The following morning, George had indeed woken up with a terrible headache, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He had a terrible hangover from the drugs he’d previously used, regretting them just as much as Paul said he would. That morning he had been absolutely bitter to Ringo, snapping at every little word the drummer said to him. George really couldn’t help it too much; the combination of a brutal hangover with his fun for Ringo now being put to a sudden end had made him feel absolutely terrible.
Since George felt so horrible, he couldn’t help but take it all out on everyone. He was the quiet Beatle, which meant he didn’t speak too much in general, but when he spoke, his words were filled with anger and hate. Even Paul and John noticed the change in the younger lad’s attitude, avoiding his drug-filled rampages as much as possible. George smoked and drank much more than he should, and it was really taking a toll on him. His overall mood was absolutely terrible, and nobody wanted to be around him.
Ringo was doing his best to manage, immediately regretting his self harm over George as soon as he had done it. He regretted giving up George, and he wanted him back so badly that his heart and chest literally heart when he saw him. He noticed George was doing his best to avoid him, and, Ringo couldn’t blame him. He had been an ass to the younger lad, and Ringo felt he absolutely deserved how George was treating him. And sadly, he was pretty sure George didn’t even remember saving his life.
March 1966
Paul groaned, rolling out of his bed and scratching his head. He accidentally nudged John as he got up and stretched out.
“Good morning,” John smiled and looked up at him, still in his bed and under the covers comfortably.
“Morning,” Paul muttered, smiling back at John sweetly. He really enjoyed John’s company, especially when he was being sweet like this. It made Paul realize that John was human, and that he was a caring, loving man like Paul wanted him to be.
“Want a cuppa?” Paul asked, looking at John and raising an eyebrow while awaiting his response.
“That’s be fantastic, luv,” John replied, still smiling sweetly. He sank back into the covers, closing his eyes and resting his head on his pillow.
Paul walked into the kitchen area of his hotel room. He had been in hotel rooms constantly for years now, and he was absolutely sick of it. Maybe it was time they stop touring. He knew everyone else in the band would agree, and even Mal and Neil would agree that they were becoming rather restless from constantly touring. Besides, you couldn’t even hear yourself play over those bloody birds screaming... It would be an absolutely perfect decision for everyone if they stopped touring. But it would hurt Brian so much, he really loved when they performed...
Whatever, Paul thought, shaking his head and reaching for a mug to make some coffee. Maybe he’d understand. I know he’ll be really hurt of we stop touring though, that’s his favorite part of being our manager. I’m sure he’ll understand eventually. All bands stop touring eventually, it’s not like we’re breaking up or anything...
But in his mind, Paul pushed back those thoughts, focusing on making John his coffee instead of thinking about the future. Paul knew that the Beatles were slowly drifting apart. He didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, but everyone knew it. You could even see in Brian’s eyes that he felt the same way.
Paul walked back to John, bringing him his coffee. He handed it to John, forcing out a weak smile as he did so.
“What’s wrong, luv?” John asked, sitting up and grabbing the coffee from Paul. He patted a seat next to him on the bed for Paul, and Paul reluctantly sat down next to him.
“It’s nothing, really,” Paul sighed, looking down at his hands. “It’s just...”
“Just what?” John looked Paul in the eyes, and Paul couldn’t help but feel bad. He was giving him puppy-dog eyes, which was Paul’s signature move. Now John was using it against him...
“I don’t think we should tour anymore.”
John was silent for a moment, looking down at his own hands rather calmly before looking back up at Paul. “I agree.”
Paul’s eyes lit up. “You do?”
“Mhmm,” John nodded. “I feel like it would be best for us.”
“Mmm,” Paul bit his lip. “Especially with George and Ringo...”
“What the hell is up with them?” John suddenly questioned, raising his voice. “It’s been several months, and the two of them haven’t made up yet. It’s ridiculous. Have you seen any of them shagging any birds, either?” Paul laughed at John’s randomness.
“Ya know, Ringo has Mo, and George just married Pattie two months ago. So they’re obviously shagging them. But other than that... no, I really haven’t.”
“They obviously still want each other, and with George mopin’ around like that...”
“Ugh, we have to record today!” Paul cried out, hitting his forehead with his hand. “I don’t wanna deal with him!”
“Neither do I, but I guess that’s part of him being in our band, eh?”
“True, true. It’s just he’s so fucking annoying now! He and Ringo really need a good shag, eh? Guess their wives aren’t givin’ it to ‘em good enough.”
John laughed. “How come you aren’t married yet?” he asked, Paul turning his head away at the touchy subject.
Because I want to marry you, Paul thought, sending that thought to the back of his mind immediately.
“Dunno, just guess I haven’t found the right bird yet,” he lied.
“But you have Jane!” John laughed, nudging Paul in the shoulder playfully.
“And right now, she’s my best option.” Paul sighed. “I just want someone that really woos me, y’know?”
John’s heart skipped a beat at what Paul had just said, secretly thinking it was about himself. Of course Paul doesn’t want a bloody bird, he’s got me, he thought to himself smugly.
“True,” John said, breaking the awkward silence he had created. “Just don’t knock her up,” he chuckled lightly, referring to his situation with Cyn. If he hadn’t gotten Cyn pregnant, he would probably be in a much closer relationship with Paul right now.
Paul laughed half-heartedly, wishing John hadn’t brought Cyn up. He felt terrible doing this to John’s beloved wife, as he was very close with Cynthia himself. He felt like he was personally hurting and backstabbing Cyn whenever he and John made love, and he felt even worse for poor little Julian.
“What time is it?” John asked, too lazy to read the clock hanging on the wall, forcing Paul to do so for him.
“It’s about noon,” Paul laughed, reading the clock and realizing this was actually an early time to wake up for them.
“What time are we supposed to be at the studio?”
“About four, I guess. I think George wanted to record some more of his rubbish about things that our fans don’t even pay attention to anymore.”
John chuckled. “Well at least he doesn’t just write silly love songs like yerself, Macca.”
“I do not!” Paul defended himself. “I wrote-” he stopped to think of what he’d written recently that wasn’t a ballad. “I wrote Yesterday.”
“Psh! Yesterday is as much a love song as I am crazy.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Paul smiled sweetly, practically batting his eyelashes.
“Yeah, but I think Yesterday’s a fucking love song, dear.” John smirked.
“Fine, I uhm-” Paul closed his eyes and thought. “I wrote Eleanor Eigby.”
“I fucking helped ya with that one! Besides, we haven’t even recorded it yet, it hardly counts.”
“What about Drive My Car?”
“I guess that counts,” John sighed, feeling defeated. “Bet I pretty much helped ya with that one as well.”
“Well that’s part of being in the Lennon-McCartney duo,” Paul smirked.
---
“George fucking Harrison!” Paul muttered under his breath, hoping the actual George wouldn’t hear him.
“What about him?” John raised an eyebrow.
“Have you heard what he’s singin’ on about now?”
“I thought we approved of everythin’ goin’ on the album?” John looked slightly worried.
“We did, but he’s changed the lyrics or something. Have a listen.”
John obeyed Paul and could hear George practicing with his guitar, singing the lyrics to his latest song under his breath.
“Each day just goes so fast
I turn around - it's past
You don't get time to hang a sign on me
Love me while you can
Before I'm a dead old man
A lifetime is so short
A new one can't be bought
But what you've got means such a lot to me
Make love all day long
Make love singing songs
There's people standing round
Who screw you in the ground
They'll fill you in with all their sins you'll see
I'll make love to you
If you want me to.”
“Is that about Rings?” John asked, raising his eyebrow in disgust at the younger lad.
“I think so,” Paul sighed, frowning slightly. “Love me while you can? Before I’m a dead old man? That sounds rather eerie to me, not sure I’d want someone singing those kinds of things to me.”
“Don’t even get me started on I’ll make love to you if you want me to.” John chuckled. “Not like Rings is doin’ any better though.”
“What do ya mean?”
“The only song we’re lettin’ him sing on this bloody LP is ‘Yellow Submarine!’ I’d go crazy if I were him.”
“Not like he writes anything.”
“True.”
“Are you guys ready to record my song?” George asked, looking up from his acoustic and practically glaring at John and Paul simply for being happy.
George hadn’t been happy since his day on the beach with Ringo way back in 1965. He was an unhappy, hurting man, and he felt the only thing that could cure him were drugs, cigarettes, and alcohol. Besides Ringo, of course, but there was no way in hell Ringo was going to take him back after everything that had happened between the two of them.
Does he even remember I saved his life? George’s mind screamed daily every time he was the lad. Does he remember how he used to love me, cuddle me, cradle me, telling me that he fucking loved me? Bet that selfish son of a bitch doesn’t remember shit.
“Yeah, sure, I guess,” John muttered, being his usually serious self. “If it’s not a shit-record then yeah.”
“I think I’m going to add some fuzz bass to his, it’ll sound nice.”
“Wait,” Paul interrupted, suddenly realizing something. “I’m not playing anything on this one?”
“Not unless you want the tambourine.” George raised his eyebrows, awaiting a reply.
“I’m fine, I’ll stick to backup vocals, thank you very much.”
“And I’ll just stay off it completely,” John said, laughing at his own nonsense before Paul joined in as well.
“Well looks like Ringo’s playing the fucking tambourine then,” George mumbled angrily.
“Can’t play everything yourself, Harrison,” John nearly snapped back.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re singing,- I’m guessing that’s multi-tracked, playing electric guitar, acoustic guitar, the fucking sitar, and now I guess fuzz bass. Would be a shame to add tambourine to that pile as well.”
George scoffed, walking out of the room and dragging Paul with him.
“Oh come on!” Paul cried, annoyed with George’s lack of humor. “It was a bloody joke, John makes them all the time.”
“But it’s not the same, Paul!” George cried, his eyes filling with tears instantly. “Don’t think it’ll ever be the same!”
“What do you mean?” Paul asked, suddenly caring deeply about the younger lad who used to be his best mate.
“Ever since then,” George sobbed, referring to last year with Ringo. “He ruined everything. He ruined the bloody Beatles.”
“Don’t say that,” Paul soothed, putting his arm around George for comfort. “The rest of us are just as responsible for the band being a little less close than we used to be. It’s not Ringo’s fault.”
“No, it’s mine!” George cried, wiping the tears he hadn’t cried since last year off with his sleeve. “I just wish everything could be the way it used to be. It’s my fucking fault, I shouldn’t have gotten mixed up with Ringo, I really shouldn’t have.”
“But now you’d be thinking what could have happened, and you’d be wondering what your life would be like. Aren’t you the one who’s always telling us that we need to look past ourselves and respect others just as much as the world around us?”
George smiled slightly at hearing Paul try to decipher his wise words. Half the time he didn’t even understand them, why should Paul?
“I guess you’re right,” George sighed. “I just wish I could be friends with the lad again. He and I were so close before all of this happened. And we ruined it all with a little kiss.”
Paul frowned, feeling his own heart sink at George’s words. “Don’t say that. You never know what would’ve happened if you two hadn’t kissed. Honestly, you guys would just be friends. Isn’t that a little boring compared to lovers?” Paul forced out a weak smile.
“But it’s better than not talking at all, Paul!” George cried, suddenly angry and being forced to yet more tears. It seems like he was always crying nowadays. “I miss him, I really do. I fucking love him, Paul!”
George walked away, sobbing heavily for all to see like he hadn’t in so long. He didn’t even care as John and Brian saw him heavily sobbing. Fuck the song, he thought, throwing away all his creative ideas for the day. I guess I’ll just sit on my ass in the bloody hotel room for another hour.
---
“What the hell’s wrong with him?” Ringo asked, appearing just as George walked by heavily sobbing.
“You should know!” Paul snapped, glaring at Ringo.
“What are you talking about?” Ringo defended, not even realizing how badly not talking to George was affecting the younger lad.
“You broke his bloody heart, ya git,” John said, smiling slyly without looking up from the guitar he was tuning.
“Oh shove off it!” Ringo cried, now actually looking a little upset. “That was months ago. It’s been nearly a year, the lad should learn to live a little. Find a nice gal and shag her for a change.”
Even though Ringo was speaking about George, his words cut into Paul like a razor blade, stabbing at his heart like pinpricks. “If you haven’t noticed, Rings, he’s married Pattie. And he still wants you. Just apologize already!”
“I’ve already tried, the lad won’t accept it!”
“That’s a load of bullshite, Ritchie, and you know it,” John suddenly spoke, looking up from his guitar for once to defend George. “At least say something to him, it won’t hurt.”
“He won’t accept it, I can pretty much guarantee that, John.”
“You never know unless ya try it, dearie,” John mocked in a feminine voice.
Ringo sighed heavily, turning away from his two bandmates. “Where do ya suppose he went to?”
Paul’s eyes lit up with relief. Ringo was actually making an effort to talk to George. “I think he’s in his room.”
“I better go find him then,” Ringo said, forcing a weak half-hearted smile and walking out of the studio to find George.
“Well that went better than I expected,” John chuckled.
Paul sighed. “Now we just have to hope that George is as willing to accept the apology as Ringo is to give it.”
---
George was lying in his bed, finally able to get some rest after what had happened back at the studio. Hopefully neither Paul or John would bother him today. He honestly just wanted to lie in bed and sleep forever, drifting away into thoughts of happier times. But his peaceful thoughts were interrupted as there was a knock on the door, taking him away from the haven he was currently relaxing in.
“Come in,” George said, trying to sound like he wasn’t crying or busier with something more interesting. He opened his eyes, wiping the tears from earlier on his sleeve. He stood up, ready to open the door, when he was met with Ringo, standing face-to-face with his ex-lover.
“Oh, hello...” George trailed off, immediately looking away from the older lad. George was about to turn around when Ringo stopped him, grabbing the guitarist’s shoulders to keep him from leaving.
“I want to talk to you,” he said, trying desperately to be nice to George as the younger lad rejected him.
“But I don’t want to talk to you,” George snapped back, shoving Ringo away and turning around to go back to his bed.
“Just listen to me, George,” Ringo begged, following him close behind as he tried to leave. “Please.”
“I don’t want to listen to you anymore,” George replied, his voice bitter and his tone filled with hatred. He wanted absolutely no part of what Ringo was trying to say, and he didn’t even care if he said something mind-blowing or earth-shattering. He was truly hurt by Ringo, and there was no way in hell he would say anything that could make George forgive him.
“Why don’t you let me at least say something before walking away?” Ringo’s voice was pleading, absolutelybegging George to forgive him and listen. But George wouldn’t have any of it.
“Leave me alone, Richard! I don’t want to talk to you!”
“Richard?” Ringo cocked his head to the side, a little confused. “You’re not even calling me Ringo anymore?”
“No, you don’t deserve it,” George replied back, the words bouncing off his tongue and snapping at Ringo like no words ever had before.
“Why do you insist on cutting me down so much?” Ringo let out a weak laugh. “I’m already short enough.”
“Will you quit trying to be nice to me?” George said, glaring at Ringo. “I don’t care about what you have to say.” George turned around and walked over to the kitchen table, sitting down and staring at a random newspaper article.
“I’m just trying to say sorry!” Ringo cried, his eyes widening with sadness. “The things I said to you, I never meant them. It’s been months and we haven’t even talked. We were best friends before any of this happened, and I wish it was at least like that again. I miss you, George, I really do. And I know you aren’t even listening and you won’t accept my lame attempt at an apology, but I need you.”
George looked up from the newspaper, looking in Ringo’s eyes and slightly smiling. “You really mean that?”
“Of course I do, George,” Ringo smiled back. “I love you.”
George winced. “You…. You do?”
“I always have, George.”
“But… you ended everything…?”
“Shh,” Ringo shushed George, now only inches away from his face. “I wasn’t ready then.”
“So you’re ready now?”
“I… I don’t know. But I’m closer to being ready than I was before, and I’m willing to be with you. I don’t care what anyone says.”
“But it’s still illegal, Rings, we can’t let the world know….”
“But we can at least be with each other, right?”
“I don’t know if I can… I just got married.”
“I’m married, too, George.” Ringo raised an eyebrow, awaiting George’s reply.
“I really missed you, George,” Ringo said, breaking the silence as George thought of what to say.
“I missed you, too.”
And then everything was the way it should have been for George. Ringo’s lips were on his own, sending shivers throughout George’s entire body as he felt the connection between the two of them he had so dearly missed. Sadly, kissing Pattie would never be as fantastic as just a moment of looking into Ringo’s eyes and kissing him.
Ringo was suddenly sitting on George’s lap as George’s hands found their way up and down Ringo’s back as they kissed. They were kissing with such a passion that George felt himself immediately fell in love with Ringo once more, the way he had some years ago when they first kissed.
Ringo was thinking erotic thoughts, feeling incredible being on George’s lap as they kissed for the first time in months. He felt himself growing hard against George, almost embarrassed at being this attracted to him this soon in their new relationship. He continued kissing George, his tongue finding its way into George’s mouth all too familiarly. George suddenly pulled away and looked up at Ringo and smiled, his eyes flickering down for a brief moment before shooting back up to Ringo’s eyes once more.
“What?” Ringo asked, chuckling.
“You know,” George raised his eyebrows and smirked, pecking Ringo quickly and then pulling away once more.
“No, I don’t know,” Ringo played dumb.
“You should know, it’s your bloody cock!” George laughed, nudging Ringo playfully.
“I can’t help it, I haven’t seen you in so long,” Ringo smiled.
And at that moment, George was shifting his position, allowing Ringo to climb off of him and sit in the chair instead, as he got out of the chair and kneeled on the floor in front of Ringo.
George began to undo the belt on Ringo’s pants, Ringo nearly shaking with excitement as he did so. It had been so long since he felt George on him in any way, shape, or form, and Ringo was nearly dying from it.
And then George’s mouth was on Ringo, the drummer shuddering with pleasure as George pleasured him like he hadn’t in so long. Ringo’s hands familiarly found their way onto George’s head, gripping at his hair as he sucked off Ringo.
Ringo let out a loud moan, loud enough for George to hear, and George smiled before continuing the task of making Ringo feel so incredible that he forgot his own name. George felt himself getting equally as hard just from sucking off Ringo, and he felt rather embarrassed. It was one thing to feel that way if someone was pleasuring you, but he was the one doing the pleasuring. Isn’t this how queers feel? George shrugged it off and resumed making Ringo feel like he was on top of the world.
Ringo felt himself close. He looked down for one final moment and saw George’s big brown eyes looking up at his own and he couldn’t take it; He released, shuddering from the impact of such a glorious feeling. Ringo tilted his head back, riding out his orgasm. He looked down at George once more and saw the younger lad was shuddering with pleasure himself, his eyes closed and his head tilting back as well as he let out a soft moan. Ringo chuckled, thinking George wouldn’t notice.
“Why are you laughing?” George asked, offended slightly.
“Did you really just come off from sucking me off?” Ringo asked, a smile lighting up his face.
“No, I was just-“
“It’s alright, I don’t judge.”
“But I didn’t-“
Ringo raised his eyebrows and shot George a look that meant, stop lying to me, it’ll only make things worse,and George gave into the truth.
“Fine, I came off from it. Happy?”
Ringo smiled, indeed happy with himself. “Am I really that fantastic that you did that just from sucking me off?”
George shrugged. “I dunno. I guess it’s just because I haven’t felt you that close to me in so long.”
That night, Ringo and George made love for the first time in what felt like forever. It simply wasn’t just sex between the two of them anymore; it was making pure love. John and Paul sat in their rooms, laughing away at the sounds coming from Ringo and George’s room.
“Did they make up?” Paul asked, holding his ear to the wall, immediately regretting it as he heard what was coming from the other room.
“Judging by the sounds coming from there, I’ll say they’re doing much more than making up,” John chuckled.
“Dear God, we’re monsters!” Paul cried, laughing away with John. “We urge them to make up, and that’s what happens!”
John laughed at Paul’s dramatic tone. “I’m sure they’re enjoying it, though.”
“Well, how could they not? Those sounds have been coming from their room for quite a while, John.”
John smirked. “Wanna make some noises of our own, Paulie?”
“John!” Paul slapped the older lad playfully, resulting in him nearly tumbling over on the bed in a fit of giggles. “Not tonight.”
“But why nooooot?” John begged, using a mock-girl voice to annoy the shit out of Paul. “I’m still pure, I promise!”
Paul honestly couldn’t stop laughing. Even though John probably wanted something out of him tonight, he was asking in such a hilarious way that Paul couldn’t help but laugh his ass off.
John reached over to Paul and began tickling him uncontrollably, causing the bassist to fall onto the bed sheets, giggling away.
“John, stop it!” Paul cried through his fit of giggles, trying to playfully shove John away. “I’m not ticklish!”
“Then why are you laughing?” John smirked, still tickling Paul and finding it hilarious how the younger lad was so ticklish.
“It’s because it’s you tickling me!” Paul cried, eventually successfully pushing John away.
Paul sat up, instantly scooting across the bed to sit against the wall. He wrapped his arms around his knees, curling up in a ball to protect himself if John tried to tickle him again.
“Paulie!” John cried, lurching forward to attempt to tickle Paul once more.
“You’ll never take me alive!” Paul cried, jumping off the bed and actually managing to jump over John and landing on the floor with a thud.
“Paul, are you alright?” John suddenly noticed Paul was on the floor, writhing in pain.
“John...” Paul cried out, reaching out for John’s help.
“Paul!” John cried out, kneeling down next to him to see how badly he was hurt.
John looked at Paul, worry in his eyes. Paul attempted to lift his head up, his face badly damaged. His nose was definitely broken, as Paul hit the floor nearly face first. His nose was twisted slightly to the side, a dent in his nose that was larger than John’s liking. Paul’s lip was bleeding excessively, blood dripping onto John’s hands as he tried to sooth him.
“John, I think I broke my nose,” Paul moaned out, his whole face hurting like mad.
“Ya think?” John said sarcastically, trying to make a joke but only making Paul feel slightly more hurt inside.
“But it hurts so bad...”
“I know, I think you did more than break your nose,” John said, his voice suddenly sounding more caring and sympathetic.
Paul’s eyes lit up with fear. How were his fans going to react? One of their favorite heartthrobs, suddenly turned ugly. The bloody birds wouldn’t even listen to their music anymore; they just cared about looks. It made him sick.
“Do you want to see a doctor?” John asked, immediately realized it was stupid question as soon as he did so.
“Mhmm,” Paul nodded, tears in his eyes from the intense pain in his nose and lips.
“Come on, follow me,” John picked Paul up, carrying him like a newly-wed bride.
John and Paul limped into John’s car, driving away hurriedly to the nearest hospital to fix Paul’s face.
“Is it broken?” Paul asked, his puppy-dog eyes wide and staring at the doctor. John was holding his hand, careful for the doctor not to see their hidden affection.
“I’m afraid so,” the doctor replied- Robert, was it? Dr. Robert replied.
Paul audibly sighed, almost on the verge of tears. “Are you serious?”
“Sadly, I am. The damage is so bad, I’m afraid you might need surgery.”
“Surgery?!” Paul cried, fear of damaging the face that had helped him become as famous as he was today. Sure, his voice helped, but his face had definitely helped.
“Paul,” John comforted. “He doesn’t mean anything major.”
“He’s right,” Dr. Robert replied. “But your nose is beyond broken. We can’t fix it without knocking you out with some medications first.”
Paul was still filled with worry, his eyes wider than they had ever been. “Right now?”
“No, not now,” Dr. Robert chuckled. “Next week. Even tomorrow if you want.”
“I want this to be done as soon as possible,” Paul said desperately. “I want this to go back to normal.”
John shuddered at Paul’s words. Back to normal. His face looked terrible, definitely not appropriate for preforming for the fans. Maybe it was best that they don’t tour anymore. They didn’t have any more shows for a couple months, they could easily cancel them.
John cringed when he looked at Paul’s bruised nose and bloody lip. He had tried to kiss Paul and make it better along the way there, but Paul had only winced in pain further at the ongoing pressure and throbbing in his lips.
“I can drive you here tomorrow,” John said, looking into Paul’s eyes and hopefully making him feel better.
Paul nodded, showing that he understood. He really didn’t want surgery. What if he looked so different that afterward that people started making things up?
“That’d be fine,” Dr. Robert replied, looking over a clipboard which must’ve had the schedules for appointments in his hands. “I’ll schedule an appointment for tomorrow evening. We’ll have you looking as close as possible to the old Paul as humanly possible. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Doctor Robert walked out of the room, leaving Paul and John alone together, John cradling a nearly sobbing Paul.
“I’m so vain, John!” Paul cried into John’s shoulder, tears dripping down his bruised face. “I can’t stand being ugly like this!”
“You’re not ugly,” John comforted, wrapping his arms around Paul. “You’ll never be ugly to me.”
Paul looked up and John and smiled, tears still rolling down his face. “I love you, John.”
“I love you too.”