struggling to sit up. Ringo smiled at George’s clumsy state, he was usually so mechanical and coordinated in everything, even playing guitar. Richie had seen the boy playing intense riffs, only showing any sense of physical strain by biting his bottom lip and slightly bending his front knee.
Blinking twice to get the room in front of him to focus, George saw Ringo leaning against the door of the room he was in, which he could only assume was Ringo’s as it wasn’t his own. Ringo had a small smile on his face and was gripping a glass of water in one hand. Ringo’s black shirt had marks of sweat and his face two was glistening, probably from having to carry George back from the club. George thought he looked perfect as usual. Ringo walked over to him and passed him the glass of water. Slightly sobered from his nap but nonetheless drunk, George managed to grab hold of the glass spilling some of its contents onto the floor. Taking a large sip he realized he tasted something acidic coming from within his own mouth. Groaning, “Did I throw up on y’?”
“Not on me but y’did throw up,” Ringo stated, “It was only expected considering what a state you were in, probably still are.” The older man took the glass out of George's hand and placed it on the floor. George rested his head in his hands and felt the bed dip beside him as Ringo sat next to him.
“m’sorry. I just got upset and now m’embarrased.”
“Its no matter Georgie, but try not to do it again yeah? You're heavier than you look.” With that Ringo placed his hand on Georges back and began rubbing small circles. George's head peaked up from his hands as he locked eyes with the drummer. Ringo stared into Georges deep brown eyes that went on for miles before looking down at his slightly parted pink lips. He couldn’t handle it anymore.
Within a second George felt Ringo’s lips crash onto his own, pressing George into a deep kiss. Shocked, George remained still before the intensity of the kiss rushed onto him like a monsoon. He placed his hands on Ringo’s cheeks before tilting his head and allowing his and Ringo's lips to melt together. It felt different than kissing a girl of course, but in many ways it was the same if not better. Just as George had allowed himself to be consumed by his emotions, Ringo abruptly pulled himself away and shot up off the bed.
Ringo took a few steps back from the bed and turned around, “m’sorry! You’re drunk and I shouldn’t have done that. I dunno what came over me, m’sorry.” He put his back towards the boy and ran his hands through his hair. Christ that kiss was amazing, amazingly stupid of him. He wasn’t a queer. But he had just kissed a boy; isn’t that the definition of a queer? Questions swirled in the head on the drummer before he heard the squeak of the bedsprings and felt a hand lay on his shoulder. He turned to see droopy-eyed Geroge Harrison giving him a cheeky grin.
“I was gonna d’that y’know but I was scared I was gonna miss your face because your damn room won't stop spinnin’” Letting out a small laugh, Ringo realized his eyes were a little wet, probably because of how much emotion had just run through his small frame in the last few minutes. George smiled before letting his already droopy eyes close a bit more and placing both his hands on the drummer's shoulders. Ringo realized the boy was leaning heavier on him and probably needed to lay down and sleep.
“Let’s get you back to your room so you can sleep off the alcohol, d’you have the key?” Ringo spoke placing his hands on the waist of the boy to keep him upright.
George mumbled back, “Can I stay w’you?” The drummer could hardly hold back a huge smile.
“Of course you can.”
“Macca! Christ just lay up against the wall alright?” John guided the dark-haired boy to the wall of the outside of the club and Paul lay his head against the coolness of the brick behind him. Paul was breathing heavily, and the world around him wouldn’t stop spinning. He caught eyes with John before smiling at how concerned the older boy looked.
“Johnnny w’as wrong? Your face s’all twisted” he let go with a giggle.
John shook his head, “Macca you're pissed. Can we get you home before you pass out on the street? Can y’even walk?”
Paul pouted, “OF course I c’n walk!” but as he pushed himself off of the wall he saw the ground barreling at him, or was he barreling at the ground. Suddenly he was on his back staring up into the shocked eyes of his John.
“Okay so that settles it, y’can’t walk. Come on Paulie, gettup.”John placed his hands under the boy's arms and pulled him up onto his unsteady feet. Looking down Paul frowned at his own legs that seemed to fail him just seconds before. John draped Paul's arm across his shoulder and all but carried the boy back to the hotel.
Halfway to their hotel Paul’s breath quickened and his face shown with sweat. John eyed him suspiciously, before Paul suddenly let go and fell down to his hands and knees on the grass beside the sidewalk they were on. Paul puked his guts out and John cringed at the poor, suffering, sick boy. Paul wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve before shakily standing up.
John needed to get Paul home, so he wrapped his arm across Paul’s waist and once again begun to drag Paul towards the hotel.
He felt George’s hot breath against his chest as he tried so hard to fall asleep. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop staring at the boys flushed cheeks and peaceful grin. Ringo was running his hands through George's curls mindlessly thinking about how they had just kissed minutes before.
Suddenly the door to his room burst open. A sweaty, tired John Lennon was lugging with him a very much drunk Paul against his side. Paul’s eyes drooped and his face was pale and shiny with droplets of sweat. Both boys had lost their jackets and shirts were untucked with hair splayed across their foreheads messily. Not wanted to wake George, Ringo perked up with his eyes only.
“John? Why aren’t y' in your own room?”
John cringed and guiltily replied, “Keys were in me jacket pocket and I lost that a while ago.” He readjusted the limp figure on his hip to stand straighter against him, “Mind if I set him down before he downright passes out?”
Ringo motioned to Rory’s bed that lay against the wall on the other side of the room. John led Paul who was dragging his feet down to the bed and dropped the boy onto the tough mattress with a thud. John moved to remove the shoes from Paul's tired feet and pushed the boy on his side so that he could get ready to fall asleep. Ringo watched as Paul's long lashes flickered downwards and he fell into a drunken slumber. John stood up to admire his work and ran his hands through Pauls dark locks. He lost himself in the sleeping figure's baby face and sounds of his even breathing, and decided to press a gentle kiss against the boy's forehead.
Ringo smiled. He knew John and Paul both loved each other as more than friends; they were soulmates. Watching them on stage together was like watching telepaths communicate without uttering a word. John situated himself at the end of the Rory's bed and placed his hand on Paul's leg, rubbing it up and down mindlessly. It was then that John got a look at Ringo and George very much so cuddling each other.
He gave Ringo a sly look, “You look very comfortable there, Ringsy.”
The older boy just laughed, “Yeah, poor George’s out like a light, he was snoring a minute ago.”
“Not half as loud as you I bet. Sometimes I forget y'have a face under that gigantic nose of yours,” John retorted, and Ringo just rolled his eyes. John loved poking fun at the drummer; even though they were in separate bands Ringo had grown awfully close with all the Beatles, but especially to George. John closed his eyes and tilted his head back so it lay against the wall the bed was propped off against. “Never letting these two babies touch alcohol ever again.”
Ringo quickly nodded at that, “Never ever again.”