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Northern boys didn’t hug. Northern boys didn’t say ‘I love you.’ Northern boys certainly didn’t cuddle.
But Jesus, George was desperate. His skin tingled with the need for.. something. To be held, to be squeezed until he popped. When he brought a girl back to their hotel room, there was an expectation. In and out. Be dominant and quick about it. No time to hold each other.
And it’s fine. Great, even. George doesn’t want to have a stranger in his bed for too long. The sex was fine by itself.
But as the tour continued, he kept craving something softer. He was so tired, hardly up for picking up a girl most nights. He wanted to see Pattie, to lay with her for hours and forget about everything. But he was in the states, constantly jumping from hotel to hotel. He wouldn’t dare ask her to follow.
He sat across from his bandmates, sipping tea at the table as they played cards. He had stopped paying attention to who was winning, lost in his own mind. He could just.. ask. For a hug, that is. To be touched. The mere thought was mortifying.
Paul had to choose to touch you— he wanted control over things like that. And John would tease him so badly he’d wish he’d never been born. Ringo, though.. Ringo would understand. He might chuckle which would embarrass George on its own, but he’d happily go along with whatever he’d ask.
George peered over at Ringo, who seemed enraptured in the game. Could he ask? Maybe he could just.. quietly get closer. Ringo would catch on, right? He’d wait until they were alone, though. No use in embarrassing himself in front of the Nerk Twins.
Later that night, George wordlessly followed Ringo into their shared room like a lost puppy. Ringo hadn’t spared him a glance, instead going about his nightly routine. George sat on the edge of his twin bed, staring across at Ringo’s. His face burned, dreading the question he’d need to ask. Maybe he could just hug a pillow tonight and forget about it.
“Alright, son. What’s on your mind?”
George jumped, turning to face Ringo as he padded out of the loo.
“Huh?”
“You’ve been mopin’ about all day, George. Could see it a mile away,” He sat down across from George. George wish he sat closer.
“Speak your mind.”
“I.. just,” He began, brows furrowing. “I dunno, Rich. I guess I miss Pattie.”
Ringo nodded, though it seemed like he knew there was more to the story. George cringed, wishing Ringo would just do something instead of making him say it.
George cleared his throat and averted his gaze. “Could use a.. hug, I guess.”
A smile spread across Ringo’s face. George could feel his face burning, and seeing the affection in Ringo’s eyes made him want to curl in on himself and hide away. But George was no coward, so he’d just sit there looking embarrassed instead.
“Coulda’ just said so.”
George let out a breath, whole body relaxing because of that one simple reply. Ringo waved him over, and George quickly scrambled to obey. God, he needed this.
They both settled in Ringo’s bed, the older lad pulling the covers over them both. Despite thinking about this for.. a month at least, George froze. Thankfully, Ringo took pity on him.
“C’mere, Georgie. I won’t bite.”
Now, usually that nickname annoyed him. It was typically used by John and Paul, in that usual ‘awh, my little brother!’ fashion. (Though he would never admit that sometimes he enjoyed being the little brother.)
But coming from Ringo, it just made him feel soft. Loved, even. It was an invitation from an equal.
George scooted closer, tucking himself into Ringo’s open arms. It was almost perfect. He felt himself relax, wrapping his arms around Ringo and holding him impossibly close. Ringo let out an amused chuckle, but George didn’t care at this point.
“Soft lad,” Ringo murmured, moving to trace shapes on George’s back. George stiffened immediately, and Ringo took notice. “Alright?”
“M’fine,” He huffed out, hiding his face further in Ringo’s shoulder. It tickled, but not unbearably so. If he were being honest with himself, it felt nice.
Ringo’s gentle smile never wavered, but soon took on an almost mischievous quality. He moved to trace shapes on his side instead, making the boy giggle.
“Forgot how ticklish you are,” Ringo chuckled, giving George’s side one last scribble before stopping. “I’ll stop tormentin’ you, though.”
George felt that tingling desire return though. It felt nice to laugh. That realization alone made him curl up further.
Shakily, he reached for Ringo’s hand and placed it back on his side, holding it there for a moment.
Ringo paused, before tracing his fingers across the boy’s side again. George let out a sigh. He began to breathily giggle again.
“Just wanna laugh, don’t you? Poor boy.” Ringo sounded so soft, so understanding. George wanted to stay there forever.
“Ehehe.. ehahah, Ringo!” George grabbed Ringo’s wrist but didn’t move him.
“That’s my name, Georgie. What’s the problem?”
“Ihihit tickles.. ohoho nooo!”
“That’s the point, son! Just let it all out.”
George couldn’t help but squirm, instinctively trying to get away from the ticklish sensation. He laughed into Ringo’s shoulder, turning so his cheek was flush against it. He could feel Ringo chuckle more than he could hear it. All he could hear now were his own quiet, breathy giggles. He finally felt right.
It was perfect.