The Reality of the Situation (Has Finally Caught Up)
Title: The Reality of the Situation (Has Finally Caught Up)
Pairing: George/Ringo, Paul/George, John/Paul
Rating: PG13
Summary: George catches Ringo playing.
Author notes: Sorry sorry for account hopping with blasoconica , hope it didn't confuse anyone. Here's the FINAL! part of this series that I hadn't even meant to make a series. And sorry, bostonhartache , for ending it here when you told me not to. Hopefully you'll like the ending I gave it anyway. <3
Disclaimer: Completely fictional, do not own The Beatles.
Part 1, Part 2
Ringo’s eyes snapped open and a cold sweat rippled down his body. He briefly wondered what woke him up, but then he was painfully aware of the aching hardness between his legs. He scourged his memory for the source of all this mess, but he remembered nothing of his dream save for a vague hotness, wetness, and mop of dark hair.
Ringo sat up and looked around to find that no one was around. Oh yes, they were at that party. It seemed like ages since Ringo had slipped out to take a nap, but he was glad to have woken up before his friends had come back, or else he’d have gotten a barrage of puberty jokes from John, girlish giggles from Paul, and sarcastic thumps on the back from George-
George. Ringo’s prick stirred. He swallowed hard but no matter what he tried, he couldn’t get the images of George out of his head, George running his hands through his damp hair and throwing his head back and the bob in his throat bouncing erratically, and Ringo just had to reach into his pants and close his eyes, because there was no stopping this now, there was no stopping George from climbing up his body and licking up his chest and panting in his ear as he rubbed his own erection against Ringo’s, and George taking Ringo’s hand away and replacing it with his own until he was slowly pumping and his teeth were nibbling Ringo’s hips and then his mouth was moving lower and lower and his lips were wrapped around Ringo’s engorged flesh and his tongue was running along the underside of his cock and then it was fitting itself in the tiny slit of his head, and Ringo was thrusting and thrusting into George’s mouth with clenched teeth and an aching throat until he let out a short series of, “fuck, fuck, fuck”s and gasped a, “George,” when he came hard into his hand.
… But suddenly the room was too quiet. Ringo peeled his eyes open to see a shock-still George standing in the doorway with wide, stunned eyes. George didn’t move, he didn’t say anything, which meant something was really wrong, because George always said something, even when it wasn’t at all appropriate.
George turned and stalked out of the room. Ringo finally found his voice and croaked out a “George,” but George was gone with a quiet click of the suite door.
This time, Ringo didn’t mix dream with reality, because there was no mistaking the cold dread that choked him.
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At the next show, Ringo drummed automatically and robotically, and his eyes either stared off blankly into the crowd or gazed at his drums or scrutinized George’s back as he danced along with Paul and John. Ringo sang his one song, but he could barely muster up the strength and concentration to so that it ended up being mostly Paul and John covering for him. His ears were numbed from song after song of I love you’s and You love me’s and Let’s dance together’s, and Ringo was more than relieved when he got up for his final bow, stuck a cigarette between his lips, and marched off stage.
John hadn’t mentioned George since he had witnessed Ringo openly and eagerly playing at that party days ago. He and Ringo talked and joked with the rest, of course, but John only ever acknowledged the situation with occasional sad glances from across rooms.
George, in contrast, hadn’t spoken a single world to him. He barely even made eye contact, and when he did, he broke off as quickly as he connected and went to go find Paul, leaving Ringo feeling empty because he had nothing more, really, no deeper in shame in which he could hide and no confidence left to be scraped away. Ringo’s body was hallowed out so that he was now just an ugly puppet to be kicked around.
Eventually it was Paul who approached him. Ringo sat in the dressing room to another show in some city somewhere, staring at his reflection and searching his eyes for any kind of emotion to convince himself that, maybe, he did have some spirit left, maybe he wasn’t just some kid who’d had his feelings played out countless times, but he couldn’t find anything. His feet were now planted firmly on the ground, but they he had landed in the Antarctic desert, cold and lifeless with the wind howling like how his ears were always throbbing now from all those empty words the four of them constantly belted.
Paul plopped down on the seat next to him. Ringo glanced at him though the mirror but otherwise did nothing to acknowledge his presence.
“Hey, Ringo,” Paul chirped.
“Hi, Paul.”
“How’s it going?”
“Nothing.”
Paul stared at Ringo, sighed, and then said, “Do you mind telling me what’s going on between you and George?”
“Sorry?” Ringo said, finally turning to look at Paul.
Paul gave him a look. “Do you really expect me to not notice when two of my best mates are pretending the other doesn’t exist?”
A flash of George awkwardly holding himself up and looking everywhere but Ringo flashed through his mind. Ringo lowered his gaze as Paul pressed on, “George has been really quiet lately, and he hasn’t properly smiled in days. I’m starting to worry that something’s really happened.”
Ringo allowed himself a tiny smile and said, “You’re just looking out for him, aren’t you?”
“I’m looking out for both of you,” Paul corrected. “You two are best mates, and when you’re together, there’s nothing that can break you apart. You provide him with all the positive energy he needs to move on. I only want to make him happy and his life comfortable; it’s the least he deserves, you know. So I’d very much appreciate it if you two would make up, because honestly, I don’t think I could go another day without seeing his smile.”
Ringo couldn’t help grinning at that. He suddenly felt guilty for despising Paul and-very occasionally-blaming everything on him, because, really, Paul was a great lad, one of the few who Ringo trusted with his life. If anyone were to have George, Ringo was glad it was Paul, because he knew Paul would always treat George right and do everything he could to keep him happy. And knowing that allowed Ringo to let a spark of hope peek into his heart.
“Yeah, Paul, we just had a bit of a row,” Ringo explained. “I’ll fix it up, don’t worry.”
“Good. Thanks, mate, I owe you one,” Paul said, getting up from his chair. He patted Ringo’s shoulder and moved to the door.
Ringo called out, “Paul?”
“Yeah?”
“Take care of him, will you?”
Paul briefly frowned, but then he nodded and left.
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Ringo listened to the rising voices in the other room with vague interest. John had just stepped into the shower, so Ringo was left alone to witness the voices through the wall that had gone from mumbles to snaps to yelps to screams until, just as expected, footsteps thundered and knocks pounded on Ringo’s door, and Ringo automatically padded over to get the door.
George barely cast a glance at Ringo before storming into the room and collapsing face-first into the nearest bed, which happened to be John’s. Ringo shut the door and watched George’s restless body, and he wondered if it was okay for him to sit next to George after what happened, but he didn’t care and just climbed onto the bed anyway. He sat next to George’s head and waited patiently, listening to his best friend’s labored breathing and John’s humming in the shower and the cheap water’s tapping against the porcelain.
“Ringo?” George mumbled into the bed.
“Yeah, George.”
“Paul’s being a git.”
Ringo almost smiled at the thought that this could be his chance to snatch George up while he still felt cross about Paul, but then a wave of anger hit him. Paul had promised to take care of George and this was how he did it?
“Is that so?” Ringo bit out.
George turned so that he was facing Ringo, but he still avoided eye contact as he explained, “I tried to show him one of my songs, but he wouldn’t listen, and when I tried to tell him that he always did that, he said he didn’t and just wouldn’t listen to me! Why doesn’t he listen, Ringo?”
Ringo hesitated before whispering, “Because he’s afraid.”
George’s gaze finally met Ringo’s. Ringo continued, “He’s afraid of you being just as good a musician as him. Paul’s so used to being the older one and you being his little brother, and he’s afraid of what’ll happen if that changes. People become afraid when a relationship they’re used to suddenly changes, you know.”
And George just looked at Ringo, and Ringo looked back at George, and John was now singing an opera rendition of Mary Had A Little Lamb. Slowly, George scooted over and placed his head on Ringo’s lap, once more breaking eye contact, and before he could think, Ringo combed his fingers through George’s thick hair and lightly massaged his scalp.
They stayed like that, silent, until George shifted a bit and looked up and whispered, “Ringo?”
“Yes, love?”
“I don’t want to lose you,” George confessed. “I don’t want your-feelings for me to get in the way of what we have right now.”
Ringo understood, but he didn’t trust himself to speak, so he said nothing and just continued to comb George’s hair.
Shifting a bit more to see more of Ringo, George elaborated, “You’re my best mate, Ringo. I need you. For that. For this. I need to be able to talk to you whenever I have problems, and laugh with you whenever people are being gits, and I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t want to hurt you either, and-and-we’re best mates, Rings, and I don’t think it’d ever be the same without you, because no one else could replace you and-and-”
“Shut up,” Ringo said smiling. He smiled because he had finally heard those words, those words that pleaded for Ringo to stay for a relationship that George and Paul would never be able to reciprocate. And in a way, that proved that his and George’s friendship was just as meaningful as George and Paul’s love.
George spotted Ringo’s smile and grinned back, and with that, Ringo knew he’d never have to play again.