Chapter Six: In Which John is Jealous
Title: Forgetting to Remember
Author: Spirit414
Pairing: George/Ringo, John/Paul
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When Ringo loses his memory in an accident, it's up to George, John, and Paul to make sure he gets it back.
Author's Notes: So I've really put A LOT of work into this chapter. I hope you think it's as good as I do. :D I'm really proud of this one. Enjoy!! Special thanks toheather_rawriee and lyric_fantasy for really pushing me to better my writing and work out all the kinks in the plot. I'll say it again. A lot of effing work went into this.
Disclaimer: What you are about to read is strictly fiction and should be taken as such. I do not own the Beatles and never claimed to.
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Chapter Six: In Which John is Jealous
George yawns, basking in the afterglow of what he’s sure is his best orgasm to date. A pair of lean arms wrap around his middle, and he turns to face the drummer.
He leans forward to kiss Ringo and feels him smile against his lips, arms pulling George closer to his chest. The kiss is slow, mouths opening and allowing tongues to meet. George’s hands trail down his friend’s stomach, feeling every inch of the soft skin.
It is Ringo who breaks the kiss first. He pulls back to brush the hair out of George’s eyes, trailing a thumb over his cheekbones and then down to swipe across his lips.
“You’re beautiful,” the drummer murmurs, and George can’t help but look away, a blush creeping up his neck. There’s something unfurling in his chest, something he’s felt for at least a week. It’s something George hasn’t been able to name. At least until now.
“Hey Ritchie?”
“Yes, love?” George’s heart races at the name, at Ringo’s voice, hoarse from sex and fatigue.
“Do you…” George ducks his head and looks at Ringo from underneath his eyelashes. “Do you want to know a secret?”
The drummer chuckles at the question. “Very clever, Geo.”
George rolls his eyes. “Hey! I’m trying to be romantic. Don’t be cheeky.”
“Or what?”
George pauses for a moment but an adequate response escapes him. “Let me get back to you on that one.”
Ringo grins. “I’ll be waiting. Now tell me, what’s this secret?”
The guitarist looks away again, and the feeling causes heat to reach his cheeks.
“George?” Ringo brings his hands down to rest on George’s hips and he moves his fingers in soothing circles on the naked flesh. “Tell me.”
George runs a hand through Ringo’s hair and rests it at the back of his neck before pulling him closer, lips at the shell of his ear.
“I’m in love with you.”
Ringo smiles, his eyes shining with affection as he runs his hands down the length of the guitarist’s back. He kisses George once before whispering--
“Hey George?” A hand tugged at his arm and pulled his mind back into the studio. “Sorry, sorry.” He adjusted his guitar and glancing at the faces of his friends. “I’m ready now, just zoned out for a minute there.” George swallowed, attempting to ignore the pounding in his head he’d woken up with after last night’s disaster.
“We noticed,” John sneered. “I think my clothes have gone out of style.”
George bristled at the comment, glancing at the drummer out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t sure what he expected; maybe a small smile or reassuring nod like the old Ringo used to give him. Of course he saw nothing; just his friend sitting in that same chair beside his drums and staring at his fingernails.
“So you ready then, George?”
George nodded, “You’ll never know how much I really love you,” the guitarist sang, strumming the chords. “You’ll never know how much I really care.”
Throughout the song George dared to steal glances at Ringo, hoping to whatever God might be up there for a spark of recognition in the drummer’s eyes at the lyrics. Some sort of sign that Ringo wasn’t completely lost within the recesses of his own mind. He was instead met with the dull lifelessness that he’d grown accustomed to.
“I’ve known a secret for the week or two, nobody knows, just we two.”
It seemed as if the memory meant nothing now that George was unable to share it with Ringo. What was the point?
“Say the words you long to hear, I’m in love with you…” George’s voice cracked on the last word and he stared down at his shoes, embarrassed to have messed up on the one song John and Paul had allowed him to sing.
“Sorry,” he said once they were finished, “I’m not focused today.”
“Killer hangover, eh George? Drinking will do that to a person, you know.”
George bit his lip at John’s comment, willing himself to just let it go. He did have a hangover; everybody knew that, so why did John feel the need to point it out with Ringo sitting right there?
“I liked that one.”
The three of them looked over at Ringo, and George cocked an eyebrow. Ringo never commented on their music, never gave his opinion on whether he thought it was good or not. George had always assumed that he thought their music was complete crap. This was new.
“Really?” This was Paul, whose eyes were widened in disbelief.
“Yeah,” the drummer said. “It was nice. Simple, but the lyrics were good.” Ringo dropped his gaze to the floor, as if he was uncomfortable to be expressing his opinion. “And George sang it well.”
There was a swooping sensation in George’s stomach and a smile stretched out across his face. “Thanks,” he said, grin beginning to make his cheeks hurt. George had been faced with nearly two weeks of nothingness from the drummer, and the compliment was a pleasant surprise.
“Well look at that, George!” John’s sharp voice rang out in the studio and George cringed, waiting for the blow. “I believe you’ve got a fan over there. Must feel nice.”
Anger licked at George’s insides as he let the comment pass him by. His eyes searched Paul’s face for a sign of disapproval but came up blank, and George didn’t understand why the bassist sat there and allowed John to bully him. It didn’t make sense.
George glanced at Ringo again in an attempt to gage his reaction. The drummer smiled at him. One of those smiles that caused his heart to beat faster and familiar heat to pool in his groin.
Oh shit.
George’s eyes widened in alarm, and he dropped into his chair, crossing his legs. He had to think of something else. Something that didn’t involve Ringo. A bunny rabbit; or that new shirt he’d bought a few days ago.
Come to think of it, that new shirt would go well with Ringo’s eyes.
Though Ringo looked great without a shirt on, George thought. Or nothing at all. Sprawled out over George’s bed with the sheets strewn around his body as he-no!
George muttered something about having to go to the loo before darting out of the room and down the hallway, hoping with every fiber in his being that nobody had noticed. Embarrassment coursed through him as he closed the door to the bathroom and locked it behind him. He took a few deep breaths and focused on the dirty tile beneath his feet.
He groaned, dropping his head in his hands and thinking that he was losing his mind. He hadn’t been touched in two weeks now. Two agonizing, lonely weeks with nothing but his own hand for comfort, something that George was uncomfortable with as it was.
All he hoped was that Ringo and John hadn’t noticed.
The thoughts of Ringo catching sight of his problem and hating him more than he already did caused his half hard erection to subside. George sagged on the seat, relieved that the crisis had been averted. Having to wank off in the loo right by the studio where his three friends were sitting would have been the ultimate-
“George?” Ringo’s muffled voice could be heard outside the door.
George shot off of the toilet, flushing it and fumbling with his zipper to make it seem like he was pulling up his pants. “I’ll be out in a minute!”
“Okay, I was just making sure you were alright, is all.”
George took a breath and unlocked the bathroom door, stepping out and smiling at his friend.
“Yeah, fine,” he answered, moving over to the sink to wash his hands.
“You’ve been in there for a while,” the drummer said, “so the others thought I should check to make sure you hadn’t collapsed.”
“No, no. Just had a headache, that’s all, I wanted to get some air.” Right. Because the loo was a great place to go for air.
“Right.”
“You had any headaches recently?”
“A few, here and there. But not too many.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
George finished drying his hands. “Just...” He trailed off, searching for something to say so they wouldn’t have to stand in silence. “I’m glad you’re doing okay Rich, even if you haven’t remembered yet.”
Ringo nodded. “Well, you know, Maureen makes me look at pictures every day. She says it’s important.”
“Oh?” George furrowed his eyebrows, pulling the door open and ushering Ringo out before him. Maureen really wanted him to remember? No doubt she just wanted him for herself.
“Yeah. She’s a great girl.”
“Sure,” he said, his voice flat. “Really great.” Besides her stealing Ringo away from him.
They headed back towards the studio where loud voices could be heard echoing down the hallway.
Oh no.
“I just don’t understand why you’re acting this way John. George didn’t even do anything to you!”
John’s demeanor was relaxed save for the crease between his eyebrows. He stared at Paul with distant eyes, that cold mask that shielded his real emotions. “How was your slumber party last night Paul? Did you and George talk about your feelings? Stay up all night gossiping about boys?”
“Is that what you’re mad about, John? That’s the most idiotic--”
“Right, because I’m supposed to sit here and be chipper while you had a horny drunk on your couch?”
A sharp laugh escaped Paul and he shook his head, “You think I did something with him? Honestly, John.”
“Honestly what? Is that really so hard to imagine? Especially when you’re out fucking enough women for the entire band every other night. Why not add your best mate to the list?” John folded his arms over his chest and squared his jaw, waiting for the bassist to answer.
George coughed. Once, twice, three times before John and Paul even acknowledged his presence.
“Right,” Paul said, his anger seeming to dissipate within seconds. “Let’s just continue then.”
George could feel the heavy tension as he and Ringo made their way back to their seats. John sat fuming in his corner, and Paul muttered something under his breath before picking up his bass.
“What was that McCartney?”
“Using last names now, are we John?” George cringed.
“I asked you a question.”
“John, Paul, let’s just not--” George began. It was a futile attempt to neutralize the fight before it started up again.
“You shut up Harrison,” John snarled, jabbing his finger in George’s direction. “This is all your fault, anyway. If you hadn’t pushed your boyfriend down the stairs this never would have happened!”
“Boyfriend?” This was Ringo, whose brow was furrowed in confusion. George began to panic.
“John, please-“
“Yeah, Rings. Boyfriend. Just lay one on him George, I’m sure that’ll bring his memory back. We all know you’ve been dying to.”
No, no, no, no. This wasn’t happening. John hadn’t just said that because this was just one of his nightmares. It had to be. George would wake up soon, because John hadn’t just said that. Panic coursed through his body and George’s head began to spin. “No, that’s not right, I don’t--”
“Don’t lie. Ringo deserves to know you’re in love with him.”
“I don’t know what’s going on.” George searched Ringo’s face, only to find confusion and disbelief clouding the once bright eyes. Fear began to mix with the panic and George’s breaths came short and fast. He needed to say something, anything, to make the drummer stay.
“Ritchie, wait, that’s not right!” The guitarist scrambled up from his chair. “Please don’t leave!”
Ringo glanced back at George for a brief moment, and George gave him one last desperate, pleading look. Confusion passed over Ringo’s face again, though this time mixed with disappointment. He turned back to Paul. “I’ll see you some other time. Goodbye.”
This time George knew it wasn’t a good idea to go after him.