Happy Holidays!!

[macca44552]

Title: The Christmas Tree

Author: macca44552
Pairing: G/R
Rating: PG-13

Warning: language, mentions of drug use, mild sexual situations

Summary: Ringo is just not feeling the Christmas spirit. Will Christmas tree shopping with three indecisive and argumentative (not to mention mental) Beatles help get him in the mood?

A/N: Happy Holidays! Also, this is the first time that I’ve written G/R seriously. *crosses fingers*

A/N 2: Historically accurate? No. The first sessions for Revolver started around April 1966, not December 1965. I moved the date, though, to make this charming little thing.

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Beatles, nor do I claim to. This is a fictional story and is not written to be libelous.



After this night, Ringo was certain that he was going to have a hard time not hating Christmas trees.

“What about that one?” Paul asked, his breath floating in the cold night.

“Too big,” George responded. Ringo rolled his eyes and hugged the warm layers of clothing around his little body. He didn’t want to be pissing around outside looking for a Christmas tree; he wanted to be inside his house with a hot cuppa and Mo to keep him company. But Ringo thought that a truly spectacular miracle would have to occur if he were to make it home before his balls froze off.

“It’s a bloody tree! Can we pick one and hurry this the fuck up?!” John whined, but Ringo knew that John wasn’t all that upset about this whole situation. Actually, how The Beatles ended up from the comfortable confines of the studio to the bitterly cold forests north of London was really a bit amusing.

They were all in the studio, working on a new song for their next album. A bit intimidating, Ringo thought, trying to construct an album better than Rubber Soul, but his doubts soon faded when he heard some of the material that John and Paul were coming up with. More than that, his doubts virtually vaporized when George privately showed him what songs he was working on. Ringo tried to hide his severe blush as he watched George whip out his sitar and play him some fab tunes. Honestly, Ringo really liked every song that George did (even if John and Paul seemed to think differently), but maybe he was a bit biased. After all, Ringo had a bit of a…er…crush on his best mate.  Had it ever since Hamburg, he reckoned. But it wasn’t as if he could act on his feelings…what the bloody hell was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to walk up to George and compliment him on his high cheek bones? Was he supposed to buy him chocolates and roses? Was he supposed to cleverly maneuver him under an innocent mistletoe?

No. He was just supposed to ignore this queer side of him and move on. He had perfected the ‘moving on’ part for years. It was only sometimes that his feelings would come out again…almost choking him with their intensity.  But they didn’t kill him yet, and he didn’t think they ever would.

“This one!” George said as he pointed to the modest-looking evergreen.  Paul shook his head.

“Too small.”

“It’s not too small; it’s just the right size!” George said with knit eyebrows and crossed arms. Ringo chuckled.

“No…It’s too small,” Paul said stubbornly.

“You know…it sort of looks like a deformed crocodile if you turn yer head this way,” John said as he tilted his head to the right. Ringo laughed and turned his head in the way that John had instructed. It didn’t look like a deformed anything. John was probably just tripping out…again.

“But you agree that it’s too small?” Paul tried. George swore.

“It’s not too fucking small!”

“It’s actually very small. Disgustingly so,” John deadpanned and Ringo caught Paul throwing him a grateful smile. George turned to Ringo.

“Ritchie! What do you think?” George asked. Ringo sighed. All his mind could think about was the fact that he lost all feeling in his legs.

“I don’t care what tree you nutters choose. Just choose,” Ringo said. George gave him a ‘thanks a lot’ look, while Paul motioned for them to keep moving. Eppy and Mal were with them too, and they looked just as frustrated as he felt. He really didn’t care what Christmas tree they chose. A tree was a tree. At this point, Ringo would attach lights to a bloody bush if it meant that he would get home quickly.

“Fine. Let’s go find an appropriately sized tree to stroke your egos with, then!” George crossed his arms and followed the others with a slight sulk on his face.

“Unlike you, son, I don’t need a tree to stroke my ego,” John grinned as he raised his eyebrows. George gave him the middle finger. Once again, Ringo’s mind traveled to the event that brought him to this horrible situation.

They wanted a Christmas tree in the studio. Ringo didn’t necessarily care if they had one; he was just in support of getting a tree because it would look good. The others, for some strange fucking reason, were really passionate about the damn thing. Paul was complaining about how dull it was without one, George claimed that it didn’t ‘feel right’ (he did have a point, it was only a few days before Christmas), and John started harassing Eppy about his…as John put it… ‘Jewishness’… getting in the way of their Christmas tree happiness. Ringo had to admit that John following and bothering Eppy around the studio was pretty fucking hilarious. Well, until John asked him if not getting a tree was something that ‘queers did’, and if queers open their presents ‘around a giant glowing penis’. Because of his feelings towards George, Ringo was a bit sensitive to the word ‘queer’ and all the disdain that the rest of the lads (George included) showed towards the subject. In fact, George’s disgust towards queers was exactly the reason why Ringo decided to push Harrison out of his mind. At first, he tried to convince himself that George was alright with queers because he was nice to Eppy. Ringo realized that he was just being naïve. Of course, he didn’t fault George on his feelings towards…homosexuality. I mean, that’s how he should feel about men fucking each other-disgust. Unfortunately, Ringo felt things quite different from disgust when he thought about him and George going at it.

They walked a little farther along into the forest. Paul and John were joking around about something, while George was having a rather secretive conversation with Mal.  Ringo felt his lips and body yearn for the fulfillment of nicotine. Unfortunately, his hands were covered with black gloves, and he would only be able to properly light one by taking off his mittens-he knew this because he previously tried to light a ciggie with his gloves on, but the nicotine stick slipped and fell to the snow below his feet. He only had one left. He decided that he would have a proper smoke when he was safely settled in Mal’s car again.

“Fine! Mal, go and fetch us a tree!” Eppy relented after John’s penis comment. The burly man smiled and got himself ready to go to the nearest shop and bring them a Christmas tree. Paul was frowning, though.

“I want to come. You might not get the right one,” he said as he grabbed his coat and scarf. Mal sighed.

“Well what sort of tree do you want?”

“A big one,” Paul said as he licked his lips. George snorted.

“We don’t need a big tree! Get us a small one,” George said.  John shook his head.

“I don’t want a fucking small tree Harrison. It needs to be big and fucked-up looking. You know, unique,” John said as he threw on his jacket as well.

“Unique? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” George asked.

“I want one shaped like Eppy’s penis,” John deadpanned and the studio roared with laughter. Brian’s face turned to a rather unflattering shade of red.

“Okay, then. We’ll all go and pick out a tree that we can agree on,” Eppy decided.

“Well you lads can go. I don’t really care what sort of plant you guys bring in here,” Ringo said as he twirled his drumsticks in the air. All five lads in the room, complete with jackets, scarves, and mittens, stared at him like had gone mad. He was not getting out of that one.

And he didn’t. He went with Mal, Eppy, John, Paul, and George to the nearest tree-vending outlet. To his extreme displeasure, no one could come to a clear consensus on what Christmas tree to buy. Eventually, Paul decided that this was because all the trees there were horrible, and he convinced the others to try a few new places. At that late hour, though, the tree-vending places were closed and they ended up circling around London aimlessly.

“Let’s just get a tree tomorrow!” Ringo tried as he rubbed his eyes. It was almost 10.00 and he wanted nothing more than to go home. Paul shook his head.

“No, we have to get it now. I’m not coming to the studio tomorrow, I’m spending the next few days with Jane,” Paul explained. Ringo sighed. He had forgotten that Paul was going off with his girlfriend-it was because of this that they had decided work in the studio at night. A sort of a one last get together before the holidays. Apparently, a Christmas tree was desperately needed.

“Let’s just cut one down from the forest,” John said with his eyes closed. Ringo laughed heartedly at John’s joke.

Only problem was that it wasn’t a joke.

John was serious about finding an evergreen tree, cutting it down, and dragging it into the studio. Paul was just as serious. So much so that he demanded Mal to stop the car so that he and John (Mal went along for protection) could run into some late night ‘everything’ store to purchase some ornaments and a saw. While they were in there, Ringo and George tried to think up of at least ten reasons as to why this was a bad idea.  They came up with forty.

So that was how Ringo Starr came to be in the forest near Chesterfield, which was so far away from the studio and from his home.  He was freezing his arse off, suffering from mild nicotine withdrawal, and getting crankier by the minute as the other three still continued to argue over the tree possibilities.

“It’s that one!” John said. Ringo stopped in his tracks and looked up at the tree that John was pointing to.  It was large width-wise but small in height, and it seemed to curve slightly to the right at the top. It was unique indeed. Ringo looked around at the other three, and judging by their slightly awe-stricken faces, he could discern that they had found their Christmas tree. About time.

“It’s gear,” Paul breathed and George nodded frantically.

“I like it,” Ringo said loudly, hoping to end all this pointless gawking and just get down to the actual chopping part.

“So…Mal,” Eppy nodded, indicating that Mal should get ready to chop the thing down. John shook his head.

“Well…are we gonna start decorating, then?” John asked as he rummaged through the decorations that he and Paul had procured. Ringo raised an eyebrow.

“I thought we were going to cut it down,” Ringo said, confused.

“Yeah,” Eppy voiced. John looked at them with a bored expression.

“Well I’ve got a pen in my pocket. Think that’ll do the trick?” John drawled.

“We couldn’t find a saw in the store. We just decided that we would find a tree and decorate it,” Paul explained. Ringo almost shoved his head against the damn tree. We’re going to stay out here all fucking night and decorate a tree?!?I

“WHAT!?” George voiced. Ringo was thankful that he had George to express his opinions so easily.

“What?” Paul asked. He was genuinely confused.

“You want us to stay out here all night, decorate a tree…and leave?” George asked. John and Paul nodded their heads.  “Then what was the point of everything that we’ve done tonight?!” he asked.

“The point was to celebrate together.  Decorating a tree is nice and symbolic, you know? Doesn’t matter where we are when we do it,” Paul said and Ringo saw him shiver. He was cold; they were all cold. Ringo felt guilty for being so negative towards this whole situation; they were doing this to celebrate Christmas together. It was pretty fucked up, but it was them. Ringo’s mood lightened drastically after Paul’s words.

“Don’t let Paul’s sentimental words fool you. He just really wanted to find a stiff bit of wood,” John joked. Ringo rubbed his hands together before stepping over towards the bag of decorations and picking a few to put on the tree.

“You feeling okay, Ritchie? You’ve been acting odd tonight,” George whispered in his ear. Ringo shivered and he hoped that it was just from the cold.

“Yeah. Just wasn’t feeling the spirit until now,” Ringo said before a scream pierced the air around them. Ringo looked up and saw that Eppy was glaring at John and wiping a bit of snow off his face. Uh oh.

“AH HA!” John yelled jovially as he chucked a snowball at Paul’s head. The latter laughed and prepared a white missile to shoot at his mischievous friend.

Ringo cringed when he felt a cold ball of snow connect with his forehead. He ran away frantically and only a short glance was enough to tell him that Eppy was the culprit. It was weird seeing their manager running around chucking snowballs like a schoolboy. A bit creepy too. But Ringo was just happy to duck when he could and blindly throw snowballs at his enemies.

After a few minutes, he felt someone grab his arm and drag him through a thicket of trees. At first he was a little worried that a cop had snatched him up. I mean, he knew that they were pretty deep into the forest, but he still was a bit concerned as to how far their meddling voices were being carried. Upon closer inspection, though, he noticed that it was George. They ran through the trees willingly to, Ringo assumed, find a nice place to hide from the snow that the others were pelting.

“So what’s our strategy?” Ringo asked as he leaned against a tree and tried to listen for the others.

“Build up as many snowballs as possible, and then attack them relentlessly,” George said. Ringo laughed. In George-speak, which took years of mastery, Ringo knew that what George really meant was ‘wait here until they get bored and then go and find them.’

George laughed and leaned against the same tree that Ringo was up against. He was breathing heavily, so Ringo figured that George must’ve taken a bigger snowball beating than he had.

“I’ll get to the snowballs in a minute,” George said. Ringo laughed and happiness filled his core as he breathed in the cold air. It was very refreshing, and it was also the first time that Ringo realized that this was Christmas. Sure, the decorations were all around him(not to mention those annoying fans  who would sing Christmas carols right outside his house), but Ringo had forgotten that Christmas was right in front of his nose. In a few days’ time he would be sitting in front of the Christmas tree, laughing and smiling as he watched his son Zak open up his presents.

“Yer face looks weird. Why are you smiling like that?” George asked with a big smile as he pointed at Ringo’s face. The drummer laughed.

“I dunno…just…Happy Christmas!” Ringo said loudly, his blue eyes were large and positively sparkling. George giggled.

“Oh yes, but you forgot your beard and suit in the car.”

“Sod you,” Ringo’s body took to a fit of giggles and so did George’s. This was one of those times. It was one of those times when Ringo’s dormant feelings for George would suddenly erupt, and the drummer felt his heart sloshing around happily in his chest.

Because he was so fucking happy, he brought his hand up, hooked it around George’s neck, and kissed him full on the lips. It was short, but it was hard. His hand immediately fell from George’s neck and the cold air nipped it harshly.

George stared at him in awe. His mouth was open, his eyes were wide, and his hand reached up and touched his lips lightly, as if still not sure about what had actually happened. Ringo was on fire; that short kiss had made bolts of lightning run through his body and awaken a part of him that he thought was far too frozen for movement. He really shouldn’t have done that. Now he was going to have to try harder to bury his feelings for George. He really hadn’t kissed him because of any sort of hope that his friend would suddenly realize his feelings, toss Pattie aside, and be queer partners. Ringo was just acting on a whim brought on by the Christmas spirit.

“Look, I don’t want to have a barney over this-” Ringo started.

“Ritchie…I’m not-”

“I know. It just happened okay?”

“But how coul-”

“I need a ciggie. Maybe my lips needed something to do or something…I don’t know,” Ringo said as he looked at the ground. In an instant, George slipped off his glove, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a ciggie. Brave. Ringo took it gratefully and put it between his lips. He really didn’t want to have to take off his gloves in order to light the thing, but he supposed that that was his only option now wasn’t it?

“I’ll light it for you,” George spoke quietly as he took a match out of his pocket and fumbled with it a bit before he had the thing ablaze. Without warning, George took the ciggie out of Ringo’s mouth and lit it.

“Open up,” George whispered. Ringo’s heart was hammering in his chest and an embarrassing blush crawled its way up his face when he realized that he was fully erect. Soundlessly, Ringo parted his lips and George slipped the ciggie in the small space.

Eyes never leaving George’s, he took a deep drag of the cigarette, and his eyelids drooped a bit when he felt the gentle smoke wrap around his lungs and lift his brain up just a little bit. He heard George gulp and noticed that while his eyes were focused on George’s eyes, the latter’s eyes were intently staring at Ringo’s lips. Ritchie gulped as well and he wondered what was going on. Was George testing him? Was he trying to see if Ringo’s queer-ness would come out and manifest itself on George’s lips? Or was there just something really horrible on Ringo’s lips that absolutely required George’s full attention?

“What?” Ringo asked in a surprisingly gentle voice. George swallowed.

“I was wondering if I could try something,” George said as he stepped closer and took hold of the drummer’s cigarette. Ringo body was tingling all over the place and he felt his mind slowly begin to shut down as George stepped a bit closer.

“Yeah…” Ringo assented. The word came out flimsy on his lips, but George didn’t seem to care. He took another step forward and completely removed the cigarette from Ringo’s mouth and placed it to his own lips. Ringo bit the inside of his cheek to keep from making any inappropriate noises. Once George had taken a sufficient drag, he dropped the cigarette and blew out a steady stream of smoke in the direction of Ringo’s mouth. He bowed his head a bit and made it so that their noses touched. Ringo was breathing frantically and he could tell that George wasn’t having a particularly easy time with the whole ‘breathing’ thing either. A small, hesitant sound escaped from the back of George’s throat before he closed the distance between them and pressed their lips together snugly. Ringo’s heart nearly stopped. They stood there, two pairs of lips glued together and neither dared to make a move for a long time. Then, a soft sigh escaped from George and Ringo felt the guitarist open up just a little bit and move against him. It was all very light, and the drummer moved back, if only to test the waters. He nearly growled when he felt George increase the pressure and they moved their lips together in a lazy circular motion. Ringo grabbed the back of George’s coat, and the latter brought his hands up to rest on Ringo’s neck.

“Cold,” Ringo whined when George pressed his hands against his neck.

“Too bad,” George responded and slipped his tongue in between Ringo’s lips, earning a grunt from the drummer. Fuck the cold.

Ringo heard George whine as their two tongues collided together in a gentle, yet demanding kiss. The soft gasps and little nips that George prepared for his mouth were sending Ringo down a spiraling stairway of ecstasy. He had wanted this to happen for so long. So bloody long. He never wanted it to end. Groaning quietly, he pressed himself into George and the heat that radiated off of their bodies was astounding. It made the cold winter air feel like the gentle breeze of a spring day. Of course, when Ringo was with George, everything got better anyway.

Suddenly, George pulled away and left Ringo staring at him in confusion. It only took him a second to realize why, though, when the giggly voices of John and Paul glided through the air.

“What are you gits doing?” John asked as he chucked a snowball at George’s head. The latter didn’t do anything about it though; he just stared at John with a nonchalant look on his face.

“Come on! We’ve got to decorate the tree!” Paul said as he grabbed Ringo by the wrist and started pulling him along. Ringo laughed as he was hauled off by the crazy bassist. He glanced over at George and noticed that the guitarist was smiling at him. It made Ringo’s belly flop more drastically than it had done when he was pressed up against the tree.

“Here we are,” Paul sang as he dropped Ringo’s hand and began looking through the bag of ornaments. Ringo looked up at the slightly deformed tree that they had selected. It really was odd; but it was them. It was their Christmas and suddenly the thought of going home didn’t really appeal to him as much anymore. He wanted to decorate the lopsided Christmas tree, have snowball fights with John, listen to Eppy’s worries about being caught, sing some Christmas songs with Paul, but most importantly, he wanted to be with George.

Ringo grabbed a bulb and went around the other side of the tree to hang it up. As soon as he found the right branch, George came ‘round to his side of the tree and laid a sneaky kiss on his lips.

“Happy Christmas,” George said quietly. Ringo smiled.

“Happy Christmas,” he responded happily as he stared up at the Christmas tree.

Their Christmas tree.

The End!

Happy Holidays! =)