Ringo Takes Charge---Chapter Eighteen
Title: Ringo Takes Charge---Chapter Eighteen (Ringo's POV)
Rating: NC17
Pairing: George/Ringo
Author: larainefan/Alicia Mills
Location/time: London flat, mid-1960s
Warnings: sex; unconsensual sex
Disclaimer: not the real Beatles, just characters loosely inspired by them
Author Note: i hope by now lj cuts are working. If not, I'll post to my journal like last time, and leave a link. This chapter is mostly Ringo's POV. I say mostly, because there is at least one part which is more George's feelings, but I felt needed to be left in. I didn't originally plan to offer separate POVs, but I've been fighting and wrestling with this chapter for so long. This is the best I could do, after much struggling. Maybe in time I can edit, combine both viewpoints into a cohesive whole. Chapter 20 will be the final installment of this series.
"You really need to loosen up, George! Because I need this from you. Please---" he babbled encouragingly, walking George backwards.
As he's directing George into the bedroom, Ringo's numbed brain feels muddied and yet his body seems to be going on instinct.
He can barely hear George's protestations, they're submerged and buried beneath the pounding of his own justifications, his self-righteousness.
"Come on, give me some love---" he renders, in a husky, intimate voice.
Finally. He, Ringo, is in command of the situation.
He loves seeing George made vulnerable like this.
"I'm sure you could do with a fuck, right?" Ringo's voice is wracked sensually, with fervent raw need.
He can feel George's rage, coiled and curled within, so close the young man is, and a thrill of electricity gusts through Ringo's body, a sense of anticipation.
And in the hubbub of his brain, Ringo reasons how he just wants to be near George, as close as can be, is that so bad? Is that such a crime?
"Come on, George," Ringo lustfully demands, "you know you want this. You've wanted it all along."
He longs to do things to him, for him.
He's convinced himself the only way to work past George's apprehensions is to just do it, just get this over with---
"Mmm?" Ringo whispers harshly. "I'll bet you're a really good fuck. Let's find out, shall we?"
And he feels nervous yet ready, needy, positively greedy with need.
At this moment he has one thing in mind only, and the rest of the world can go to hell, for all he'd notice---
Still not getting the enthusiastic response he wants from George, Ringo warns in angry, agonizing lust, "Don't provoke me, George!"
Then he's moving George's hands away as he presses him against the wall beside the bed. George is still clothed and Ringo runs a hand down the outside of his shirt, feeling through the fabric the smooth tautness of his finely-muscled back.
He buries his nose in the strands of George's hair, inhaling his smell. "Come on George," Ringo bellows ruthlessly. "Help me out here!"
The promise of sweet surrender is at hand, as Ringo crushes their mouths together, silencing any protests, then breaking their lips apart long enough to utter:
"Let's get something straight, George---you are mine." He grins. "Or you will be, after this."
Somewhere in his drunken rush to get at George, he somehow remembers he needs to prepare George, to not hurt him anymore than he has to, he reaches behind him and rummages around in the night table---
He tosses a small bottle of baby oil onto the bed.
He just wants to slip into his body, to find out for himself what it is like.
So he claims by force again that petulant mouth, kisses him with precision, his motives only too clear. His tongue braces lasciviously against George's soft lips. And George cooperates, here he responds quite compliantly, because they've done this much---kissing---before, and so much more besides.
However, clothes are impeding Ringo's progress, and he reaches out trembling quivering fingers, begins divesting George of his garments. His hands work at popping George's buttons, pulling off his shirt, fumbling around at the snap of his jeans. He draws the zipper down, pausing to allow his hands to dip beneath the waistband, to feel, to play around.
He discovers George isn't wearing any underwear. "Oh, George," Ringo chuckles, amused, "you naughty boy."
He tugs at George's jeans, wanting to view everything, kicking the clothing hastily aside once they're completely drawn off.
He holds a temperamental George down with one arm and begins clawing at his own clothing, opening his pants, letting his dick spring free. He'd been ready for action even whilst arguing heatedly with George in the other room; indeed, the anger had been quite arousing.
He ignores George's thin hands, pushing at him to stop.
Seeing George prone, in position lying there, is a rush! He admires the heaving chest, the reddened countenance, the purplish cock. He measures George with a hungry appraising gaze, relishing the way George is all laid out for his perusal.
George takes this opportunity to quickly turn on his side, trying to sit up.
"Come, you---!" Ringo barks, pushing him back down.
He straddles and subdues George, mounting him.
Ringo gets the better of George, is moving around on top of him.
He lies on him, keeping him in place, their hearts galloping, their swollen genitals side by side, pressed and bunched up together. He feels his nerves vibrate next to George.
George appears more manageable, more sedate, he is frozen, as if he's waiting to see what happens next. And Ringo tongues him again, gently grasping his hair. "Yes," he softly insists, to George.
Seeking yet more of George's cooperation, Ringo trails down, leaving wet kisses. He works his way down George's skinny body, his tongue poking, prying, prodding, probing.
lips and tongue and teeth tease pure pale flesh---
he tongues the flat little nipples 'til they grow erect, his mouth eagerly and easily swapping one for the other---
"I bet you wouldn't mind if it was John!" Ringo taunts, winking and casually tweaking a nipple. "Show me what you've got, George! Come on, let's see what you're made of---!"
George is still squirming around; Ringo trounces and desperately cleaves to him. The noises coming from the writhing man beneath and below him turn Ringo on.
Ringo caresses George's knee, then strokes upward, over George's thighs, the silky skin there. He runs his hand over George's naked hip to his backside. "Mmm" Ringo murmurs into George's neck with a greedy sound, "such a sweet ass."
He pushes George to lie on his side, drapes his arm possessively across George's stomach as he draws him closer. His heels dig into the mattress, trying to find a comfortable foothold, some traction. His chest is pressed to George's back. "Now I've got you penned in. Now what are you gonna do about it, hm?"
George is still, though his heart hammers. Ringo is gratified; rewarded by George's temporary compliance.
But George is so quiet, when Ringo longs to hear him shouting his name.
He grabs the bottle of baby oil and aims it in the general targeted area, but Ringo is drunk and messy, and the oil spills sloppily everywhere. Some of it lands on George, some is on Ringo and some is saturating the sheets, though Ringo doesn't seem to notice.
He presses his hips into George's, groin against ass.
"Give it up, George. Just give it to me---" he demands as he nudges him into position with his knees. His hard dick brushes heavily against George as he slides into place.
Ringo's hardness pushes and probes, rubbing up against the crack of George's ass, seeking entry, moving against his entrance.
"Ringo---!!!" George flails as much as he is able, with Ringo so tightly entwined around him.
"Just take it, George!" Ringo envelops George, embracing him, trapping his upper arms in his hold as well. He feels George succumb in shock, and sees the blood drain from his face, as he's pushing past that ring of resistant muscle.
A gasp, a swallowed sob in the back of the throat from George, and Ringo is sighing, soothing, "Oh yeah!" as he breathes in relief.
Slow and leisurely, he's falling into George, immersing himself inside of him, exploring new places, spaces he's only dreamed of until now.
And he's filling George to the core, waiting, willing for George to adjust. It is a thick slow penetration; Ringo's prick is hard, hot, lined with veins as he moves, delves in further.
He is covering George, surrounding him, his weight presses George's body into the mattress. Yet George is surrounding Ringo, too---encasing him into his very depths. "Jesus, George!" Ringo manages to grind out, in praise.
He plunges into him, plundering. He dimly feels George's hands clutching tightly at his forearms. George's wet eyes are clenched shut, a fine sheen of sweat appears across his upper brow. He seems to be whispering something soundlessly, his teeth working at his lips. And Ringo worries about hurting him but Fuck it, it's such a relief!
And since he's opened George, he pushes into him repetitively...thrust thrust...rock-steady...thrust...Ringo grinds himself into George...thrust thrust thrust.
"Fuck me!" Ringo commands, in a plea. "Don't just lie there, Do something, George, move! Come on, Fuck my cock!"
But George doesn't move much, he appears shellshocked or something, transfixed in his own trauma, so Ringo resigns himself to being the one to do all the work. As they move in concert in a warped concept of love, Ringo is smacking against George's prostate, savouring the tight heat. And he's thinking, George must like this at least a little, right?
He continues taking George. He is pounding into him, proclaiming his love, he only wants George to see, to realize, the extent of his feelings. As if to ease his troubled nagging bit of conscience remaining, for having forcefully conquered George, he is yelling, "You see?!! See what you've made me do?!"
George is shaking his head, his face buried in the pillow, he will not be blamed for this! He tries to move past the pain and work up the breath needed to curse Ringo and tell him to go fuck himself, but then the pain subsides somewhat, suddenly isn't all bad, maybe there's a dim glimmer of relief in store, he can only hope, and he hangs suspended in a state of fogged confusion, where his body for awhile doesn't quite know exactly what it feels.
"Mine 'n all," Ringo grinds out possessively, murmuring against George's heated skin, caressing his limbs, his whispers leaving tracings of touch.
A few more moments, of moving in and out, then, "Oh, Georgie!" Ringo's voice manages to shake out. His dirty pleas tumble in the air. He is just begging for relief, some release. It is good. So. Fucking. Good. And oh, he is near, so near, so close...
His hot, orgasmic liquid builds up.
The sounds are all crashing, cascading together in tumult, colliding. He suddenly creams, shooting off inside of George, pumping his seed deep into him, a fierce wave of cum, of pent-up emotion years in the making. His body relaxes, collapsing against George for a few moments, heart pounding.
Sweat and semen have plastered and pasted them together.
Eventually Ringo pulls out, removing himself, leaks of fluid baptizing George's skin, little droplets swimming with sperm.
He feels as if he has just left his body. He is mercifully spent, emptied. There is a look of supreme fulfillment on Ringo's face, of bliss. He is floating downstream. Ringo's eyes are slowly closing, sinking into slumber. Now satiated, he can drift at last into contented dreams.
Ringo falls back with a grateful sigh, a satisfied smile on his face, and promptly passes out.