What an Interesting Game of Tag This Is...
Title: What an Interesting Game of Tag This Is...
Author: xxsandyy (Me)
Pairings: George/Ringo friendship, or slash if you want it to be.
Rating: G
Timeframe: Sometime while George and Ringo shared a flat. Go wild.
Summary: George wants tea.He doesn't get it. Stuff happens. there's very little, if any, plot to this; it was a nice little fluffy idea I had.
Warnings: I don't believe there are any...
A/N: I had been thinking of a serious fic to go at this week's prompts with, but gave up and wrote this instead. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Beatles, their wives, any of their friends/acquaintances, etc... so no legal action, please.
An often-overlooked, but important, code of conduct that got ignored that day: don’t cry over spilled tea.
________________________________________________________
“’Lo, George,” Ringo said cheerily, far too cheerily for 8 in the morning in George's opinion.
“Mmm,” George mumbled, while eyeing the cup of tea Ringo had his hands wrapped around. 8’oclock really was too early to be doing anything except sleeping. Especially after the long night he had had. This brought a small smile to the lanky guitarist’s face.
“Good night, then?”
“Oh, one of the very best,” George said, his eyes glazed over from the memory of the leggy blonde.
Ringo watched in amusement as George searched every cupboard for the tea packet, still smiling slightly.
“Must ‘ave been, the way yer face is all twisted up. Oh, by the way… there’s…” here Ringo coughed to cover himself up slightly,” there’s no more tea.”
The long night and leggy blonde forgotten, George spun around quicker than Ringo had ever seen the younger man move.
“N-no more… what d’ya mean, there’s no more tea?” George sputtered, eyes narrowing on the drummer.
“Well, this here was the last little bit,” Ringo said feebly while holding up his cup to a visibly upset George.
“Well, then. Let’s have some,” and George grabbed at the cup with his long fingers. But he wasn’t fast enough for Ringo, who had been expecting such a thing.
“No! Look, son, there’s coffee in one of the cupboards. Why not have some of that then, yeah?”
“It’s yer fault there’s no tea left! C’mon, just a sip. It’ll be teeny tiny, I promise,” and he lunged, yet again, at the drummer, who was showcasing some incredible agility in dodging George.
“No! There’s hardly any left, anyway. Just get yerself a cuppa coffee, and be done with it,” and the interesting game of tag commenced once again. It lasted for quite a few minutes, until George finally caught up with Ringo, trapping him in a corner of the kitchen with a broom in one hand, and a chair in the other. How George got such instruments was beyond Ringo; he hadn’t seen George pick anything up.
“Listen, Ringo… I’ve had enough. I just want a bit of tea, all right? C‘mon, don’t be difficult now,” and he jabbed at Ringo with the handle of the broom. Rather sharply. A bit too sharply, actually, since he missed Ringo completely, and instead hit the Holy Grail of tea.
“C’mon, George. Don’t... don’t cry or nothing. It’s just tea. It was already cold and everything. We’ll go to the shop and get more, yeah? C’mon, love. Go get dressed. We’ll get a box of Earl Grey. That’s yer favourite, no?” and a moping George nodded, sniffed a bit, and walked to his room to get dressed.
Author: xxsandyy (Me)
Pairings: George/Ringo friendship, or slash if you want it to be.
Rating: G
Timeframe: Sometime while George and Ringo shared a flat. Go wild.
Summary: George wants tea.He doesn't get it. Stuff happens. there's very little, if any, plot to this; it was a nice little fluffy idea I had.
Warnings: I don't believe there are any...
A/N: I had been thinking of a serious fic to go at this week's prompts with, but gave up and wrote this instead. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Beatles, their wives, any of their friends/acquaintances, etc... so no legal action, please.
An often-overlooked, but important, code of conduct that got ignored that day: don’t cry over spilled tea.
________________________________________________________
“’Lo, George,” Ringo said cheerily, far too cheerily for 8 in the morning in George's opinion.
“Mmm,” George mumbled, while eyeing the cup of tea Ringo had his hands wrapped around. 8’oclock really was too early to be doing anything except sleeping. Especially after the long night he had had. This brought a small smile to the lanky guitarist’s face.
“Good night, then?”
“Oh, one of the very best,” George said, his eyes glazed over from the memory of the leggy blonde.
Ringo watched in amusement as George searched every cupboard for the tea packet, still smiling slightly.
“Must ‘ave been, the way yer face is all twisted up. Oh, by the way… there’s…” here Ringo coughed to cover himself up slightly,” there’s no more tea.”
The long night and leggy blonde forgotten, George spun around quicker than Ringo had ever seen the younger man move.
“N-no more… what d’ya mean, there’s no more tea?” George sputtered, eyes narrowing on the drummer.
“Well, this here was the last little bit,” Ringo said feebly while holding up his cup to a visibly upset George.
“Well, then. Let’s have some,” and George grabbed at the cup with his long fingers. But he wasn’t fast enough for Ringo, who had been expecting such a thing.
“No! Look, son, there’s coffee in one of the cupboards. Why not have some of that then, yeah?”
“It’s yer fault there’s no tea left! C’mon, just a sip. It’ll be teeny tiny, I promise,” and he lunged, yet again, at the drummer, who was showcasing some incredible agility in dodging George.
“No! There’s hardly any left, anyway. Just get yerself a cuppa coffee, and be done with it,” and the interesting game of tag commenced once again. It lasted for quite a few minutes, until George finally caught up with Ringo, trapping him in a corner of the kitchen with a broom in one hand, and a chair in the other. How George got such instruments was beyond Ringo; he hadn’t seen George pick anything up.
“Listen, Ringo… I’ve had enough. I just want a bit of tea, all right? C‘mon, don’t be difficult now,” and he jabbed at Ringo with the handle of the broom. Rather sharply. A bit too sharply, actually, since he missed Ringo completely, and instead hit the Holy Grail of tea.
“C’mon, George. Don’t... don’t cry or nothing. It’s just tea. It was already cold and everything. We’ll go to the shop and get more, yeah? C’mon, love. Go get dressed. We’ll get a box of Earl Grey. That’s yer favourite, no?” and a moping George nodded, sniffed a bit, and walked to his room to get dressed.