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“Do you want a massage?”
If it had been anyone else, George would have jumped at the opportunity. The long recording sessions had begun to do a number on his body, no matter what position he oriented himself in. His guitar strap always felt too heavy, and his back was absolutely killing him. A massage would be heavenly right now.
But it was John who asked him. John Lennon, who would never be vulnerable a day in his life. His kindness was always tinged with irony, as if he was playing a trick and you fell for it. That same John was offering him a massage out of the blue.
George rubbed his back, wincing from his place on an ungodly uncomfortable chair. “S’there a catch?”
John laughed at that, but seemed earnest enough. “Just worried, lad. No catch.”
Maybe Yoko had softened him. George thought for a moment, then sighed in defeat.
“C’mon, then.”
John beamed, directing him to turn around so he was sitting backwards in the chair. Easier to touch him, he had claimed. Hesitantly, George did as he was told, placing his head on the backrest of the chair as he waited for John to start. Behind him, John loudly cracked his knuckles for dramatic effect.
It started off rather nice, John kneading between his shoulder blades and down his spine. The feeling of warm hands on his aching back made him shudder and groan. George sank into the chair, practically limp under John’s touch.
“Christ, mate. You’re all sorts of tense.”
A clear understatement, but George didn’t have the brains to respond. Instead, he pushed back into John’s hands with a huff.
“..Keep going.”
John obeyed without a word, moving further down his back. The soft pressure made George sleepy, though he knew their break would be up soon. Maybe John would allow him to nap as he worked.
He twitched, though, when John began pressing into his sides, then further up into his ribs. The feeling woke him up, ticklish jolts wracking his body. It wasn’t even purposeful, but it was enough to make George stiffen.
“Alright?” John questioned, pausing.
George began internally cursing the man for maturing as he had. The old John would’ve just attacked him and moved on. He wouldn’t have asked him if he was alright, and never so gently.
“M’fine,” He replied, but John didn’t continue. With a huff, he added, “Tickles a bit.”
At that, John snickered, making George stiffen up even further. “Don’t worry, son. I’m not gonna get ye.”
Then the touches resumed, just barely ticklish enough to keep George flinching. He grunted and turned his head to shoot a glare at John.
The man in question chuckled, affectionate. “I didn’t say I’d stop, did I? Just enjoy the massage, mate.”
George let out a small chitter at a particularly rough squeeze to his side.
“You’re doin’ it on purpose now..” He couldn’t help the whine in his voice.
“I am not!” John proclaimed, moving back to his shoulders. “See? Nothin’ more than a massage, Georgie.”
But he barely gave George enough time to react before he started gently squeezing his sides again. The man shivered, the touch just strong enough to earn small, breathy giggles. Usually, George would’ve fought back or scampered away, but the touch wasn’t.. bad.
“S- Stahahap..” He managed to mutter through giggles, hiding his face in his arms.
“But Georgie!” John pouted, though George could hear the smile in his voice, “I’m just tryin’ to help!”
George mumbled incoherently, jolting at every touch. It still felt like a massage, just with the added bonus of making him laugh. He could hear John laugh with him, uttering teasing praises that George couldn’t quite understand.
All at once, the sensations stopped. George slumped in the chair, still shaking with giggles. Was their break over? He glanced back to John, flushing when he saw the man watching him with an uncharacteristically soft expression.
“Quit lookin’ at me like that,” He grumbled, averting his gaze. To his dismay, John ignored him entirely.
“Feel better, then?”
Huh. The usual pain was now a dull ache. He sat up, stretching his back out with a yawn. But he supposed it was time to get back to work. He was about ready to stand up when John wrapped his arms around his shoulders, keeping him still.
“What’re you doin’?” He questioned.
“You’re agin’ too quick, son. Shouldn’t be in so much pain at this age.”
The man’s voice was teasing, but very obviously laced with longing. For the early days, maybe. When they weren’t reaching their 30’s with aching joints and sour faces. With a sigh, George leaned into the hug.
“Sap.”
John ruffled his hair, backing off with light embarrassment. That was enough vulnerability for the next week, he reckoned. He pulled George to his feet, gesturing to their instruments.
“C’mon, then. Album’s not gonna record itself!”