Chapter Text
It was very late. George didn’t know how late, exactly, but it really didn’t even matter. His heart felt warm and his head was cloudy, so who cared what the bloody fucking time was.
They were trudging through the streets of Hamburg, passing a bottle of… George forgot what it was called, back and forth, and trying to see how much noise they could cause. Pete was… where was Pete? George couldn’t seem to remember. There was a weight in his mind, but it felt nice. He wasn’t thinking about anything. Not about their three, (three!), performances tomorrow or how bloody cold it was starting to get or the way he had messed up his solo tonight because he was staring at Ring-. Well, he didn’t have to think about it.
His blissful drunken musings were interrupted by John pushing the bottle up to his lips.
“‘Ere, lad, drink up!” he said, shoving the bottle into George’s hands. Then he was off again, traipsing around and laughing his head off.
George took a swig of the bittersweet alcohol which slid down his throat in burning rivers. The label was all in German which he realized was why he couldn’t remember what it was called.
Paul swooped over to him and nabbed the bottle out of his hands.
“Lookit little Georgie!” he cried, chasing after John, “Look at ‘im gettin’ drunk for the firs’ time!”
“Oi!” George called after him, “It’s not me first time gettin’ drunk!”
“Isn’t it though, love?” Ringo whispered in his ear, after sidling up to him.
George’s face flushed. “N-no. ‘S not,” he noticed he did sound like someone who was drunk for their first time, though. “I- it’s not,” he enunciated, trying to sound more sober than he was feeling.
“It’s. Not,” he said, the proper way this time. Finally, he thought.
George liked Ringo. Ringo was older than him and was part of a more successful band than he was, but he never treated George like he was lesser. Truthfully, George would rather have Ringo in their band than bloody Pete, but that wasn’t exactly his decision to make.
“Oh…” Ringo said, “I see.”
George was not sure what Ringo saw, but that was honestly the least of his worries. Despite the way John and Paul teased him just because he was the youngest, this was not his first time being drunk. It wasn’t even his third or fourth time being drunk, which just showed how much illegal activity George had taken part in as a teenager. Besides that, it also represented a certain number of times George had been drunk with Ringo, who was a whole other thing all together. Ringo was a touchy, flirty, would probably leave you with a very hard-to-conceal boner if you were already prone to falling for his sober shit type of drunk.
It drove George mad. And it was currently driving him mad as well.
Ringo was sliding his hand up the side of George’s neck, snaking his fingers into George’s hair. He wanted to lean into the touch, he really did, but he knew that if he did, he wasn’t likely to stop. So instead, he pulled Ringo’s hand out of his hair and pushed it back to Ringo’s side.
Ringo pouted. “Why won’t you let me touch you, Georgie? Why won’t you let me love you?” He whispered that last sentence right in George’s ear, and a shiver ran up his spine.
Ohmygod, George thought incoherently. This man will be the actual death of me.
“Because…” he started, trying to act responsibly through the throwing-caution-to-the-wind visor his drunkenness provided. “‘Cause you’re smashed, you are. An’… an’ if you try to love me now, you won’t remember. You wouldn’t like that, would you?” He asked Ringo.
“No…” Ringo agreed after a pause, “I guess not.”
“All righ’ then! That’s settled. Now, come and help me stop John from runnin’ into a pole again, or I’m goin’ to hafta hear a lot of complainin’ tomorrow morning.” George laughed and slung around an arm around Ringo’s shoulder.
The reasoning, in George’s mind, was that this way, Ringo wouldn’t try to touch him as much if he was already getting some physical contact.
It was absolutely not a way to simultaneously protect Ringo and keep him close.
Definitely not.
They eventually caught up to Paul and John who had slowed down now and leaned against the wall. John had Paul by the collar and was holding him against the bricks, his knee forcing Paul’s legs apart. He was whispering something into Paul’s ear, and Paul was being uncharacteristically silent for how much he had had to drink that night.
“Oi!” George yelled, “Can you two wait until we get back to the hotel to fuck each other silly? I swear if you two go at it in the streets they’re going to kick us out o’ the country! Again!”
John let go of Paul’s collar, and he stumbled towards John’s chest. The older man wrapped his arm protectively around Paul’s waist, and they turned around to face the other two.
“Now,” George said, attempting to take authority in the situation, “Do any of you know which way the hotel is?”
꧁꧂
It turned out that none of them knew where the hotel was, but somehow they found their way back there anyway.
The hotel was the pits, it really was. The beds were lumpy and the WiFi connection was pretty much non-existent, so most of the time they could only use their phones in the clubs and for a minimal time at that.
They had been given two rooms on the fifth floor of the building with Pete and George in one and John and Paul in the other.
Those two were making out against their door, and George could hardly stand it anymore, so he forced his own door open, nearly breaking the doorknob in the process.
Pete didn’t seem to be in there at the moment, which begged the answer for George’s earlier question, but it really didn’t matter to him that much anyway. Ringo stumbled in after him, and George held him before he fell over.
“You can… er-” George said, the alcohol making his head swim, “you can take Pete’s bed for the nigh’. Don’t want you to be out in the streets tryin’ to get back to Rory in this state.”
“But I wanna sleep in your bed, Georgie,” Ringo giggled. He spun around in George’s arms, and their lips brushed dangerously close to each other.
George could legitimately not take it anymore. He seized Ringo’s hips roughly, to which Ringo let out a squeak. He caught on quickly though, mashing his lips into George’s, trying his best to match the strange pace George had set.
Ringo yanked George down to the bed with him, and it was all George could do to keep Ringo’s lips on his.
Ringo’s hands were everywhere, which George knew wasn’t possible, but God did it feel like it was. Down his back and up into his hair and in between his legs. God , he thought. So much of him really wanted to give in, because now Ringo was rutting against George’s thigh and it was beginning to get harder and harder for George to contain his own arousal.
Which is when he remembered how fucking out of it Ringo was and how this was probably very illegal.
“Ringo,” George said, the reality of the situation sobering him up for the time being, “Ringo. No. We can’t- fuck, we can’t do this right now.” He pushed Ringo off of him.
“No one’s stopping us, Georgie, there’s no one here but us. Why won’t you just let this happen?” Ringo pouted, sprawling out on the bed.
“Because! Goddamn, Ringo,” George exclaimed, standing up, “You’re drunk out of your mind, and even if I wanted this, which God knows I do-” he paused. “Don’t remember that. I can’t take advantage of you like that. Fuck!”
“I’m glad to know you’re such a gentleman, Geo,” Ringo said, standing up and wrapping his hands around George’s waist, sounding a lot more sober than he just had a few seconds before.
“Wha- Are you even drunk?” George asked, spinning out of Ringo’s grasp.
Ringo held up his fingers to show how much. He pinched them in without his fingers touching, and then laughed. “Well, maybe more than that, but not more than the normal amount.”
George blinked at him.
“I embellished a little, so what? Now I know two things,” he said, stepping closer to George, whose heart was pounding erratically.
“I know that you wouldn’t take advantage of me,” Ringo continued, stepping even closer and trailing his hand down George’s chest, “and…” he whispered, “I know you want me.”
George shuddered under Ringo’s touch.
“Oh my god…” he gasped as Ringo’s hands hooked on the back of his neck.
“What do you say, Georgie?” Ringo mumbled against George’s lips.
“You’re a fuckin’ tease,” George gritted out, then seized Ringo’s mouth with his own.
Ringo gasped at the sudden surge of confidence within the guitarist, and George’s tongue met his inside his mouth. George kissed down Ringo’s jaw and down to his neck, pushing him back to lie on the bed.
“Geo… Geo…” Ringo moaned, as George bit down on his pulse point, his fingers reaching down to undo his and Ringo’s belts.
George left one mark and then another on Ringo’s neck, and slid open his shirt to leave more down his chest. Ringo’s eyes were closed and his head was thrown back; to George, he looked like a goddamn wet dream.
“God- fuck, Ringo, you’re so pretty,” George praised, and a tiny moan left Ringo’s mouth.
When he had left a few good darkened patches of skin on Ringo’s chest, George sat back to admire his work, and slid his hands along Ringo’s waist.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” George asked, removing his own shirt. “I mean, we are both drunk still.”
“This isn’t just about sex, George,” Ringo said, sitting up and taking George’s face in his hands. “This is… I want to be with you, actually. Like John and Paul.”
George laughed. “You want us to be like those fuckers?”
“Oh my god-” Ringo said, slapping George lightly on the arm. “I meant-”
“I know what you meant, love,” George said, swiping his fingers across Ringo’s lips and trailing them down to his waist. He hummed softly to himself as he traced the creases in Ringo’s pants made by his erection.
Ringo’s breathing was getting heavy, and he began to whimper under George’s touch. He flopped back onto the covers, and George hovered over him.
“Oh God, Geo, do something! Say something! Please!”
George grinned, and his fangs pierced his lips. He leaned in close to Ringo’s face, and breathed one word: “Yes.”
Ringo smiled and George drew his trousers down. Ringo helped George out of his, and they were left in their underwear, more of their skin touching than ever before.
George was kissing Ringo more urgently now, palming Ringo through his boxers at the same time. Ringo was reduced to a moaning mess and George couldn’t get enough of those sweet sounds.
He could tell that Ringo was trying to be quiet, but George didn’t share the sentiment. Maybe they’d even be able to pay John and Paul back with their own noise.
“Come on, love,” he said, “let me hear you.”
Ringo whimpered again, and more moans and mumbled requests spilled out of his mouth.
“What was that?” George asked teasingly, his tongue tracing the shell of Ringo’s ear.
“Please…” Ringo pleaded.
“What do you want, love?” George asked, his hands caressing Ringo’s thighs, getting higher and higher to his arousal. “I won’t know what you want unless you ask me for it.”
Ringo moaned again, louder this time. “God, Geo, just touch me! Please, please… just-”
George had dragged Ringo’s underwear down his thighs and off his legs, exposing his erection into the heat of the room.
“Oh…” Ringo moaned as George began to jerk him off. He arched up into George‘s chest and George let go of Ringo’s cock to push him back down to the bed.
“How do you want to do this?” George asked. “Do you want me to be sweet and gentle, or do you want me to fuck you like the whore you’re acting like?”
Ringo moaned, “Please- just- mmm… fuck me,”
“Uh, uh, uh…” George taunted, nipping at Ringo‘s neck, “How?”
“Oh…” Ringo was writhing around now, trying to get George to touch him where he needed to, but George held him fast to the bed, so he was getting nowhere.
“Geo, please…” George pulled back from Ringo’s neck and looked at him expectantly. “Fuck me… mmm… Fuck me like the whore I’m-”
That was all George needed to hear. He rummaged around in the bedside table for the bottle of lube he had purchased in a sex shop when they first got there. (Wishful thinking, that was all it had been), but now he actually had a use for it. And a condom, of course, because it was way too early in this relationship for discussing not using one.
He lubed up his first two fingers and slowly worked one into Ringo’s entrance. Remembering Ringo’s earlier request he jammed his next finger in as well without any warning.
Ringo cried out in a mixture of pleasure and pain and fucked himself down onto George’s fingers.
“You’re a naughty little slut, aren’t you?” George asked, holding down Ringo’s arms above his head with his other hand.
“Aren’t you?” he asked again, pushing his fingers right into Ringo’s prostate.
“Oh my- George, yes, yes I am, yes…” Ringo hissed as George inserted another finger.
“God, Rings, you’re so fucking tight. I can’t wait to feel you around my cock,” George groaned as Ringo clenched around him.
Ringo whimpered.
“You like that, don’t you?” George taunted. “You like me telling you what I’m going to do to you, yeah?”
Ringo moaned again, much louder this time. “Yes, George, George please, I’m ready, please… oh my god, Geo…”
“You’ve got to ask for what you want, baby,” George said, his fingers stilling inside of Ringo’s ass.
“Fuck…” Ringo’s mouth hung open and his dick leaked onto his stomach.
“I want…” he started, “I want you to fuck me. I want you to destroy my… tight little hole.” He swallowed, and George smirked down at him, removing his fingers. Ringo whined at the loss, and George rubbed a soothing hand along his thighs. He pulled his boxers off to reveal his own erection, and carefully slid the condom on with only a tiny bit of difficulty.
He slid in slowly, and Ringo immediately clenched around him.
“God, Ringo, you’re so fucking tight,” George groaned, sinking his cock deeper in Ringo’s ass.
He bottomed out slowly and Ringo let out a series of broken moans.
“Please, Geo, it’s ok, you can move, I want… I want to feel you…”
George started to pump his cock in and out of Ringo, and he could immediately tell he wasn’t going to last very long. He had been so turned on by Ringo’s little whines, and now that he was inside of him? It was like some perverted form of heaven.
Ringo shuddered with pleasure, his eyes rolling back into his head.
The head of George’s cock brushed against his prostate, and Ringo’s chest arched up again, completely unable to contain his body’s reaction to the pleasure.
“There, right… fuck…” Ringo moaned, and George got the message, pounding harder and harder into that spot inside of him.
“Fuck, Geo… George… G-”
“That’s it, love, scream my name when you come,” George said, lost in the throes of the passion that the room harbored.
“Kiss me,” Ringo begged, and George granted his wish, leaning over Ringo’s chest to plant a kiss on his open lips.
George moved his hand up to Ringo’s cock, and stroked it once, twice, three times before Ringo’s cock erupted with spurts of cum, making a mess on his and George’s torsos and George’s hand.
“That’s it, love,” George cooed, “You’ve done so well, baby,” and another drop of cum pearled at Ringo’s tip. “I’m so… close… oh god, Ringo!” George cried, and thrusted deep into Ringo’s ass.
He exploded inside of the tight passage, and then pulled out slowly.
“That was… that was…” Ringo panted, thoroughly exhausted.
“I know,” George sighed, flopping back onto the mattress. “God, we’re filthy,” he groaned.
“In more ways than one,” Ringo chuckled lightly.
George smirked a little sheepishly. “I hope that wasn’t too much for you, I-”
“No, it was kind of… perfect, actually,” Ringo admitted, “I liked it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
George stood up, awkwardly peeling off the condom and tossing it into a bin near the bed. He headed to the bathroom and retrieved a washcloth with a relative amount of cleanliness. Rinsing it under the warmest water the tap had to offer, he cleaned himself off and returned to the warmth they had created in the bed.
George pulled the covers over them, and nabbed their pants off the floor, before gently cleaning Ringo with the cloth too.
He tossed it behind him somewhere on the floor when he was done, and after they slipped their underwear on again, George leaned his head on Ringo’s chest.
He stroked his hand over Ringo’s warm skin, tracing little swirls into it softly.
Ringo hummed and caressed George’s hair, and the two fell asleep easily just like that.
꧁꧂
The next morning, George woke up with a start.
It surprised Ringo, and he fell off the bed.
“Fuck,” he cursed, rubbing his knee.
George let out an expletive of his own, reaching out his hand to pull Ringo back into the bed.
“Are you ok?” he asked carefully as Ringo resituated himself under the covers.
“Mhm,” Ringo mumbled, “a bit sore, though.”
“Oh god, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
“Not from the fall, love,” Ringo smiled.
“Oh. Oh!” George blushed, catching on. “Er… sorry for that too, I suppose.”
“‘S alright,” Ringo grinned again.
They whispered quietly in the early morning light, partly to preserve the atmosphere of the morning after and partly because if there was any louder noise their heads would roar against it.
“I meant it,” Ringo said softly.
“Meant what?” George asked.
“I want to be with you. Properly.”
“You think I didn’t?” George leaned in slowly, pressing chaste kisses all over Ringo’s face. “Who wouldn’t want to be with you?” he asked.
“I’ll tell ya two people who wouldn’t dream of it!” John yelled, bursting into the room, Paul hot on his heels.
“How’d you even hear that?”
“Got ears like a bat, don’t I?” John laughed.
“You’re about to have bruises like a boxer,” George threatened.
“Try me, Geo,” John moaned.
George could hardly be blamed for shooting out of the bed and chasing John around while Paul made a disheartened face from the corner.
Ringo smiled at the three of them, feeling terribly fortunate he had chosen to forgo Rory’s offer of a walk down the Reeperbahn last night.
He had gotten something much better in turn.