The Fair (One-Shot)
Title: The Fair
Summary: George the Fair goes to the Fair
Location/Time: early days, before Ritchie joined the band
Rating: PG
Pairing: George/Ringo
Genre: Fluff
Author: larainefan/Alicia Mills
Warning: Fluff! And I am so not a fluffy-type person!
Disclaimer: not the real Beatles, merely characters loosely inspired by them
The sun is going down, an edge of coolness hangs barely in the air.
Richard carelessly tosses his now-empty popcorn box towards a mesh-enclosed trashcan. He needs to walk, to clear his head. Unconsciously, he crosses his fingers, hoping.
It becomes apparent that Ritchie will have to take drastic measures if he wants to see George. That is, if he wants to see him more than briefly in passing, now that they're all back in Liverpool. In Hamburg, Ritchie'd sometimes stayed on until two or three in the morning to catch the end of the other band's set, drunkenly calling out bluesy ballad requests from his seat in the audience. He'd told himself he was there to check up on the musicians, to keep an eye on the competition, but he'd been kidding himself. He'd known which guitarist he was really there to see.
Now back in Liverpool, he toys with the idea of approaching George's good friend Paul, or perhaps sending a note via John, whom George really looks up to. But a better solution comes along.
It's a Thursday. A traveling fair is in town, and Ritchie accurately predicts that he will run into George there. George will not be one to avoid the lights, the excitement, the tastes and smells and sounds. By himself, George would be content to remain on the fringe and observe, but with John and Paul at his side he will be in the thick of the throng.
When Ritchie finally spots George it's drizzling slightly; just a fine mist, not enough to shut down the rides. For the rest of his life whenever it is misty Ritchie will conjure an image of George in the light rain.
The other two trail beside George, flanking him on either side. Paul is eating cotton candy. "Give me some," George demands, and Paul obligingly stuffs some of the sugary substance in the younger boy's mouth. It dissolves instantly on the tongue.
George carries a couple of cheaply-purchased souvenirs. He is looking fine, so pretty, even with his dark hair in his eyes, wearing yesterday's clothes and clad in the leather jacket he wears with impunity. Perhaps absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder---it is overwhelming how drawn to George Ritchie feels.
The trio enter one of the booths, the kind where four quick photo shots appear on a strip. Ritchie waits patiently nearby. As the boys exit, laughing and pointing at the pictures, Ritchie steps up. "George."
John stops cackling over the pictures. Already sensing a burgeoning situation he can enjoy vicariously, he grins broadly as he eyes first Ritchie, then George, then Ritchie again. George says, "Hi, Ritchie."
Now Ritchie can think of nothing to say! He glances down at George's hands, which still hold onto a small stuffed animal and brightly-colored carnival beads. George's chipped and bitten nails, George's delicate wrists---Ritchie focuses on these. He looks full into George's face again, however, when he hears George asking, "So what have you been doing?"
"You know, a little of this and that. Existing."
George nods. "Well, enjoy your evening."
Ritchie senses George is about to wander off, and he hastens to speak, to keep his attention. "George!"
John and Paul must be very protective, they stop staring incredulously and close ranks around George. Yet when Ritchie steps closer John rushes to prevent Ritchie from crowding in. "Get back, give him some space!"
Ritchie is quick, desperate to come up with anything. "Hear you lot are getting fed up with your drummer!"
Paul turns to him, bemused. "Now where---"
George shakes his head slightly to silence their forthrightness, turns charmingly to Ritchie and asks, "Oh, is that vile rumor everywhere?"
"You know it is. You're terrible, George," are Ritchie's words, but his eyes are drinking him in fondly, hungrily.
George decides to milk this for all it's worth. "It's so hot under all these lights!" he says thickly, languidly pulling his hair from his face. It is a very sexy gesture; Ritchie knows George is only playing with him. Ritchie is astonished that George has even remembered his name.
"Ride a ride with me," Ritchie suggests on impulse, praying George won't turn him down.
"Which ride?"
Ritchie points. "That one. We could go on the Ferris Wheel."
For a moment George pauses apprehensively. "Aw, go on," Paul lightly shoves George. "It's not as if you have anything better to do!"
George's teeth worry endlessly at his beautiful bottom lip as he gazes upward at the lighted height of the wheel. Ritchie is captivated by the gesture, his eyes keep sweeping back to George's mouth. He finds it difficult to believe George could be afraid of anything. Eventually, George evidently gathers his resolve about him, for he says, "I guess so." Remembering the others, he thrusts the gaudy souvenirs at them. "Hold these." He folds the strip of photos into his pocket.
"And what are we supposed to do, then?" John protests in mock outrage. "Just stand around and wait on you all night?"
"I'll be right back."
"Excuse us," Ritchie thanks politely, propelling through John and Paul.
"Oh no," Paul unctuously contradicts, "please, excuse us."
Ritchie hesitantly places his hand on the small of George's back to usher him forward, then draws it back quickly as if afraid he'll break, as if George is that fragile.
Ritchie feels proud waiting in line with George, appreciates being seen standing next to him. Amused at finding Ritchie even more speechless than himself, George finally informs, "I just love fairs." He gazes wistfully around. "Isn't this the perfect way to get everyone's evening started off just right?"
"Mine's started off just right." Ritchie's eyes accidentally meet George's, and they both rapidly look elsewhere. Leaning on the barred entrance, glancing way up, he notes, "Pretty high up there."
"Yes," George calmly agrees, but when it's their time to step up he titters nervously. "Oh no. Our turn."
"Here we go," Ritchie prods, helping him settle into the seat. He clanks the metal bar piece across them with firm finality, smug in the knowledge George is literally trapped with him for the next few minutes.
They slowly ascend, the wheel pausing for other riders to get on. The entire park is brilliantly displayed beneath them from this vantage point, but more of a thrill is George's sculptured thigh which occasionally brushes against his. George's eyes are closed as he chants, "Don't stop at the top. Don't stop at the top."
But of course they do. George grabs toward Ritchie's arm, while Ritchie teases, "Don't look down," confident in the fact George is not going anywhere anytime soon.
"Forget it. I'm not looking down." George has his face buried in Ritchie's shoulder.
"I could stay up here all night." Just to prove it, Ritchie rocks the car a little.
"Don't!" George shrieks.
Ritchie loves the way George holds tighter to him, clinging for security. "Would you like to, I don't know, maybe go do something tomorrow night?" he hears himself asking, almost beyond his control.
Stunned, George seeks John and Paul for moral support, but they are far below, on the ground. It's as if George is searching, grappling for their input. He turns back to Ritchie, whose blue eyes never waver. In no apparent real answer, George replies, "I don't often really go anywhere without John and Paul."
"If you say so," Ritchie responds, baffled. By now he is thoroughly confused. So is George saying he might consider going somewhere with Ritchie, or is he hinting that Ritchie should include John and Paul in the invitation? Before Ritchie can clafify matters, the ride suddenly begins in earnest, but it's George making him dizzier.
As the ride revolves faster, Ritchie sneaks a peek over to George. George doesn't seem to like this ride much, his face is white and his hands are clenched tightly around the metal bar. Ritchie studies the haunted eyes, the shadow of his cheekbones, the surprising suspicious mixture of verve and vulnerability, and he tries to ascertain what ghosts George has in his short past.
The ride winds to a close. Once again on the ground, safely landed on their feet, Ritchie's stomach is fluttering nervously, and not from the ride just ended. He's still not sure whether he has made definite plans with George or not. George borrows a pen from a passerby. "Here," he informs. "I'll give you my phone number."
When he hands the information over to Ritchie, Ritchie sees it's written on the back of the pictures just taken of George with John and Paul.