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George had been in an irritable mood ever since just before the show, when Brian had told him he didn’t have time to go eat a snack before the show. It hadn’t made much sense given the fact that they had all just eaten an early dinner, so there was no way he was hungry enough to be upset about it.
Ringo had kept an eye on him during the show in case he really wasn’t feeling well, but the only thing he noticed was George’s unsteady legs and shaking hands when he wasn’t playing. Both of which could have been written off as his stage fright.
When the show had ended, he was distant, quietly putting away his guitar, empty of the usual excited haze that clouded him after a set. Instead, he was shy, sneaking off to Brian at the side of the room and whispering something to him. Brian sighed and said something back to him, and George nodded, looking on the verge of tears.
Now, he was sitting next to Ringo, stiff but still moving around an unusual amount. Ringo took a bit of a risk and rested a hand on George’s thigh.
“Hey, you alright?” George immediately shoved the hand away with a scowl.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry yourself over me, love.” He didn’t smile at all when he said it, and Ringo bit the inside of his cheek.
“That doesn’t have me very convinced.” George didn’t even respond to him, so he put his hand back on the thigh to try to still its gentle tapping. “You can tell me anything, y’know. I saw you talking to Brian after the show.” George rolled his eyes. “If he’s giving you trouble about anything…”
“He’s not. Okay? He’s really been lovely, and it’s not his fault the toilet’s closed.”
Ringo swallowed. This was more of a time sensitive issue than he thought it would be. “Oh, love.” Then, he turned towards the driver. “Sir, how long until we’re at the hotel?”
The driver shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with being brought into this conversation. “About forty minutes.”
Ringo glanced over at George, eyes now closed and nose scrunched up. “Can you stop at a rest area sooner?”
As soon as he said it, George shoved him. “Stop it, Rich. I can’t just go into a rest area—“
“If you need the loo, we’re gonna get you to the loo, yeah? I don’t care who sees you, love, and I don’t care if Brian’s upset.”
George only groaned in embarrassment. “Should I stop?” the driver asked tentatively.
“Yes,” Ringo answered at the same time George said, “No.”
“George, look. You have to go. There’s nothing wrong with stopping so that you can go—“
“I can wa—“ He then winced and gasped and grabbed at his crotch as he twisted his legs up.
“Please stop,” Ringo said, placing his hand on George’s back and rubbing it. “If we get in trouble, I’ll take the blame. I’m the one telling him to stop.”
George glanced at the floor. “Okay, fine.”
“Great! Do you know how far until the next rest stop, Sir?” Ringo’s gaze went back and forth from his band mate to the nervous driver.
“Sixteen miles,” he responded, and George blushed.
“Are you going to be okay?” Ringo asked, much to George’s humiliation.
“I’m gonna be fine, Rich. I’m not a little kid.” Taking a chance, he uncrossed his legs, hoping it would help him to look less stressed about this whole thing.
“I believe you, love. No need to be upset.” Ringo continued to rub George’s back as they crawled down the road. “Is that what you were asking Brian about before the show?” George nodded carefully. “Oh, god, it’s been that long?”
“It hasn’t been too long, honest. I’ll be fine.”
The way he kept repeating it really only told Ringo that he wasn’t so sure of it himself. Regardless, he kept quiet and took his hand back, letting George squirm in peace until they were at the rest area. Everything was fine until George cursed under his breath and put his hands back into his crotch.
“H-how much longer do you think, sir?”
“Fifteen minutes about. I c-could speed up a bit, maybe ten.” George bent at his middle and hid his head in between his knees.
“Richie, I’m gonna pee myself,” he whispered just loud enough.
“Fuck! No, George, shite! Sir, pull over!!” The urgency in his voice was enough for the speeding driver to start to move over in the lanes.
“No! Please don’t! John and Paul and Brian are all behind us somewhere! What if they see?!” Now, he already has a small stream leaking into his pants.
“You can’t piss yourself, Geo! Would you rather them know you had to go or know you had to go so bad you soiled yourself??”
I’m a frantic hurry, the car came off the shoulder of the road, bumping George around enough that he lost control.
Ringo’s attempt at getting George to a place where he could properly relieve himself stopped when he whimpered and let out a half-hearted, “No…”
“Geo…”
“Just keep going. It’s… it’s too late.” The driver didn’t put the car back into drive. “Please! Before they see us stopped here! Go!!”
The car pulled off, and as a puddle began to form around George, Ringo pulled himself over closer to the window. It was silent save for the engine of the car as he finally let go onto the seat, quiet enough that Ringo could hear the soft pitter patter of the thing that would cause him so much trouble and shame within the next hour or so.
When it stopped, Ringo stared out the other window, and the driver was silent. Neither of them wanted to upset him any further than he already was. And for a while, it was completely silent. Until…
“I fucking hate myself.”
Ringo saw red, scooting in closer to George, not bothered a single bit about the still-warm liquid now soaking into his pants, as well. Not when George was feeling like this.
“I can’t believe that just happened. I hate my—“
“That’s fine,” Ringo said, causing him to go silent. “That’s fine if you really do hate yourself. I probably would hate myself, too… But you were waiting for a very long time, and you didn’t have a chance to go, so it’s not fair to dismiss that, too.”
“You’ve been waiting a long time, too! How come you didn’t have to go at all??” Ringo gave him a sympathetic smile. “Do you even have to go at all?”
“George, I don’t see how this—“
“You don’t, do you??” Ringo carefully shook his head. “Oh, god… I didn’t have any more than you did to drink! That’s humiliating.”
“It’s okay,” Ringo promised. “We can’t change any of that, yeah? Besides, this is the first time it’s happened, right?” George blushed a deep shade of red. “Oh, I didn’t… sorry.”
“I mean, John had a bottle I could use. It wasn’t like…”
“Let’s just get back to the hotel, yeah? I’ll go get Brian when we’re there, and we’ll get this all taken care of.” George rolled his eyes. “It’s gonna be fine, love.” Ringo grabbed onto his hand and squeezed it.
-
Brian was sitting in the front seat of John and Paul’s car, trying to get them to calm down a bit before they got in the hotel and disrupted everybody trying to sleep when he heard a gentle tapping on the window. He turned to see an uncomfortable Ringo with a sloppy smile, and thankfully no teenage girls outside so late.
“God, what?? John, open the door and scoot over to let him in!” John did open the door, but Ringo stayed where he was and shook his head, so Brian rolled down his window. “What are you doing? Come on in here.”
“My trousers are a bit wet. I wouldn’t want to get it on the seat…”
“Your trousers are wet?” Brian asked hesitantly. “Oh, god. Where’s George?”
“He’s alright. I helped him relax a bit, but he’s mortified. I just wasn’t sure if there was anyone that might see him on the way in…”
Brian sighed. “I’m going to go to Ringo and George’s car, yeah? Wait in here until you see us getting out.” The manager stepped out of the car, purposely keeping his eyes off the floor so as not to see Ringo’s pants.
He put a gentle hand on his shoulder as they walked over to the other car.
“I feel awful, Rich. This is all my fault.”
“He said you couldn’t find a loo. That’s not your fault.”
Brian nodded sadly, looking slightly guilty and then got into the passenger seat, glancing back at George. “Love, how are you feeling?” As expected, George didn’t say anything. “I’m so sorry about this. I thought you could wait until we were back…”
“It’s fine,” George grumbled, cutting his eyes over to Ringo.
“Do you want to walk in or…?” Once again, he was quiet. “If it makes you more comfortable, we can switch trousers.”
“No! No, god, that’s disgusting. We’re not doing that. I just want to go inside.”
-
And that’s what they did. George refused to shower until after Ringo had cleaned his leg up, so now Ringo was waiting, washed and clean, in the one queen bed for George to get out of the shower.
As soon as he did, nearly an hour later, Ringo saw his watering eyes. It was obvious that his shame was the only thing that kept him in there for so long.
“Oh, love… Come here, sweetheart.” Ringo patted the spot on the bed next to him, and George crawled into it miserably. Ringo ran a hand through George’s hair. “It’s alright. It was an accident.”
He groaned in response, hiding his face in Ringo’s shoulder.
“Nobody’s upset with you.”
“I am.”
Ringo kissed him on the top of the head and then promptly grabbed his chin and lifted it. “Well, I’m not. I love you more than anything.”
“Even when I piss myself?”
“Especially when you piss yourself. If you hate yourself, that means I have to love you twice as much.”
George laughed. “That doesn’t make much sense, Richie.”
Ringo kissed him on the lips. “Sure it does.” Then he kissed him again, but George gently pushed him away.
“Could we just cuddle tonight?” he asked, and Ringo smiled and nodded.
“Of course, love.”
And George relaxed into Ringo’s arms, enjoying being the little spoon for the night.