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The four of them hadn’t had time to relax in so long that this long massage was just what they needed.
“That feels so fucking good,” Paul moaned, turning his head on its side to look at John, who was smiling back at him.
“This is amazing, Macca,” he said, his smiling not faltering.
“Yeah,” George said. “Great idea, mate.”
But Ringo didn’t say anything. He was too busy worrying about his full bladder and the fact that he’d been laying face down on this chair for hours.
“Ringo?” George asked. “How are you enjoying it?”
“Erm, it’s pretty good. It’s really long. When is it gonna be over?”
“I don’t kno- oohhhhhh, that’s g-good.” Paul’s eyes rolled back in his head, and George looked over at Ringo.
“Richie?” The older man returned his gaze, but the young guitarist saw the worry in his eyes at first sight. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he whispered.
“Nothing,” Ringo answered.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” George let it go, but he still watched Ringo turn his face back down towards the ground and as his masseuse pressed into his back, the drummer squirmed around. “Could you maybe not do that so hard?” he asked.
“Yeah, of course. Sorry about that.”
“It’s alright.” Ringo suddenly felt his bladder contract, and when he felt the front of his white robe get wet, hot tears started to burn his eyes.
Before George knew it, he heard a sniffle and saw as a tear fell down from Ringo’s headrest. Then he turned his head, and George saw how red it was. “George! Have you been looking at me the whole time?”
“N-no. I just.. It’s more comfortable like this. A-are you okay? Why are you crying?”
“He’s crying?” Paul asked, concerned. “Ringo? What’s the matter? Do you not like massages?”
“It’s not that. It’s just…” His bladder contracted again, and he couldn’t stop a longer leak as the liquid started to pool on the chair and drip to the floor. The masseuse saw what was happening and stepped away from him, but he didn’t bother getting up.
He finally just let go, and George pushed himself up with his hands, eyes wide.
“Richie?”
“Oh, God. I’m… shit, sorry.”
George flung himself off the chair, pulling Ringo up. But as the drummer stood, he didn’t stop the pee that was running down his bare legs and puddling on the floor now.
“Oh, Richie… why didn’t you just say something?” George sighed, getting closer to Ringo, ignoring how warm the pee was on his feet as he hugged the older man.
Ringo didn’t hug back, only cried. John and Paul had also gotten up, completely shocked not only at the drummer’s situation, but also that George was just standing there with him.
“George, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t speak up…”
“It’s alright, love. Hey, at least you weren’t wearing your clothes.” Ringo smiled when he realised it.
“I suppose.” But when George pulled away from the hug, he saw that John and Paul were standing and watching. “I…”
“M-mr. Starr,” the lady that had been rubbing him for the past few hours spoke up. “I’m truly sorry.”
She sounded like she was on the verge of tears, and if Ringo wasn’t covered in piss, he would have hugged her.
“Oh, no, it’s alright. Really. I’m the one who didn’t say anything. Don’t blame yourself.”
The girl smiled. “Okay.”
“Let’s get this all cleaned up now, yeah, Rich?” George asked and Ringo nodded.
“God, please.”