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Oh, fuck.
John shouldn't have brought drugs in the first place. He shouldn't have came, anyways, he shouldn't be a softie for Ringo and do everything the drummer says like some kind of dog. But he can't help it either. Ringo is too nice, too good, too... cute.
So now here he is, smoking a joint with Ringo, a good joint he himself rolled. God, why did he refused so much to come here but willingly rolls the bloody joint? You're stupid, Lennon. Too stupid for your own good. After taking some hits, John could feel the cannabis starting to make an effect on his body, making him feel that familiar sensation that relaxes him so much and expands through his whole body. John turns his head, seeing Ringo holding the joint between two fingers, leaning against the wall with his pretty eyes closed and his lips parted. He stays quiet for a moment, not wanting to be the one to break the ice, but his eyes notice something. Something really important.
“Oi.” John mumbled. Ringo turned his head.
“Where is it?” He asked.
“Where's what?”
“The thing.”
Ringo stared at him, confused and drugged. The hell was John speaking about now? He's conscious that the man gets stupid when high, but this is just dumb. John groans, then signs to the side of his own head with his index finger. “Where is it?” He asked again, and Ringo finally understood. Oh, the streak!
“Do you mean the white streak?” Ringo asked with that soft voice of his, and John nodded immediately, ignoring the way his heart beated against his ribcage. Ringo chuckled. “It’s still there, dummy.” The nickname made John's heart jump and clench inside his chest, his cheeks flushing red with embarrassment.
“What?”
“It's still there. You're just blind, Johnny.” Ringo moved closer, turning his head to look forward to show John his temple. He lifted his hand and pointed at his own hair, but John still couldn't see it. Fuck his blindness. John had to move even closer, and just then he saw it: a couple of white hairs, the same he had seen when they had met in Hamburg seven years ago. They've been friends since then, and the line between friendship and something else has been blurring. But John can't be gay, can he? He's not a poof. He's just... just a little too fond of his friend. Of Richie.
“Gee. It's been so long, since we met.” John started, his voice sounding like a gruff, maybe because of embarrassment or maybe because of the joint, that he was now grabbing from Ringo's hand. He ignored the way their skins had touched, because if he focused on the feeling, he might end up doing something he doesn't mean. John brought the joint to his lips and took a deep hit, sighing heavily afterwards. “I mean, it was in nineteen sixty, wasn't it? The last Beatle I met.” He said, his voice lowering to a vague murmur.
“And yet you mean so much to me, Richie.”
Ringo stayed in silence, listening to John, assuming it was just rubbish. Pure, absolute rubbish. He and John aren't that close, right? He can't mean to John that much, there's no proof or reason for that. Except the acknowledge that he's the only Beatle who has seen John cry, who John has begged to not leave, the only Beatle who could break John Lennon's nutshell enough to the point where John can't seem to be happy without him by his side.
He shook his head.
He couldn't think like this, not now. They're both really high, and they can't... they can't get honest right now.
Ringo took the joint, but he didn't take a hit. He kept it between his fingers, fidgeting a bit with it like he does with his rings, and spoke in the same tone as John's. But his voice was softer, ignoring how deep it is. “Yeah. We met years ago. And... and I know that I mean a lot to ya, Johnny. Ya mean a lot to me too.” He said, bringing the joint to his lips. “I care about ya. Maybe I care too much.” He added, and John sighed, feeling his heart clench at the sad note in the other man's voice. He wanted to hold him so badly, but at this point, John feels like he wants to be held. He's not gay, but his attraction towards Ringo has been increasing since the sixty-four.
John stayed quiet, now noticing their proximity. Their arms were touching, really touching. The guitarist slowly turns his head, and stares at Ringo's profile for a couple of seconds. It's pure, agonizing silence, with Ringo staring at nothing in front of him and a joint between his fingers, and John staring at his face like he's some kind of masterpiece. Then, John spoke, the words leaving his mouth in automatic.
“Can you hold me?”
The petition surprised John himself, but with the cannabis, he feels bolder. Like he can ask Ringo exactly what he wants. And he'd ask for sex if he weren't feeling like he's a right frog right now. Ringo paused, the joint almost touching his lips, a blush already appearing on his cheeks. He looked at John, confused. Hold him? John wants him to hold him? Ringo was stunned, a small 'what?' leaving his lips, trying to see if John was being serious or if he was joking, teasing, only wanting to make him feel awkward. But John didn't laugh. Instead, the man repeated his petition, more firmly this time.
“Can... can ya hold me, Richie?”
Ringo swallowed, feeling his throat tight and dry. God. Oh, god, oh, lord. He could feel himself starting to sweat. Then, slowly, Ringo left the almost finished joint aside and nodded. “Yes, of course.” He heard himself say, and John slowly moved, bumping his head against Ringo's lap, his hand resting above his knee. This was getting too intimate, and Ringo was feeling more nervous and flustered. He could feel the weight of John's head on his lap, could feel John's slow breath, could feel the gentle caress his knee was receiving from John's thumb. With cheeks red, Ringo placed a hand in John's head and began to caress his hair, slowly and hesitantly, not knowing if he's even allowed to put his hand here.
But he was definitely allowed to put his hand there.
John wanted to be held, to be caressed, to be flattered by the man he loves. In a friendly way, of course. Slowly, John sighed and allowed himself to close his eyes, continuing to caress Ringo's knee. He can't believe the drummer actually agreed to this, but he's glad that he did. Ringo looked down, observing John's pretty face, and he could feel a wave of nervousness suddenly hit him. Oh, god, John is actually resting his head on his lap. It's a scenario Ringo never thoguht it'd be possible, but here it is, happening right now. The older man's cheeks flushed again, and it wasn't because of the joint anymore. It was because of John. Of course it's because of John.
Slowly, the drummer left the joint on the side of the bed, making sure it didn't burn the sheets. He leaned against the wall, feeling the cold material hitting his skin through the fabric of his thin shirt. Ringo looked down at John again, seeing and feeling him starting to fall asleep. A chuckle came from his mouth, a sound of actual amusement. He lifted his hand and poked the younger man's cheek, a fond smile on his face. “Don't fall asleep. Me body can't hold ya that properly.” He said quietly, and John's eyes snapped open. He turned his head to the side, his nape now against Ringo's thighs, and his cheeks flushed a deep red, as if he were about to explode. John stubbornly crossed his arms against his chest and looked up at Ringo, trying to put on an angry expression on his face, but the blush wasn't helping.
“I wasn't falling asleep.” He protested, and Ringo's smile widened a bit.
“You were. I could almost hear yer snoring.”
John's cheeks flushed even more. Embarrassment and anxiety were mixing together, and he couldn't help but bring a hand to the collar of his shirt and slightly tug at it, suddenly feeling hot. Not because the room was hot, but because he couldn't stop sweating from the nerves. “Yeah, well, ya thought wrong. I was just resting me eyes, mate, nothing more.” John's voice was quieter, almost a shy murmur, and Ringo's face softened. Instinctively, Ringo brought a hand to John's hair, caressing it gently.
“It's okay if you want to sleep, anyways. I'm tired too.” He murmured, his tone matching John's, which only added to the accidental intimacy of the situation. With a gruff, John turned around and pushed Ringo's hand away from his hair, yet he kept his head on his thighs. He closed his eyes again, trying to put up the tough guy facade he had made years ago when he wanted to impress Ringo. John murmured something, but Ringo couldn't quite hear it. However, the way he had shoved his hand away had made the drummer feel a bit... rejected. Ringo held himself back from touching the other man again, and instead rested them at his sides. He observed John, looking at him longingly, as if wanting him to notice the growing interest he had for him. But John was too focused on trying to sleep, trying to push the thoughts of his Richie away.
Ringo held back a sigh and, hesitantly, brought a hand to John's hair again. Surprisingly, the guitarist didn't pull away this time, and that made a smile reappear on Ringo's face. He caressed his scalp slowly, gently, as if massaging it and trying to coax John into a deep sleep. And honestly? John was enjoying it a bit too much, more than he cares to admit. A soft sight escaped his lips, and John felt some shame. He didn't want Ringo to think he's a soft and weak lad. The drummer doesn't have a problem with being vulnerable and gentle, but John needs to remain firm, tough, mean. He can't be a weak softie like Ringo. Or at least that's what John tells himself.
But very deep in the inside, somewhere hidden beneath all the layers, John is just like Ringo. A softie. A man who has a good but damaged heart.
John manages to get some sleep, dozing off in Ringo's lap, but the drummer remains awake. He ignores the fact that it's pass midnight, his tired gaze completely fixated on the sleepy man in his arms. His hand continued to move lazily, until at some point, he decided to just close his eyes and sleep. He should wake John up and get into a more comfortable position so he won't wake up with back pain, yeah, but Ringo is willing to sacrifice his own comfort for John.
With his eyes closed, Ringo falls asleep too, and despite wanting to be closer, he is happy with the closeness they already have. He might be in love, but he'd be happy to remain as John's friend too. The only thing he wants is to be close to him, to be close not to the John Lennon; but at the cute Johnny he knows exists beneath all the layers of hate and playfulness. The Johnny that only yearns for love and affection.
But specifically, the Johnny that only yearns to have Richie for his own.