Work Text:
“You’re awfully cocky for someone so ticklish!”
The audience’s attention shifted to Ringo all at once.
“You’re all bark and no bite, Rings! I can take ye!”
The whole press conference had been like this. John had complained he was growing bored of answering the same questions over and over, so Ringo should’ve guessed the next step was to create his own entertainment. The man had practically enraptured the audience, for better or worse. Mostly worse, considering they weren’t even answering questions at this point.
Paul had tried to reel him back in, but John was nothing if not stubborn. The bassist eventually gave up. And with George only egging him on, it left Ringo to smooth things over. John hadn’t crossed any lines yet, so it was best to act now.
Ringo stood up from his chair. He was sitting on the other side of the table, but he was never one to back down from a game like this. The audience even began laughing before John did. The man in question nearly leapt out of his chair when he saw Ringo approach.
“Now, wait a minute—!” John’s voice faded as he pulled away from his microphone, a more genuine smile spreading across his face. It was a far cry from the shit-eating grin he wore mere moments before.
“You asked for it!”
“I did n- NOT!”
Ringo shoved John back into his chair, a tremendous feat in his mind. He was a fighter, especially when they played like this. From this spot, the audience could clearly hear John yelp when Ringo dug his fingers into his sides.
“Fff—“ John gasped, nearly swearing reflexively. “Ringoho! R- RIHIHINGS! Stahahap!”
“No, sir! Ask nicely!”
Every sound was being picked up by John’s microphone, from his gasps to his hyena-like cackles. Ringo shot a wink at the audience, now bombarding them with pictures to capture the scene. He was certain John would get him back the moment he saw the pictures, but he didn’t mind.
“Rihihingo! This is cru- CRUHUEL!” John twisted in Ringo’s hold, trying desperately to free himself from the offending digits. “Cahahan’t we just- heheehah! We need s- securityy! I’m bein’ attacked! AHAH! Oh, Christ!”
“Guess I really am the ‘Funny Beatle’, huh folks?” Ringo grinned, laughing along with John. His laugh was so contagious, and now was no exception. Loud and bright, almost desperate. He wasn’t the most sensitive in the band (that award belonged to Paul), but he was definitely the loudest.
From this position, John could hardly defend himself. Whenever he managed to protect his sides, Ringo would move to his back or his neck. The light touches through his suit drove John batty, cackles becoming breathy and eyes becoming wet.
“Richehehiee! Oh nohoho, p- plehehease!” John finally stopped squirming, giving up the fight entirely. Ringo knew he had won.
“The great Lennon has been defeated!” He declared to the crowd, finally letting the poor lad go. “The world can live in peace once more!”
Ringo didn’t think that was cheer-worthy, but the crowd hollered and cheered. It was like a little performance just for them. Ringo took a bow. Paul and George clapped for him as he returned to his seat.
The rest of the press conference was normal, albeit with a couple embarrassing questions directed to a still-recovering Lennon. Ringo would’ve felt bad if John hadn’t jumped right back to being a snarky fool.
“How often do you boys have these tickle fights?” A woman with a thick southern accent questioned.
John turned to stare Ringo down. “I’ll tell you what: there’s gonna be one tonight.”
…Well, Ringo probably deserved that.