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George padded up to the front door of his house with a heavy heart in his chest and his eyes unfocused. Ringo walking behind him, with his hand on the small of his back to keep him from falling over was the only thing grounding him to his distant surroundings. “Ye oughtta go back home, Rich,” he said as his house drew nearer. “I’m home an’ safe now, and yer mum’s prob’ly worried sick.”
Ringo didn’t bother answering, only stepping in front of George, interrupting his path to the door. “Love, you can’t go in that way! Are ye insane? It’s two in the mornin’!” George shied away from him, a bit taken back by Ringo’s urgent tone. “Let’s just go around to your window, yeah?”
Ringo turned him around, patting his shoulder with more than a platonic energy, and something swelled in George’s stomach. “My window’s on the second story,” he said truthfully, but Ringo didn’t seem to care. “We’re both pissed, there’s no way we’ll get up there. I haven’t even a ladder we could--”
“Would you two shut it while I’m trying to sleep!”
They both stopped in their tracks and glanced at each other, completely surprised at the fact that Peter was awake, not only because it was so late, but because they had both been so caught up in their own elaborate scheme to get in that they hadn’t even considered the other people in the house.
“Oh, come on, ya gits! Just come in here before ye freeze t’ death!” Peter had lifted up his window all the way, giving them just about two and a half feet to climb in, but they weren’t complaining. They scrambled towards it. “Alright, whose idea was it tonight?” Peter laughed at the nervous blush on both of their faces. Despite Ringo being older than he, he still seemed so much younger. “Did ya think you were gonna get some birds?”
“Some people don’t live only for girls!” George shouted at him as soon as he was inside the window, holding a hand out to help Ringo inside.
“Well, some people don’t stay out every Saturday night while their brother covers their arse!” Ringo shut the window.
“We didn’t get any girls, Peter!”
“Evidently.” George and Ringo looked at each other again, and George could once again feel the not-quite-platonic energy seeping from them both. “Or you wouldn’t be practically drooling over each other now. Go have your wank and go to sleep, I don’t want to have to drag you out of bed for church in the morning.”
With nothing more than a choked sigh, George rolled his eyes and sneaked out into the hallway, followed by Ringo, reaching the stairs. On their way up, the never louder creak of each one made both of their hearts beat faster with either pure fright or excitement.
When the finally did reach George’s upstairs bedroom, George closed and locked the door. “I’m so sorry about him,” he immediately apologised, sensing how uncomfortable Ringo had been. “He doesn’t care much about other people.”
Ringo shrugged. “At least he let us in.”
“He’s not a complete monster, I s’pose.” He sat on the bed and began to pull off the tight trousers around his thin legs, grunting a tiny bit as he had to pull. “You stayin’ over, then? Yer mum’s got to be worried…”
“Nah, I told her I wouldn’t be home tonight. It’s nothing new.” George deflated at the way he implied so casually that he was off so much with so many unnamed girls. Unless it was a girlfriend…
“Oh…”
“Oh! I mean, that’s not what I meant!” Suddenly, he started to backpedal. “Not… not out like that. I just usually stay over at John’s. His aunt doesn’t mind, and he’s usually the one that can’t get himself home. Not you.”
George turned red, returning his focus back to the trousers around his ankles.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. We all have nights where…” He continued to rant to himself, and George found it almost humourous. He knew that Ringo only ever did this when he was nervous about something, and he had yet to find out what it was that was making him so on edge.
He finally got his trousers off, and without thinking, pulled off his pants, too, out of habit. He stood to walk over to his dresser and find new clean ones to sleep in.
“Oh, shite! You’re… fuck, George!” Surprised by his friend’s panic, George glanced over at him, stopping halfway to the dresser. It was only when he saw Ringo weakly covering his crotch that he realised his bottom half was completely naked.
He ignored the way his dick twitched with interest at Ringo’s staring eyes as he pulled down his shirt to cover it. “I’m so sor--”
“Geo, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I also don’t want to lie, and I jus’ popped a stiffy, s-so I think I’m going to head home…”
Those words were enough for the blood to rush to George’s growing boner, as well, and he became so filled with fear with nothing to hide it that he did the only reasonable thing he could think of: he launched at Ringo, sitting on the edge of his bed now, and straddled his lap.
“Oh, Christ.” Ringo’s eyes darted across George’s face, worry filling every crease on them. But George closed the distance between them to kiss him on the lips, and suddenly, the butterflies in his stomach travelled south.
He stopped and pulled away for a moment. “Are you okay?” The question was asked a little later than it should have been, but George still bothered with it. “I d-don’t know if you’re queer, or—”
“It’s good,” Ringo said. “It’s very good.” He pulled himself back further into the headboard and undid his trousers before George could crawl back over to him. As he did, though, Ringo watched his now hard cock sway beneath him. His breath was gone. “Can I suck ye off?” he whispered.
George nodded wordlessly, and in a second, Ringo had him up against the headboard instead, already running his tongue up and down George’s shaft. Moans littered the air, and despite it being late, Ringo had no will to tell George to quiet down.
After all, here he was with his best mate’s cock in his mouth, and they were both drunk as fuck. It wasn’t like the world around them mattered one bit. He hollowed out his mouth and swallowed down the rest of George’s length, and then he moaned himself, sending vibrations through him.
“Shite! Rich, wait, stop! Stop, I’m gonna—” Suddenly it was all too much for George. The second his hot cum started shooting into Ringo’s mouth, he gasped and closed his eyes. “Fuuuuuck… I didn’t think it would happen that fast. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Ringo put a finger up to his mouth, pulling his own mouth off of George’s shrinking cock. “It’s fine. That was… incredible.”
George shuffled on the bed, pulling the closest blanket up over his nakedness. “D-does that count?” Ringo hummed his confusion, settling down next to George despite his still raging erection. “I m-mean, am I still a virgin after that or…?”
Ringo’s heart fluttered. “Oh, god. You’re a… I just took your virginity! I just took my mate’s virginity!” George threw a pillow at him.
“Shut up!” he hissed. “I don’t want you t’ wake up me mum!” Ringo blinked at him, and then George was looking at his pants. “You’re still hard.” Ringo nodded. “Do you want me to…?”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll just…” He sighed and parted from the bed. “I’ll be back in a bit, okay? Try to get some sleep so Peter won’t have to drag you out of bed, yeah?” He chuckled a bit, but George blushed. Ringo left the room, and as soon as he was gone, George fell against the headboard and let out a sigh akin to relief and satisfaction.
-
George awoke a few hours later to the shouts of Peter from the other side of his locked door. “George, you can’t lock this when we have to get you up in the morning, you know that!” Ringo must have been the one to lock it when he came back to bed, as he was laying right next to George, still passed out.
“Sorry,” he said back, pulling the blankets off of him and beginning to get up. His bare skin became cold, and it was only then did he remember what happened last night. In a panic, he put on pants and trousers and left the room, locking himself in the toilet instead. There was a knock.
“Mum’s got breakfast ready! Does your friend want some?” George didn’t answer as he readied himself for the day. “Okay, well, come on down soon. You can shower after you eat. Unless Ringo’s already waiting for you in there.”
George opened the door, coming face to face with his brother who only grinned. He glared.
“I’m only kidding!” He loosened up a bit and walked after Peter down the hallway. “I don’t know why you’d be up for more after last night, yeah?”
Then George grabbed him by the shirt and pulled it back around his neck. “Shut the fuck up, Peter. I’m telling you right now… if you don’t—”
“Boys!” They both glanced to the bottom of the stairs, where their mother was watching them as she untied the apron around her waist. “That’s enough! George, let go of him!” George did as he was told and raced Peter down the stairs. When they were both seated at the table, Louise looked between them. “Has something happened?”
“No!” George picked up one of his pancakes with his hand and shoved it into his mouth, biting off a chunk of it bigger than he could chew.
“Yes,” Peter said. “Yes, something has happened.” George slapped him in the arm. “Georgie had a friend over last night.”
Louise nodded and then stared down at the floor, seeming uncomfortable. “I heard.” George’s heart stopped. “Well, I heard you, Geo, but I didn’t hear her.”
Peter glanced over at George, who obviously had caught the wrong pronoun just as Peter had. But he couldn’t correct her without there being major consequences, so he desperately pleaded with his eyes of Peter not to say a thing. He didn’t.
“I was going to ask if she wanted some pancakes, but I didn’t know if she was still here—”
“Oh, she is!” Peter said brightly, and George rolled his eyes. There was no way he was going to let Peter get him in trouble.
“She’s still sleeping.” It wasn’t a lie.
“I’m sure she’d be happy to wake up for pancakes, Georgie. Oh! And then we could take her to church with us! Does she go to church?” George shook his head. “Ah. Maybe we’ll just give her a ride home, then.”
“I don’t even know where she lives, Peter! Please, stop!” Peter grinned. “Please… mum, can I talk with you?” Louise, a bit surprised, tried to read George’s face for any clue as to what was wrong, but he had it faced down at the tabletop, and all she could see was his greasy hair. “Please?”
“Peter, could you go see if your father needs anything?” With a hesitant but worried look, Peter stood from the table and scurried off into the garage to find his father, leaving George alone in the room with her. “George, what happened?”
“I’m so sorry about last night.” He looked up to meet her eye to eye, though it only made him more nervous. “I’m sorry for staying out so late and for waking you up.”
“It’s alright, sweetheart. But when I tell you there’s a time you should be home, it’s not because I want to ruin your fun or anything like that. It’s only because I want you to be safe.” George got quiet. “If your friends get to stay out later and you don’t want to have to come back earlier, we can change that. I’ll be flexible if you need me to be, but I’d rather you tell me beforehand than you not come home on time.”
“I was with my friends,” he argued weakly, proving the point of what she’d just said.
“I know, love. But I was worried. And I’m sorry for snooping on you and whoever it was you were with last night. I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy. Or hers.”
George glanced up, sure that this was the end of their conversation, and just past her, he saw Ringo starting on his way down the stairs. His eyes widened.
“George? You alright?”
“Ermm… yeah.” Ringo looked up at him, and when they made eye contact, George shook his head. Ringo understood immediately and started to back back up the stairs. He calmed down a tiny bit, refocusing on his mother. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Are you—?”
“FUCK!”
Louise turned around immediately, and George glanced over at the stairs to see what Ringo was yelling about only to find him falling down them with his arm still caught up in the hand rail. Within seconds, they were both next to his stilled body near the bottom of the stairs, and he gave George a worried look.
“Oh, Richard! God, are you okay?” She picked up his left arm, now bleeding, and winced. “Stay here. I’ll go get a bandage.” She stood up and hurried into the kitchen.
“Is it just your arm?” George asked, and Ringo shrugged.
“Shite, I couldn’t tell ye.” Louise returned with a box of huge bandaids and a wet washcloth. As she began to clean off his arm, she made small talk.
“Love, what on earth are you doing here?”
He sighed. “I’m sorry, missus Harrison. George and I stayed out a bit too late, and I just decided to stay the night. I didn’t want to have to navigate home in the state I was in.”
Confusion crossed her face, and George braced himself for what was coming. “George, what about that girl? If Richie had to stay over, you should have told her not to come with ye.” Ringo and George looked at each other. “What is it? Was there no girl? What, I heard a girl! Last night, love, you were— and there were— oh, Christ.”
George tried to talk to her as Ringo stayed completely still, but she didn’t seem to be hearing the words he said.
“It was him,” she realised, and she looked over at Ringo, who was just about ready to be slapped. “It was you.”
Ringo pulled his arm out of her grasp and backed up from her, shaking like a leaf. “I’m sorry, madam. I didn’t know he was—”
“It wasn’t his fault!” George shouted. “I started it. Please don’t be upset with him.” Suddenly, Louise seemed to snap out of the haze she’d been in. “Mum, please don’t tell his parents. It wasn’t his fault.”
“T-tell his parents? Why would I…? I’m not going to tell anybody’s parents.” Ringo looked at George again, but this time, George was looking right at his mother. “That’s ridiculous!”
“I’m gonna go—”
“Do you want pancakes?” she asked, and Ringo sucked in a broken breath as if he was about to cry.
“I don’t understand.”
“I m-made pancakes, and seeing as you’re here now, I thought you might want some.” He looked over at George for conformation, but his friend only shrugged. “Let me put this bandage on your arm, and I’ll go get you some.”
She took hold of his arm again and placed the medium sized bandage over it. Ringo bit the sides of his tongue.
“Mum, why are you avoiding what happened?” George asked trepidatiously.
“I’m not avoiding anything.” She stood up with her washcloth and cardboard box. “I assumed you had been with a girl last night, and I had no issue with it. I don’t see how this would change anything.”
“But it’s Richie!”
She turned to take a good look at Ringo before looking back at George. “Do you want me to be upset?” The question hung in the air for a good five seconds before she continued. “Because if you want me to ground you and tell his mum and tell your father, then I’d be glad to. If you want me to tell Richie here that you and him will never see each other again under my roof and that you won’t be allowed out at night anymore just because you’re… you’re queer… then I will.” George trembled. “But I’m trying to be a good mum, George. Is there anything wrong with that?”
“No, of course not.”
“I’m not avoiding anything, love.” George and Ringo stood and sat down at the table as Louise got more pancakes ready. “Please be careful, though.”
He sighed. “Thank you, mum.” And the second a plate was dropped in front of Ringo, the issue was completey dropped. They were in good hands.