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Another wild night in Hamburg, with John wandering on stage with a toilet seat hanging around his neck, Paul committing acts of arson in the streets and George sitting on his own in the club watching Rory Storm and the Hurricanes play, maybe that wasn't as wild as his band mates but it was all the thrill George needed. The band were fairly good, they were a big deal back in Liverpool and certainly made The Beatles look like a bunch of classless ruffians.
"Not so much a hurricane, more like a light drizzle." John had commented once.
George wasn't here for the music, not that the music was especially bad of course, instead he was here for one band member in particular: Ringo Starr, you don't get a cooler name than that. Ringo was the drummer, and a talented one at that, The Beatles all agreed - excluding Pete - that he was the most capable member of the band. Ringo had a name for himself back home, mostly for drumming but also for being quite the ladies' man. George completely understood why, with the white streak in his hair and the full beard, George had more hair growing inbetween his eyebrows than he did on his chin. But the aspect of Ringo's appearance that George enjoyed the most was the bright pink suit he had to wear while he played, it was so ridiculous that it was gorgeous. They couldn't look more different to the dark, leather-clad Beatles.
At this point in the night George would sit and watch the band play, afterwards he'd join them from drinks in the hopes that he'd catch a conversation with Ringo. They'd spoken quite a bit, George figured Ringo took a shine to him because he was so young - George constantly tried to remind him that a 3 years difference was not that large at all. On occasion Ringo would be a little preoccupied with women, they seemed to swarm around him, which meant George would have to sit quietly either waiting for them to leave or just leaving himself. Paul and John loved to tease George about it, they thought the issue was jealousy rooted in the fact that George was still a virgin - a fact John loved to relay to almost strangers - when in fact George didn't want to be with any of those girls sitting in Ringo's lap, he wanted to be them.
After a few more drinks vanishing down his throat, the band finished and trailed lazily over to the bar, all except for Ringo who headed towards George.
"Now was that shit or really shit?" Ringo asked with a huge smile.
"Is really really shit an option?" George asked, pushing his drink towards Ringo who accepted it gladly.
"Everyone's a critic." Ringo sighed, passing the drink back over "Where are your boys tonight?"
"Fuck knows." George chuckled nervously.
"Why don't you join them? Instead of watching little old me." Ringo batted his eyelashes enthusiastically.
"You're not that little." George teased "Besides, I like watching you guys play. And the last thing I need is getting involved in their shenanigans and getting deported again."
Ringo laughed "Ah, yes. George Harrison, the vicious criminal guilty of being unsupervised."
George shoved him lightly "Piss off, I'm not that young."
Ringo smiled at him "If you're not young, I'm not small. Nobody's perfect."
"Speak for yourself." George scoffed then took a sip of his beer, his eyes drifted over to the bar where the rest of the band were drinking and laughing "Aren't you gonna join them?"
Ringo followed his gaze and looked over at his band mates "Nah, I'm alright. I'd rather sit here with you." He seemed to regret his words and then added "Can't leave you on your own, might get deported again."
"Ha ha." George said dryly.
"I'm surprised you don't get approached sitting here on your own, looking all moody and mysterious." Ringo stretched his legs out under the table, they brushed against George's for a mere second.
"I do get approached." George grinned.
"Oh really? And where are these lovely ladies, did I scare them off?" Ringo scanned around the room.
"I never said any ladies came over." George took another swig from the bottle, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
"Oh." Was all Ringo said, silence enveloping the both of them.
After a few minutes George sputtered into laughter "I was talking about you, you idiot."
Ringo began to laugh nervously "Oh, right... For a second there I thought you were-"
"Pfft, come off it." George interrupted "That's just something Paul likes to say about me."
Ringo took the beer and finished the final swig "I wouldn't care if you were, just so you know."
George stared at him inquistively for a few moments then laughed "I should've known. Nobody would wear that much pink unless they were hiding something."
"Don't think they'd wear that much leather either." Ringo quipped back almost immediately.
George was stunned for a moment, he looked at Ringo alarmed as he tried to decide what was best to say next. Ringo seemed to notice his momentary panic, so he scooted up closer towards him and threw an arm around his shoulder. Ringo felt ridiculously hot, George almost flinched at the contact.
"It's nothing to worry about, George." Ringo lowered his voice, it made George want to shudder "I had an inkling ever since I heard a pretty boy like you was still a virgin."
George gulped but tried to maintain his composure "Pretty? I'm no bird, don't get it twisted."
"Oh, I'm sure." Ringo moved even closer so that he was practically kissing George's ear "Why don't you show me just how manly you are?"
George couldn't help letting out a nervous laugh "How'd you mean?"
Ringo backed away then, standing up smoothly like he'd been having a normal conversation "I fancy a smoke out back, care to join me?"
George had never moved so fast in his life.
It was safe to say that George learned very quickly why Ringo had earned his reputation, and it was certainly deserved.