He was exhausted and sore. The fever had left him dizzy and Ringo a.k.a Richard Starkey was in no mood to fool about.
Usually he was the one who went clubbing, dancing, bar hopping or what have you. But this flu, like every other bug that came his way, seemed to have knocked him senseless.
It was a good thing they didn’t have a gig until tomorrow night, but he’d been absent from the press conferences, meetings and endless appointments they as Beatles had to endure, for the last two days.
Not that Ringo minded so much. He was usually very easygoing about that sort of stuff, but his health had gone down the tube these past few weeks and he had only himself to blame.
It was late though he didn’t know how late when the door cracked open.
“Paul?” He asked expecting his roommate. He was alarmed at how croaky his voice sounded (thank goodness he wasn’t the lead singer most of the time, but all he needed was to make his voice even more off). He grimaced.
“He’s still chattin’ with some of the reporters.” Rich was relieved to hear the familiar voice. George.
“H-How late is it, Hari?” Rich asked, his voice sounding weaker than even he knew.
George’s brow furrowed in concern.
“Not too, you’ve jus’ been outta it, son.”
“Oh.” Richie sighed and wrapped his blanket tighter around him, suddenly wishing more than anything he was at home and his mum were fixing him a nice cup of tea, or that at least he was in his own bed instead of this cold, impersonal hotel room.
“How’re feelin’ Richie?” George kept his voice soft, which Ringo was glad for. The lead guitarist sat on the edge of Ringo’s bed.
“Like shite, George.” Rich admitted, his pounding head worsening at even this small exertion.
“Sorry, lad.” And George sounded it. Rich sighed deeply, expecting the door to close after George left the room. He was appreciative that the other lads checked on him but also left him in peace when he was ailing.
So, he was surprised to still hear George’s voice. “Bet yer missin’ home right about now, eh, Rich?”
To his surprise, Ringo felt a lump in his throat. George, as always, knew what he was thinking.
“Aye.” He replied honestly. “Sure beats ‘is tourin’ mess.”
George put a hand on Richie’s back and the contact felt soothing.
The hand left and Rich suddenly felt very lonely.
“Fuck, yer burnin’ up Rich!” George sounded concerned.
“Jus, Jus’ me issues burnin’ themselves out. It’ll pass.”
George didn’t reply. Ringo, again, thought he’d left until he felt the mattress sag beside him.
“Still think ya need a doctor, Ring.” George said softly, but he laid down next to his friend.
Ringo looked so pale and small, wrapped up in his blanket, that George felt something tug deep inside of him.
“Sorry, Rings.” He said suddenly. Rich’s brilliant blue eyes opened up, surprised. “Oh aye? Why’s tha’?”
“I hate tha’ you feel poorly so often.” George blurted out and Richie answered with a rueful smile. “Aye, think abou’ how I feel about it, lad.”
On impulse, George grabbed Ringo’s arm and the drummer twitched at the contact.
“Y-You donna ‘ave ta be here, Geo.”
“I want ta be ‘ere.” George said and he meant it. He cared about John and Paul, he’d known them for years, but he felt a connection to this older man that he didn’t feel with the other two. John and Paul were so close and so in tune, they almost seemed like an old married couple.
George had often felt the outsider in their group and he certainly had never connected with Stu or Pete. He wasn’t even on the same wave-length. Yet, when he’d met the bearded, scruffy drummer of Rory and the Hurricanes, he’d felt something….stronger.
It was like he’d known him already, as odd and daft as it seemed. And Rings was such a pleasant, good-natured lad, it was easy to get to know him and grow to like him very much.
And George did. In fact, his feelings sometimes confused him. He liked being in the small drummer’s company so much he wondered at it. He cared about the older lad, he even felt some protectiveness coming out, and he knew that Rich felt the same way.
It was very natural, then, when George leaned over and put his forehead against Rich’s fevered one. Ringo sighed and moved closer. Maybe it was just that he was glad for the contact, maybe he felt something too, but the movement stirred something deep inside George.
The guitarist brushed some hair away from Rich’s face and, again, those incredible blue eyes met his. Without thinking about it or wondering, George kissed him softly on the lips.
Ringo jerked back, startled, then looked at George his eyes wide and kissed him back. The pair’s foreheads met and they wrapped arms around each other searchingly. The kiss deepened and George easily rolled Ringo on top of him. He kept brushing his hands through his bandmates’ hair and he wrapped a long arm around Richie’s small frame.
The two kissed and it went deeper, deeper, until it finally broke off with Rich collapsing on top of George, breathing hard.
George couldn’t help himself. He began kissing Ringo’s neck, face, forehead, everything he could reach. He put his hands in his mate’s shaggy hair and Ringo’s fever just seemed to add to the heat. Rich’s legs straddled George’s torso and George felt something move in response.
He continued to kiss Rich until they both couldn’t breathe anymore and he pulled the drummer as close as he could, feeling the other’s small frame against his own.
Ringo, shaking and weak, collapsed on top of his younger mate and George just lay there, breathing heavy.
Finally, Richie rolled over and began snoring, his body and any pent up emotion spent. George, however, couldn’t close his eyes. He was absolutely stunned at what just occurred. It was so easy and right it just, happened, yet he couldn’t quite believe it.
It went beyond sexual attraction, it went to something deeper. He knew that Richie had something intense and beautiful in him, something obvious yet hidden and it had attracted him from the very beginning.
Now, as his body shuddered with the sensations it had just experienced, he wondered what exactly he’d done. Did he love Rich? Sure, but as a mate, as a bloke. And his love was helped by the fact that he knew Rich loved him, as well as Paul, John and the rest of their entourage.
Ringo was a kind, loving man and George had always felt a connection with his gentle but strong spirit. But, just how far did this connection go?
“Rings, ar…oh, George, I, uh…” Paul burst in and stopped, suddenly looking embarrassed and awkward which then affected George.
“Jus-, Just seeing how the lad was feelin’. He was a bit outta it, thought I’d see after ‘im.” George stammered and stuttered, his words bursting out without him thinking about it.
Paul looked at him, one (perfectly and oddly manicured) eyebrow raised. “His fever seems ta ‘ave gone down. Not so flushed.”
And indeed, Ringo did look pale but composed and George felt heat rise up in his own face.
“We’re done, eh?” George stammered, jumping up and running past Paul.
“Aye. Best get ta bed.”
“Sure.” George couldn’t hide his face or expression but Paul just looked at him, his expression softened.
“If, uh, if’n ya don’t want ta switch rooms, Geo, then…” Paul tapered off and George just looked at him, unsure and confused.
“I’ll look after ‘im, Geo. Count on it.”
There was an odd tenderness in Paul’s large, expressive eyes.
George clasped his oldest mate’s shoulder and nodded. “Ta, Paulie.”
Paul just nodded.