Pandemic
Title: Pandemic (Chapter 29)
Time/Location: June 1965. Living room.
Pairing: John/Paul, George/Ringo.
Warnings: Sexual situations, bad language, Uncomfortable situations.
Previous Parts: HERE!
Summary: It's 1965, and a terrible virus is spreading. Those who get it turn violent, dangerous and even homicidal. Only trouble is, it's impossible to know who has the virus and who doesn't. And nobody is safe from it. So who can you trust?
Ringo… his hands were so warm and loving. And he always made George feel safe, no matter what.
Authors Notes: Oh man! This chapter has set me a new record for "the number of death threats given by commenters"....!!!
George’s heart was beating erratically. He didn’t know why he was doing this. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, just like John said. Except… he couldn’t control himself. And Ringo… his hands were so warm and loving. And he always made George feel safe, no matter what pain was soaring through his head, or how lifeless his body had become, or how hopeless he was feeling… Ringo changed that. He almost wished Ringo was around ALL the time to save him from his own morbid, foreboding thoughts of late. He would admit so as well, except he was self-reliant, and didn’t want to let go of that. He couldn’t walk; he was hanging on to every last piece of dignity he had.
So why did he keep doing this? John had told him straight out; he was going to break Ringo’s heart. He didn’t want to break Ringo’s heart. Fuck, Ringo had been so good, so patient, so tolerant of him. He warmed up George’s body with his own, stroked his hair away when he was throwing up. He held George still when he was shaking, and woke him up when he had a nightmare. And what was George doing? He was taking advantage of him.
Except…… was he? As Ringo squeezed and rubbed George through the pyjama bottoms, George could feel himself reacting in a way he never thought he could for a bloke. His toes curled, his eyes fluttering shut, his body subconsciously thrusting gently into the touch. Every time he moved forward he found Ringo’s loving hand… every time he moved backward, his arse pressed into Ringo’s own erection. And yet it didn’t scare him. It didn’t worry him in the slightest; he trusted Ringo. Yes, it was a little weird, incredibly unfamiliar… and yet strangely stimulating at the same time.
Ringo laid kisses onto George’s back and neck while he manoeuvred his hand on the top of his pyjamas. Every now and then George would let out a soft moan. The sound seemed to penetrate Ringo’s skin, tingling inside his blood, messing severely with his head. The only other sound was the gentle rustling of the duvet cover as the two of them moved and shuffled. When George’s back pressed against Ringo’s stomach and groin, he felt he’d never fucking breathe again. Shit, he could die any minute and it would be worth it. He swallowed hard, felt his heart hammer and his forehead sweat, squeezing harder on the outside of the younger mans trousers. George let out another unintended moan at that… and well, Ringo thought he would fucking explode. George’s arse pressed once again about his erection, which was painfully hard and somehow becoming even harder. His other arm was still draped across George’s chest, and the guitarists’ deep, laboured breathing was hardly helping matters. Ringo felt his head swim, disorientated, his blood surging, making him dizzy with lust. He squeezed harder at George’s erection, and felt the younger man shudder. Oh shit. Ringo needed to release himself. He wandered if he could touch himself without freaking George out and then decided probably not. He kissed again to the back of his head, began to trail his hand from the top of George’s pyjamas to the rim. He did so slowly, so George had time to object. But he didn’t. As Ringo slid the tops of his fingers underneath the rim of the pyjama buttons, George took a sharp intake of breath, wriggling in anticipation, his body pressing against Ringo’s torturously.
John opened his eyes. He couldn’t mistake that noise now. The duvet covers quietly rustling, the ever-so-soft, ever-so-quiet whimpers, and the sounds of lips on skin. Yeah, fuck it fellas, if they thought they were doing this conspicuously, they were sadly mistaken.
With a perverted grin on his face, John silently prodded Paul’s sleeping figure. The bassist stirred only slightly, caught once again inside that coma of illness. John took hold of his shoulder and shook him more roughly. This time, Paul’s eyes peeled open. At first he looked irritable and questioning, but John put his finger to his lips, and silently motioned to the two bandmates behind them. Paul frowned questioningly. He didn’t hear anything straight off, but from John’s wickedly gleeful face, he already knew what was going on. And John was fucking ecstatic to know how embarrassed George would be if he knew of this eavesdropping.
“Are you okay?” They heard Ringo whisper softly.
Paul grinned, meeting John’s eye with the same jovial deviousness at overhearing such a thing. Oh, this was just too funny! Those randy little fuckers!! And assumingly, George must have nodded or something, for the next second the duvet rustled a little bit more, and they could just make out a very quiet, yet sharp intake of breathe from the youngest member of their gang. Paul raised his fist to his mouth, biting down to suppress a giggle - a feat made even harder by John’s silent sniggering. It was of course perfectly plausible that they were George and Ringo were just chatting and fidgeting…… but fuck that, the four of them had shared enough rooms now to detect the sounds of each other’s horniness. They had learnt to smell it on each other even! There was no mistaking what was going on under the duvet just inches away.
Ringo’s fingers trailed down George’s skin, meeting the top of his prick. The drummer licked his lips with nervousness and desire, slowly sliding his fingers around, prolonging the process. He could feel everything like this. He could feel George’s heart hammering, he could feel George’s tiny body squirming in pleasure as Ringo wrapped his fingers around his cock. And Ringo moaned softly, pushing his body closer against George’s back as he began to stroke his length. His hand moved rhythmically, and his body very gently rocked against George’s, his nose pressed to the back of George’s neck.
He watched through half-closed eyes, bound in fascination as George’s shoulders moved up and down, trying to steady his own breathing. Ringo’s prick ached, but he tried to keep his hips under as much control as possible, incredibly anxious not to start rubbing against George, or any of the various other things he’d liked to have done.
George was wrapped inside Ringo’s body possessively, and yet somehow it was a feeling he welcomed. Every time Ringo stroked George’s cock, he’d squeeze tightly George’s chest at the same time, rhythmically pressing them together again and again. George could feel Ringo’s leg wrapping around George’s healthy one, pulling and tangling them together closer, and closer. And George breathed out in calmness and pleasure. The passionate pressure of Ringo’s touch made George’s toes curl, made his breathing ragged. But most of all it was the comforting warmth of his hand and body, once again radiating comfort and protection in just a touch. And now they were closer than ever, and George felt safer than ever, allowing his legs to open further for more manoeuvre, and his hand to release Ringo’s, allowing Ringo to explore further.
Now with his second hand free, Ringo prised up the t-shirt George was wearing. It belonged to the owner of the household, and George practically drowned in it with his tiny figure. He kissed the youngers’ neck harder, more passionately, more desperately, while he ran his hand across George’s pale, skinny stomach. He must have tickled across a sensitive spot, because George’s inhaled particularly heavily, his body pushing backwards against Ringo’s in impulse. The feel sent excited shock waves pounding once again through the drummers blood stream.
As the breathing beside them became more erratic, Paul bit onto John’s shoulder, desperately muffling the giggles that were bursting to erupt from him. John’s body was shaking with suppressed laughter, and the fact they were trying to control themselves actually made the whole situation even funnier. Paul buried his head into John’s chest, breathing deeply to contain himself and shutting his eyes, trying to make himself fall back to sleep. When John’s chest continued to shudder in muffled laughter, Paul pinched him angrily, scrunching his eyes up. Shit, if he laughed now Ringo would never forgive him, and George would be mortified. John let out a small noise, a tiny giggle he’d been trying to suppress, and Paul punched him lightly in the side.
Luckily, this seemed to have gone unnoticed by the other two; apparently too wrapped up in their love… or whatever fucked-up thing it was… to be attentive.
Ringo was now completely on his side, his hand still massaging and stroking George’s cock, engrossed in the feel of between the guitarist’s thighs and writhing body. He pulled himself closer, and wrapped himself around George’s body, realising now what pleasures it bought his younger bandmate. He pulled his leg over the top of George’s thighs, so that there was now not an inch of space between their two figures. His own burning, aching, thriving erection was pushed into the small of George’s back, but he focussed on reaching George’s face with his lips, gently pushing at his hair.
When Ringo gently pulled George’s body round to reach his face, he caught sight of George’s dark eyes in full view, and if anything, it just made his body tingle even more with fierce adrenaline. He guided George slowly onto his back, softly kissed on the point of his cheekbone. When he pulled backwards, he checked the younger mans face for a reflection - any reflection - of his mind state. What he got was a pair of shining, yet deeply troubled eyes gazing back at him, watchfully.
“Everythin’ alright?” He breathed, silently pleading that he hadn’t once again misread George’s advances.
But George nodded his head, and smiled reassuringly. And yet still, his eyes seemed wide with some internal worry suddenly, and yet almost pleading for Ringo to continue. The drummer frowned.
“Are… are you sure?”
Again George nodded, and more urgently this time. “Mm-hmm.”
And still, Ringo couldn’t shake off that evident concern that was brimming from the younger mans eyes. But then, Ringo supposed, he too had been worried and confused when he first started harbouring feelings for the guy. It was natural, he supposed, for something so unusual. Perhaps… just perhaps… this was a good sign?
George reached for Ringo’s free hand, softly tickling above the bandage with his index finger. Ringo threw his inhibitions aside again, kissing gently onto George’s temple, cheeks, his nose, and then meeting his lips. Feeling George’s tongue touch his, he instinctively rubbed harder and faster at the cock in his hand. George made a small moan - slightly louder than their hushed noises prior - and arched his back in pleasure, his hips moving upwards repeatedly into Ringo’s loving hands.
Fuck, Ringo was in heaven. Holding him like this, touching him, kissing him. George’s sounds of gratification whistled like fire through the drummers’ ears. Sounds he’d heard inside hotel rooms when George had birds with him, but never as intimately as now. Ringo was sure of it. If they carried on like this, Ringo would sure he’d climax just from the noises, without any pressure at all. Even so, he found himself gently pushing himself into George’s leg, his eyes quivering shut in lust.
George could feel his head sinking into stillness and sleep again, and fuck, he tried so hard to keep himself conscious. Ringo’s touch was not only comforting now, but intense, passionate and………. and different to any bird George had ever had. Better? Fuck, maybe. His whole body was tensing, shuddering… damn near CONVULSING with the blissfulness of the feeling. It had been so long after all. He tried to keep his breathing under control, he tried to keep his mouth shut and silent. Most importantly he tried to avoid the looming unconsciousness that was lurking nearer. Fuck! He could feel his body sinking and melting into limpness…… could Ringo recognise that as well?
A few inches away, John was still wrapped up in the hilarity of the events, and struggling to keep his recurring giggling fits under control. Paul seemed to have finally forced himself into calmness, his head pushed against John’s chest as he attempted once again to go into sleep. Well, fuck that, John wasn’t going to have this fun on his own. And to emphasise this to his friend, he abruptly pushed his hand underneath the rim of Paul’s pyjama shorts, causing the bassist to jerk awake, grabbing frantically at John’s hand to fend him off. John fought against him adamantly, but Paul was NOT about to get off on the sounds of his two friends doing the same thing.
“John, fuck off!” he hissed as quietly as he could.
But John just grinned; his eyes shining with wickedness.
What a jerk.
Ringo couldn’t bear it anymore. Having George so close to him; their faces inches from one another, the heat bouncing and radiating between two closely pressed bodies. He stroked and caressed George’s cock, building the speed, building the pressure. But he could tell George was slipping from consciousness; every time George blinked, his eyes would remain closed for longer and longer periods. Fuck. In one impulsive movement, he released George’s prick - the guitarist gasped out at the loss of touch - but Ringo yanked down the pyjama bottoms that prevented him observing every part of the person he loved. George didn’t have time to object to this, for the next second Ringo was touching him again, running his hand rhythmically up and down George’s throbbing hardness. And fuck, it felt so strange to be seeing George like this. Ringo swallowed hard, feeling his heart pumping inside his throat, and his head swimming with overpowering urgency for more, more.
George was getting close. He clutched at the shirt Ringo was wearing, and the drummer leant obligingly forwards, pressing reassuring and insistent kisses to the youngers’ sweaty forehead. George breathed fast and heavily, his fists clenching painfully around the drummers collar as those passionate hands bought him closer and closer. The toes on his working leg curled up excruciatingly, and he bit down on his bottom lip frantically to silence himself.
“Come on,” Ringo whispered under his breath.
And George let out one long moan, muffled into the drummers chest. He climaxed, and Ringo collected his whole load inside his hand, continuing to gently stroke and caress at the guitarists length until he was completely finished.
George’s eyes sunk shut immediately, his body floating downwards into some relaxed coma, his head lolling to the side as the ability to remain wakeful became less and less achievable.
Ringo propped himself on his elbows, watching George as he panted, his chest riding up and down frantically. With his clean hand, Ringo smoothly pulled up the guitarist’s pyjama bottoms, before running small, ticklish circles around George’s still-exposed stomach. George’s body flinched as Ringo glided across a particularly tickly spot, and the drummer chuckled softly, before brushing any stray hairs from his younger bandmates eyes.
Sensing that George was almost well-and-truly out for the account, Ringo looped his arm underneath George’s neck, pulling his head into the crook of his neck. In this position, George’s panting breaths breezed against his skin softly.
They lay like that for a few minutes, while the room became calm and still once more. Ringo’s head continued to spin in ecstasy from the astonishing experience he had really lived out… in real life. It just didn’t seem possible, and yet it was true, and he was holding George in his arms, the bringer of all these implausible feelings of adoration.
Ringo felt his eyes melting shut, caught up in a whirlpool of blissfulness.
Until he was interrupted.
John’s voice rang across the room, and the drummer felt his head stop spinning… his blood run cold.
“Well lads…” John sighed dramatically, “As lovely as that was to play witness to, do you think you could move it upstairs next time? You know… for decency sake?”
Ringo’s heart froze dead as he felt George stir and tense inside his arms.
And to make the situation worse, Paul’s high-pitched, infuriatingly gleeful laughter erupted from just behind them; the sound of childish tormenting and merciless ribbing.
George lifted his head, turning to respond, but Ringo pulled him gently back into his chest, murmuring, “Just ignore ‘em George.”
But John wasn’t finished. “God, here I was minding my own business, dreaming of horses with my pure and innocent mind, and THEN WHAT HAPPENS?!” he jeered jovially.
“Goodnight fellas.” Ringo said pointedly.
“Still, it sounded like you both ‘ad a jolly good time. Maybe Paul and I should have a turn next. Urggghhhh! Urgghhhh! Oh Paul! MORE! MORE!”
Paul just laughed more hysterically at this.
“Yeah - goodnight I said.” Ringo sighed.
He continued to hold George close to him, praying that the pitiless mockery wouldn’t make him second-guess any of the incredible things that had just happened between them.
Perhaps John realised this was the case, because after that things quietened down again, the four of them naturally calming down into sleep.
For about five minutes anyway, before Paul’s high-pitched, hysterical laughter filled the room again as he relived the events in his mind.
“PAUL, shut UP!” George suddenly snapped furiously, his head still buried deeply into Ringo’s chest, so the drummer couldn’t even see his face.
“Shh,” Ringo coaxed softly, fingering his hair gently. “Ignore him.”
Though Paul did seem to have gotten the message this time around, and if he did continue to laugh after that, he at least had the courtesy to muffle the sounds so that George couldn’t hear.
After a few more minutes, they were all asleep.
When Ringo awoke the next morning, he still couldn’t escape from the taunts, but thankfully George was still asleep.
The first thing he got was Paul’s childish rendition of, “Oooh, Ohhh that’s nice! Are you okay, baby? Oooh, come for me! Come for me baby!”, chiding consistently in his ear.
John was much more subtle in his approach, preferring to fix Ringo with long stares or suggestive wiggles of the eyebrows whenever Ringo glanced in his direction, which was something he found much MORE infuriating than Paul’s playground-chides.
“Right,” Ringo sighed eventually, “I’m going to make pancakes. D’you want any?”
“Oooh, yes please sweetheart.” John smiled, fluttering his eyelashes girlishly.
Paul merely nodded, now much more engrossed in replacing one of the lampshade light bulbs than anything that Ringo happened to be talking about.
But when Ringo strolled from the room, John provided him with something much more interesting.
“Paul!” he whispered.
When Paul turned, John had another one of those devious smirks on his face. A moment later, and his wickedness was revealed: He tiptoed theatrically across the room, lifting his knees up and down dramatically until he arrived at George’s side on the floor. He knelt down, moving his lips close to his younger bandmates ear.
“MMmmmmm,” he purred suggestively.
Paul wrinkled his nose, not completely able to ignore the fact they were MAYBE crossing a line here… and yet he was finding this taunting immorally enjoyable at the same time.
“Oh George, come on baby, wake up and give me some lovin’!” John growled
“Oh my God…” Paul giggled, covering his face in his hands.
The next minute and John was mockingly massaging his shoulders.
“Come on George,” he purred, “Show Johnny the good stuff.”
“John…” Paul muttered warningly, “Come on, don’t now.”
But John seemed to be finding George’s stubborn sleepiness personally offensive, and scowled suddenly.
“George!” he barked, nudging George in the shoulder - harder this time. “Get up you poof!”
And again, the guitarist did not stir.
“George!” he snapped again. “For fuck sake… GEORGE!”
He pushed George’s sleeping figure hard, causing the small body to rock slightly.
And still… George showed no signs whatsoever of reacting. He didn’t move a muscle, his eyelids did not twitch.
Paul frowned, pulling himself uneasily from the armchair.
“G… George?”
“GEORGE!” John bellowed, shaking the figure roughly.
Paul knelt down at the youngers’ side, his eyes suddenly wide with some kind of nervous anxiety which he couldn't quite explain. But something wasn't right. “Georgie?”
He moved the hair off George’s face, running small circles across George’s forehead with his thumb, “Georgie? Wake up…” he called softly.
“Fuck…” John breathed, his eyes fixated on his friends cataleptic body. His eyes darted back and forth as some kind of sickening feeling appeared to be overtaking his body... one that he couldn't completely explain.
“GEORGE!” Paul suddenly shouted, taking his turn to shake the skinnier figure. “GEORGE, FOR FUCK SAKE!”
“Shit Paul…” John croaked
Paul ignored him, his voice cracking as he cried, “George!”
John could hear it... Paul’s voice was weak…… he sounded terrified. It sent shivers racing up John’s spine to hear him like that.
“Paul…”
“GEORGE WAKE UP!”
“Paul, he’s not fucking waking up…”
“Georgie?!... Fuck, George please…”
“George!”
“Fuckin’ hell, John…”
“GEORGE! WAKE UP!”
Time/Location: June 1965. Living room.
Pairing: John/Paul, George/Ringo.
Warnings: Sexual situations, bad language, Uncomfortable situations.
Previous Parts: HERE!
Summary: It's 1965, and a terrible virus is spreading. Those who get it turn violent, dangerous and even homicidal. Only trouble is, it's impossible to know who has the virus and who doesn't. And nobody is safe from it. So who can you trust?
Ringo… his hands were so warm and loving. And he always made George feel safe, no matter what.
Authors Notes: Oh man! This chapter has set me a new record for "the number of death threats given by commenters"....!!!
George’s heart was beating erratically. He didn’t know why he was doing this. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, just like John said. Except… he couldn’t control himself. And Ringo… his hands were so warm and loving. And he always made George feel safe, no matter what pain was soaring through his head, or how lifeless his body had become, or how hopeless he was feeling… Ringo changed that. He almost wished Ringo was around ALL the time to save him from his own morbid, foreboding thoughts of late. He would admit so as well, except he was self-reliant, and didn’t want to let go of that. He couldn’t walk; he was hanging on to every last piece of dignity he had.
So why did he keep doing this? John had told him straight out; he was going to break Ringo’s heart. He didn’t want to break Ringo’s heart. Fuck, Ringo had been so good, so patient, so tolerant of him. He warmed up George’s body with his own, stroked his hair away when he was throwing up. He held George still when he was shaking, and woke him up when he had a nightmare. And what was George doing? He was taking advantage of him.
Except…… was he? As Ringo squeezed and rubbed George through the pyjama bottoms, George could feel himself reacting in a way he never thought he could for a bloke. His toes curled, his eyes fluttering shut, his body subconsciously thrusting gently into the touch. Every time he moved forward he found Ringo’s loving hand… every time he moved backward, his arse pressed into Ringo’s own erection. And yet it didn’t scare him. It didn’t worry him in the slightest; he trusted Ringo. Yes, it was a little weird, incredibly unfamiliar… and yet strangely stimulating at the same time.
Ringo laid kisses onto George’s back and neck while he manoeuvred his hand on the top of his pyjamas. Every now and then George would let out a soft moan. The sound seemed to penetrate Ringo’s skin, tingling inside his blood, messing severely with his head. The only other sound was the gentle rustling of the duvet cover as the two of them moved and shuffled. When George’s back pressed against Ringo’s stomach and groin, he felt he’d never fucking breathe again. Shit, he could die any minute and it would be worth it. He swallowed hard, felt his heart hammer and his forehead sweat, squeezing harder on the outside of the younger mans trousers. George let out another unintended moan at that… and well, Ringo thought he would fucking explode. George’s arse pressed once again about his erection, which was painfully hard and somehow becoming even harder. His other arm was still draped across George’s chest, and the guitarists’ deep, laboured breathing was hardly helping matters. Ringo felt his head swim, disorientated, his blood surging, making him dizzy with lust. He squeezed harder at George’s erection, and felt the younger man shudder. Oh shit. Ringo needed to release himself. He wandered if he could touch himself without freaking George out and then decided probably not. He kissed again to the back of his head, began to trail his hand from the top of George’s pyjamas to the rim. He did so slowly, so George had time to object. But he didn’t. As Ringo slid the tops of his fingers underneath the rim of the pyjama buttons, George took a sharp intake of breath, wriggling in anticipation, his body pressing against Ringo’s torturously.
John opened his eyes. He couldn’t mistake that noise now. The duvet covers quietly rustling, the ever-so-soft, ever-so-quiet whimpers, and the sounds of lips on skin. Yeah, fuck it fellas, if they thought they were doing this conspicuously, they were sadly mistaken.
With a perverted grin on his face, John silently prodded Paul’s sleeping figure. The bassist stirred only slightly, caught once again inside that coma of illness. John took hold of his shoulder and shook him more roughly. This time, Paul’s eyes peeled open. At first he looked irritable and questioning, but John put his finger to his lips, and silently motioned to the two bandmates behind them. Paul frowned questioningly. He didn’t hear anything straight off, but from John’s wickedly gleeful face, he already knew what was going on. And John was fucking ecstatic to know how embarrassed George would be if he knew of this eavesdropping.
“Are you okay?” They heard Ringo whisper softly.
Paul grinned, meeting John’s eye with the same jovial deviousness at overhearing such a thing. Oh, this was just too funny! Those randy little fuckers!! And assumingly, George must have nodded or something, for the next second the duvet rustled a little bit more, and they could just make out a very quiet, yet sharp intake of breathe from the youngest member of their gang. Paul raised his fist to his mouth, biting down to suppress a giggle - a feat made even harder by John’s silent sniggering. It was of course perfectly plausible that they were George and Ringo were just chatting and fidgeting…… but fuck that, the four of them had shared enough rooms now to detect the sounds of each other’s horniness. They had learnt to smell it on each other even! There was no mistaking what was going on under the duvet just inches away.
Ringo’s fingers trailed down George’s skin, meeting the top of his prick. The drummer licked his lips with nervousness and desire, slowly sliding his fingers around, prolonging the process. He could feel everything like this. He could feel George’s heart hammering, he could feel George’s tiny body squirming in pleasure as Ringo wrapped his fingers around his cock. And Ringo moaned softly, pushing his body closer against George’s back as he began to stroke his length. His hand moved rhythmically, and his body very gently rocked against George’s, his nose pressed to the back of George’s neck.
He watched through half-closed eyes, bound in fascination as George’s shoulders moved up and down, trying to steady his own breathing. Ringo’s prick ached, but he tried to keep his hips under as much control as possible, incredibly anxious not to start rubbing against George, or any of the various other things he’d liked to have done.
George was wrapped inside Ringo’s body possessively, and yet somehow it was a feeling he welcomed. Every time Ringo stroked George’s cock, he’d squeeze tightly George’s chest at the same time, rhythmically pressing them together again and again. George could feel Ringo’s leg wrapping around George’s healthy one, pulling and tangling them together closer, and closer. And George breathed out in calmness and pleasure. The passionate pressure of Ringo’s touch made George’s toes curl, made his breathing ragged. But most of all it was the comforting warmth of his hand and body, once again radiating comfort and protection in just a touch. And now they were closer than ever, and George felt safer than ever, allowing his legs to open further for more manoeuvre, and his hand to release Ringo’s, allowing Ringo to explore further.
Now with his second hand free, Ringo prised up the t-shirt George was wearing. It belonged to the owner of the household, and George practically drowned in it with his tiny figure. He kissed the youngers’ neck harder, more passionately, more desperately, while he ran his hand across George’s pale, skinny stomach. He must have tickled across a sensitive spot, because George’s inhaled particularly heavily, his body pushing backwards against Ringo’s in impulse. The feel sent excited shock waves pounding once again through the drummers blood stream.
As the breathing beside them became more erratic, Paul bit onto John’s shoulder, desperately muffling the giggles that were bursting to erupt from him. John’s body was shaking with suppressed laughter, and the fact they were trying to control themselves actually made the whole situation even funnier. Paul buried his head into John’s chest, breathing deeply to contain himself and shutting his eyes, trying to make himself fall back to sleep. When John’s chest continued to shudder in muffled laughter, Paul pinched him angrily, scrunching his eyes up. Shit, if he laughed now Ringo would never forgive him, and George would be mortified. John let out a small noise, a tiny giggle he’d been trying to suppress, and Paul punched him lightly in the side.
Luckily, this seemed to have gone unnoticed by the other two; apparently too wrapped up in their love… or whatever fucked-up thing it was… to be attentive.
Ringo was now completely on his side, his hand still massaging and stroking George’s cock, engrossed in the feel of between the guitarist’s thighs and writhing body. He pulled himself closer, and wrapped himself around George’s body, realising now what pleasures it bought his younger bandmate. He pulled his leg over the top of George’s thighs, so that there was now not an inch of space between their two figures. His own burning, aching, thriving erection was pushed into the small of George’s back, but he focussed on reaching George’s face with his lips, gently pushing at his hair.
When Ringo gently pulled George’s body round to reach his face, he caught sight of George’s dark eyes in full view, and if anything, it just made his body tingle even more with fierce adrenaline. He guided George slowly onto his back, softly kissed on the point of his cheekbone. When he pulled backwards, he checked the younger mans face for a reflection - any reflection - of his mind state. What he got was a pair of shining, yet deeply troubled eyes gazing back at him, watchfully.
“Everythin’ alright?” He breathed, silently pleading that he hadn’t once again misread George’s advances.
But George nodded his head, and smiled reassuringly. And yet still, his eyes seemed wide with some internal worry suddenly, and yet almost pleading for Ringo to continue. The drummer frowned.
“Are… are you sure?”
Again George nodded, and more urgently this time. “Mm-hmm.”
And still, Ringo couldn’t shake off that evident concern that was brimming from the younger mans eyes. But then, Ringo supposed, he too had been worried and confused when he first started harbouring feelings for the guy. It was natural, he supposed, for something so unusual. Perhaps… just perhaps… this was a good sign?
George reached for Ringo’s free hand, softly tickling above the bandage with his index finger. Ringo threw his inhibitions aside again, kissing gently onto George’s temple, cheeks, his nose, and then meeting his lips. Feeling George’s tongue touch his, he instinctively rubbed harder and faster at the cock in his hand. George made a small moan - slightly louder than their hushed noises prior - and arched his back in pleasure, his hips moving upwards repeatedly into Ringo’s loving hands.
Fuck, Ringo was in heaven. Holding him like this, touching him, kissing him. George’s sounds of gratification whistled like fire through the drummers’ ears. Sounds he’d heard inside hotel rooms when George had birds with him, but never as intimately as now. Ringo was sure of it. If they carried on like this, Ringo would sure he’d climax just from the noises, without any pressure at all. Even so, he found himself gently pushing himself into George’s leg, his eyes quivering shut in lust.
George could feel his head sinking into stillness and sleep again, and fuck, he tried so hard to keep himself conscious. Ringo’s touch was not only comforting now, but intense, passionate and………. and different to any bird George had ever had. Better? Fuck, maybe. His whole body was tensing, shuddering… damn near CONVULSING with the blissfulness of the feeling. It had been so long after all. He tried to keep his breathing under control, he tried to keep his mouth shut and silent. Most importantly he tried to avoid the looming unconsciousness that was lurking nearer. Fuck! He could feel his body sinking and melting into limpness…… could Ringo recognise that as well?
A few inches away, John was still wrapped up in the hilarity of the events, and struggling to keep his recurring giggling fits under control. Paul seemed to have finally forced himself into calmness, his head pushed against John’s chest as he attempted once again to go into sleep. Well, fuck that, John wasn’t going to have this fun on his own. And to emphasise this to his friend, he abruptly pushed his hand underneath the rim of Paul’s pyjama shorts, causing the bassist to jerk awake, grabbing frantically at John’s hand to fend him off. John fought against him adamantly, but Paul was NOT about to get off on the sounds of his two friends doing the same thing.
“John, fuck off!” he hissed as quietly as he could.
But John just grinned; his eyes shining with wickedness.
What a jerk.
Ringo couldn’t bear it anymore. Having George so close to him; their faces inches from one another, the heat bouncing and radiating between two closely pressed bodies. He stroked and caressed George’s cock, building the speed, building the pressure. But he could tell George was slipping from consciousness; every time George blinked, his eyes would remain closed for longer and longer periods. Fuck. In one impulsive movement, he released George’s prick - the guitarist gasped out at the loss of touch - but Ringo yanked down the pyjama bottoms that prevented him observing every part of the person he loved. George didn’t have time to object to this, for the next second Ringo was touching him again, running his hand rhythmically up and down George’s throbbing hardness. And fuck, it felt so strange to be seeing George like this. Ringo swallowed hard, feeling his heart pumping inside his throat, and his head swimming with overpowering urgency for more, more.
George was getting close. He clutched at the shirt Ringo was wearing, and the drummer leant obligingly forwards, pressing reassuring and insistent kisses to the youngers’ sweaty forehead. George breathed fast and heavily, his fists clenching painfully around the drummers collar as those passionate hands bought him closer and closer. The toes on his working leg curled up excruciatingly, and he bit down on his bottom lip frantically to silence himself.
“Come on,” Ringo whispered under his breath.
And George let out one long moan, muffled into the drummers chest. He climaxed, and Ringo collected his whole load inside his hand, continuing to gently stroke and caress at the guitarists length until he was completely finished.
George’s eyes sunk shut immediately, his body floating downwards into some relaxed coma, his head lolling to the side as the ability to remain wakeful became less and less achievable.
Ringo propped himself on his elbows, watching George as he panted, his chest riding up and down frantically. With his clean hand, Ringo smoothly pulled up the guitarist’s pyjama bottoms, before running small, ticklish circles around George’s still-exposed stomach. George’s body flinched as Ringo glided across a particularly tickly spot, and the drummer chuckled softly, before brushing any stray hairs from his younger bandmates eyes.
Sensing that George was almost well-and-truly out for the account, Ringo looped his arm underneath George’s neck, pulling his head into the crook of his neck. In this position, George’s panting breaths breezed against his skin softly.
They lay like that for a few minutes, while the room became calm and still once more. Ringo’s head continued to spin in ecstasy from the astonishing experience he had really lived out… in real life. It just didn’t seem possible, and yet it was true, and he was holding George in his arms, the bringer of all these implausible feelings of adoration.
Ringo felt his eyes melting shut, caught up in a whirlpool of blissfulness.
Until he was interrupted.
John’s voice rang across the room, and the drummer felt his head stop spinning… his blood run cold.
“Well lads…” John sighed dramatically, “As lovely as that was to play witness to, do you think you could move it upstairs next time? You know… for decency sake?”
Ringo’s heart froze dead as he felt George stir and tense inside his arms.
And to make the situation worse, Paul’s high-pitched, infuriatingly gleeful laughter erupted from just behind them; the sound of childish tormenting and merciless ribbing.
George lifted his head, turning to respond, but Ringo pulled him gently back into his chest, murmuring, “Just ignore ‘em George.”
But John wasn’t finished. “God, here I was minding my own business, dreaming of horses with my pure and innocent mind, and THEN WHAT HAPPENS?!” he jeered jovially.
“Goodnight fellas.” Ringo said pointedly.
“Still, it sounded like you both ‘ad a jolly good time. Maybe Paul and I should have a turn next. Urggghhhh! Urgghhhh! Oh Paul! MORE! MORE!”
Paul just laughed more hysterically at this.
“Yeah - goodnight I said.” Ringo sighed.
He continued to hold George close to him, praying that the pitiless mockery wouldn’t make him second-guess any of the incredible things that had just happened between them.
Perhaps John realised this was the case, because after that things quietened down again, the four of them naturally calming down into sleep.
For about five minutes anyway, before Paul’s high-pitched, hysterical laughter filled the room again as he relived the events in his mind.
“PAUL, shut UP!” George suddenly snapped furiously, his head still buried deeply into Ringo’s chest, so the drummer couldn’t even see his face.
“Shh,” Ringo coaxed softly, fingering his hair gently. “Ignore him.”
Though Paul did seem to have gotten the message this time around, and if he did continue to laugh after that, he at least had the courtesy to muffle the sounds so that George couldn’t hear.
After a few more minutes, they were all asleep.
When Ringo awoke the next morning, he still couldn’t escape from the taunts, but thankfully George was still asleep.
The first thing he got was Paul’s childish rendition of, “Oooh, Ohhh that’s nice! Are you okay, baby? Oooh, come for me! Come for me baby!”, chiding consistently in his ear.
John was much more subtle in his approach, preferring to fix Ringo with long stares or suggestive wiggles of the eyebrows whenever Ringo glanced in his direction, which was something he found much MORE infuriating than Paul’s playground-chides.
“Right,” Ringo sighed eventually, “I’m going to make pancakes. D’you want any?”
“Oooh, yes please sweetheart.” John smiled, fluttering his eyelashes girlishly.
Paul merely nodded, now much more engrossed in replacing one of the lampshade light bulbs than anything that Ringo happened to be talking about.
But when Ringo strolled from the room, John provided him with something much more interesting.
“Paul!” he whispered.
When Paul turned, John had another one of those devious smirks on his face. A moment later, and his wickedness was revealed: He tiptoed theatrically across the room, lifting his knees up and down dramatically until he arrived at George’s side on the floor. He knelt down, moving his lips close to his younger bandmates ear.
“MMmmmmm,” he purred suggestively.
Paul wrinkled his nose, not completely able to ignore the fact they were MAYBE crossing a line here… and yet he was finding this taunting immorally enjoyable at the same time.
“Oh George, come on baby, wake up and give me some lovin’!” John growled
“Oh my God…” Paul giggled, covering his face in his hands.
The next minute and John was mockingly massaging his shoulders.
“Come on George,” he purred, “Show Johnny the good stuff.”
“John…” Paul muttered warningly, “Come on, don’t now.”
But John seemed to be finding George’s stubborn sleepiness personally offensive, and scowled suddenly.
“George!” he barked, nudging George in the shoulder - harder this time. “Get up you poof!”
And again, the guitarist did not stir.
“George!” he snapped again. “For fuck sake… GEORGE!”
He pushed George’s sleeping figure hard, causing the small body to rock slightly.
And still… George showed no signs whatsoever of reacting. He didn’t move a muscle, his eyelids did not twitch.
Paul frowned, pulling himself uneasily from the armchair.
“G… George?”
“GEORGE!” John bellowed, shaking the figure roughly.
Paul knelt down at the youngers’ side, his eyes suddenly wide with some kind of nervous anxiety which he couldn't quite explain. But something wasn't right. “Georgie?”
He moved the hair off George’s face, running small circles across George’s forehead with his thumb, “Georgie? Wake up…” he called softly.
“Fuck…” John breathed, his eyes fixated on his friends cataleptic body. His eyes darted back and forth as some kind of sickening feeling appeared to be overtaking his body... one that he couldn't completely explain.
“GEORGE!” Paul suddenly shouted, taking his turn to shake the skinnier figure. “GEORGE, FOR FUCK SAKE!”
“Shit Paul…” John croaked
Paul ignored him, his voice cracking as he cried, “George!”
John could hear it... Paul’s voice was weak…… he sounded terrified. It sent shivers racing up John’s spine to hear him like that.
“Paul…”
“GEORGE WAKE UP!”
“Paul, he’s not fucking waking up…”
“Georgie?!... Fuck, George please…”
“George!”
“Fuckin’ hell, John…”
“GEORGE! WAKE UP!”