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Ringo sat in the luxury hotel room he was sharing with George, realizing only now that he was alone how lavish and spacious the room around him was. George had left about an hour before to go out with John and Paul, and Ringo had chosen to stay behind for the night to relax - it was something he chose to do every now and then, so he could have just a moment of alone time. He was raised alone, in and out of hospital, and sometimes he still needed a moment to just be with himself.
And so, the other three had gone on without him, leaving him to sit contently and do whatever it was that he did when he was alone. Tonight, he had chosen a relaxing combination of Brandy Alexanders and vanilla ice cream, the drone of foreign television in the background as he gazed absentmindedly out of the window and into the twinkling city below. He counted all of the restaurants he could see, then all of the boutiques, and then the passersby. I wonder where the fellas are right now, Ringo thought to himself.
He stood in an effort to make himself another drink, stopping to look over the food service cart for the hundredth time on his way - mini sandwiches, hors d’oeuvres, chocolates, fruits, berries, fish and chips - and yet, nothing looked satisfying. He shrugged to himself, reaching for his Brandy again and taking a swig straight from the bottle.
He took a moment to stare at his tiny reflection in the glass, wondering if he should polish off the bottle with his time. There wasn’t much else to do, seeing as he couldn’t understand the television programs around here or play a game of cards by himself. He sighed, knowing he might just drink himself into a coma if he tried to finish it alone, and he sorely set the bottle back on the cart.
Just as he began to regret staying home without the others, he remembered a special treat George had brought along with them that could easily improve his evening. He moved across the room to George’s bedside, finding the little bag of white powder neatly tucked away in the bedside table. They hadn’t done cocaine in almost a year, and they had only bought some for a party coming up, but Ringo knew George wouldn’t mind if he had a sniff or two to kill the time.
He dumped a good amount of it out on the bedside table, pulling out the razor he secretly kept in his lapel and using it to sort out a couple of lines as he set his jacket to the side. He had kept the blade on him since his Teddy boy days, although he hoped this would always be the only thing he’d have to use it for.
Rich was smart enough to put the remaining pile back in the bag, tucking it safely back where he had found it. He certainly didn’t wanna overdo it and end up with a bloodied nose, or worse.
After it was all safely put away, he rubbed his hands together and smiled to himself; now this was a decent way to spend the evening. He leaned down and sniffed a line, taking a moment to blink it back before gathering some of the leftover dust with his thumb and rubbing it on his canines. He habitually lit a new fag after the action, unbuttoning the top half of the buttons on his shirt when he noticed how quickly his skin was warming up.
He sucked his cigarette down quicker than he had meant to, humming happily to himself as his fingers began to tingle beneath the surface. He lit another and stood quickly, moving to the rolling bar to finish fixing himself a new drink, aiming to get as warmly intoxicated as possible. After successfully making another Brandy Alexander, he wandered all about the hotel room, dancing with his drink in his hand and his ciggie on his lips, singing “Bad Boy” by Jive Bombers to himself playfully.
After his third drink, second line, and fourth rendition of “Bad Boy,” he began to wonder again what to do with himself for the rest of the evening. He usually didn’t like to go to sleep before midnight, but there wasn’t much to fill the time with, and he certainly wasn’t ready to hit the streets and get ripped apart by whichever passersby would inevitably recognize him.
However, perhaps being ripped apart wouldn’t be such a bad end to the night. It soon became clear how Ringo would be spending the rest of the evening as he felt a familiar feeling moving through his lower abdomen. He reached down and grabbed his prick through his trousers, exhaling roughly when he realized how hard he already was. Cocaine always had that sort of affect on him, and the drinking along with it only seemed to help things along.
He finished his glass and fell back into the leather recliner, whistling happily as he unfastened his trouser buttons to free himself. He had trouble steadying his fingers at first, but he managed, sighing with relief as he pulled his throbbing prick out and squeezed it tightly at the base.
His mind instantly drifted off into a dizzy, drug induced fantasy: He thought of Maureen, dark and beautiful in her corset and long stockings, crawling all over him, kissing his throat with her needy mouth. He could nearly feel her eyes burning into him, watching his every move, and he wished for a moment that she was there in his lap. He could almost taste her - He wanted to taste her - his skin ached for her touch.
Not just Maureen’s touch, really - anyone's touch would do, in this state. Ringo's mind drifted all too easily from Maureen to other birds he’d encountered along the way: groupies, celebrities, working girls, anyone who had been to bed with him, and anyone whom he had wished to take to bed.
In the haze, his mind went somewhere it didn’t often go: He always knew he was bladdered when his fantasies became that of mixed company, birds and blokes filtering through his filthy thoughts.
Admittedly, it wasn’t just any bloke. He mostly tended to picture someone specific, a delicate man with a familiar face, sitting calmly between his legs.
He wondered what George would think if he knew all of the dirty things Ringo thought of him when he got trashed like this. He gripped his cock tighter, feeling his heartbeat under the skin, imagining that George would come in at any moment and drop to his knees, mouth open, canine teeth glistening - dark eyes always watching.
Suddenly, the door was flung open violently as George stormed in, slamming it shut behind him and rattling the entire room. Ringo froze in place as George, frighteningly real, ran his hands through his hair, shaking with emotion. “Fuck this. Fuck them! Richie -“
George froze as he turned and saw what Ringo was busy with. Ringo should’ve hidden himself, tucked himself into his trousers, done something, but his mind had gone completely blank. He simply sat there, cock twitching in his hand as he stared wide eyed at George.
The long silence in the room was only broken by the steady hum of the television program. They simply stared at one another for a while, frozen. Finally, George broke the trance.
“Rich. Don’t move.” George looked furious enough for Ringo to follow orders without question.
In moments, George was on top of him, his legs straddling Ringo’s hips and his hands resting delicately on his chest, long fingers drifting under his open shirt. Ringo choked back a groan at the unexpected contact, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched George’s face.
George still looked angry, but he also looked playful, lustful, and worst of all, he looked incredibly high. His pupils were blown out so wide you would think his eyes were pure, charcoal black. He had taken something, but Ringo couldn’t be sure if it was cocaine, acid, or something else entirely. Either way, both of them were heavily intoxicated - otherwise, George wouldn’t have so shamelessly pressed his finger against Ringo’s soft, swollen lips, and Ringo wouldn't have taken George’s thin finger into his mouth so easily, grazing his tongue over it like it was only natural to do so.
George chewed his lip as he stared down at Ringo, index finger still pressed into his mouth and arse pressed firmly against Ringo's cock. He gave an experimental wiggle of his hips, causing a choked sound to come from Ringo. His hands moved involuntarily to George’s hips, but he wasn’t sure if he was getting ready to stop George’s movements or encourage him further. His body answered for him, pushing up roughly against George’s clothed arse and making him breathe out a quiet “oh..”
He fell forward quickly, biting and sucking all along Ringo’s throat and jawline frantically, like he would die without a taste. George was needy, eager, heavy. And God, so was Ringo. Through the haze, Ringo had a dim thought that this could be dangerous somehow. What would they think of it in the morning? Would they even be able to remember?
“George…” Ringo panted, but George didn’t seem to hear him. “George,” He managed louder, still getting no response other than a low grunting.
George squeezed his legs around Ringo’s, grinding down relentlessly against him. Rich pulled in a shaking breath, and he could feel his hips continuing to roll up to meet George, although it wasn’t something he was doing consciously. George moaned wantonly in Ringos ear, sending a long chill down his body and forcing a groan from him to match it.
“Yer bleedin’ wasted, la’,” Ringo exhaled, and George giggled against his throat.
“So’re you,” George lilted, and Ringo swallowed thickly.
“Guess I am,” Ringo replied, low and quiet, and he knew then that he didn’t have it in him to stop where this was going. He looked George in the eye, melting instantly into his dark, dazed stare. “Just a touch.”
George slammed his mouth against Ringo’s, harsh and desperate, and Ringo all too easily let his mouth slip open for him, welcoming and warm, moaning into George’s mouth when his tongue licked hungrily across Ringo’s teeth.
Ringo's fingers found the hem of George’s shirt and he gave an inpatient tug. Before they even knew it happened, their shirts were crumpling to the floor, bare chests pressing against each other as George continued to attack Ringo’s mouth and neck.
In the midst of it all, Ringo heard a door shut in the room adjacent to theirs, and he stiffened at the sound. “The others-“ he began, but he was cut off by a sharp yelp that erupted from his throat when George bit him hard on his collarbone, right around his chain necklace.
“Don’t care,” George grumbled, kissing Ringo chastely on his Adam's apple before beginning to sink down, kissing and nipping at Ringos chest and torso.
Ringo sucked in a nervous breath, listening to the quiet chatter echo from the other room. “But-“ He was interrupted by George’s thin fingers closing over his mouth and shutting it forcefully.
“I want you to fuck me senseless, Rings,” George growled, “Let them hear.”
Ringo swallowed hard, nodding obediently and easily forgetting about any worries he may have had.
George slid off of Ringo’s lap, stumbling a bit as he stood to remove his trousers. Ringo stood, as well, and they shamelessly watched each other undress the rest of the way, eyeing each other hungrily. When the task was over, they stood there for a moment, pricks bobbing and chests heaving as they stared.
This time, Ringo broke through the trance, issuing a final warning: “Ye sure about this?”
George grinned wickedly and stepped forward twice, pressing close enough for their naked cocks to rub harshly against each other. “Aren’t you?”
“‘S right,” Ringo said, low and confident, hypnotized by their pricks sliding together.
George licked his lower lip, watching Ringo's heavy eyes closely. “Well, then.”
At that, Ringo quickly spit into his palm and took both of their cocks in his hand, his cold rings pressing harshly into heated skin and forcing a quiet groan from George. He wanted to go as slow as possible, savor each heated moment, but he felt as if he were somewhere far away, unable to fully control himself. His hand picked up pace almost immediately, an insatiable feeling taking over him as George began to whine and thrust mindlessly into his hand.
“Ringo, fuck,” George moaned softly, and Ringo forced himself to let go. The moment he moved his hand away, George put his hands on Ringo’s chest and sank to his knees, his calloused fingers dragging down Ringo’s torso.
When he settled, he blinked slowly, staring intently at Ringo’s pulsing cock, mouth hanging slightly open. Ringo held his breath, dizzy at the sight, a literal fantasy. Finally, George leaned in, licking a drop of pre-come away from his cock. Ringo shuddered, and George gave him a sideways grin before he leaned forward once again, this time wrapping his lips around the head and sucking gently, experimentally. Ringo’s hands fell to George’s head to steady himself as he pulled in a gasp, eyelids fluttering, fingers numb.
It wasn’t long before the two of them dissolved into low whines and wet skin, Richie’s rings tangled in George’s hair, George’s fingernails digging into Ringo’s hips. George’s throat was hot and nearly numb from the drugs and the alcohol, allowing Ringo to push his dick almost all the way into his mouth and a bit down his throat.
Ringo could hear himself groaning, could feel his chest rattling, but it didn’t sound like it came from his body. He felt far away, and yet he could feel every little thing, and it was driving him absolutely mad. Ringo balled his fist up in George’s hair, making him groan thickly around his prick, the vibrations nearly sending Ringo straight over the edge. He quickly pulled George off of him, a string of saliva still connecting his lips to Ringo’s cock, and they stared at each other for a moment as they both caught their breath.
Ringo pulled George to his feet, taking only one more moment to take a mental picture of George’s wrecked face before slamming their mouths back together, hungrily nipping and sliding his tongue across George’s open lips, nearly delirious. His hand slid from George’s hair down to the back of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer, and they moaned loudly into each other’s mouths as their cocks slipped together.
Suddenly, there was a pounding coming from the other side of the wall and a loud, obnoxious voice rang out: “Eee, will ye shurrup already!”
They both giggled quietly for a moment, shushing each other playfully and listening to see if John would say any more. When it seemed the coast was clear, George twitched his hips just slightly, dragging his hot prick against Ringo’s and making him quietly hiss.
Ringo worked quickly, grabbing George’s wrist and leading him back to the recliner. Ringo pulled George down on top of him, and they went down so hard they almost tipped the entire chair backwards, making both of them erupt into boyish laughter once again. The giggling quieted into soft moans quickly enough as George positioned himself up against Ringo, his arse sliding against Ringo’s cock easily from the slick pre-come and saliva.
Finally, George was able to get everything lined up properly, casting one final glance at Ringo as if waiting for him to protest. Then, he bit his lip and began to sink down.
When the tip of his cock slipped into George, Ringo bit his lip so hard he was certain it would start to bleed. Inch by inch, George settled down into Ringo’s lap, and Ringo was suddenly aware that George had to have done this before, which only turned him on more somehow. When George got all the way settled, he sat still, taking it in, panting and blushing.
“Yer cock is bleedin’ massive,” George hissed, and Ringo chuckled. He felt his prick twitch inside of George and he chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Does it hurt?”
George groaned in response while his cock jumped, smacking his stomach and smudging it with pre-come. Ringo slipped his fingers underneath George’s thighs to steady him, surprised to find him trembling.
“D’ye wanna stop?” Rich asked gently, aware from experience that he might really be hurting George.
“Richie,” George moaned softly, and Ringo felt his arse clench tightly around his cock. His eyes fluttered up to meet George’s dark, wanting stare, and George leaned back, letting Ringo’s dick slide impossibly deeper. “Stop talkin.’”
In unison, they began to move together, pleasure completely taking over in only moments. It wasn’t long at all before George was slamming himself down on Ringo, desperate for more while Ringo thrusted up into George, catching his weight every time he dropped back down, skin meeting skin mercilessly.
It seemed George would never tire, his thighs powerfully carrying him through his relentless ride, bouncing and bouncing and bouncing, endlessly. His wet prick slapped against Ringo’s stomach with each bounce, punctuated by low whines, until Ringo decided he couldn’t take any more of the sweet torture.
With a quick motion, Ringo grabbed George and flipped them around, letting George sink back into the recliner as he positioned himself over him. He easily pushed himself back in, sucking in a breath as George let out a long, needy groan.
George’s hands found Ringo’s neck, back, and waist, and he sunk his claws in, nearly drawing blood - not that Ringo even took notice. Ringo was far too focused, slamming himself into George with a calm, steady rhythm, chasing the familiar warm feeling that pooled in his stomach.
After a few moments, Rich angled his hips differently, pulling one of George’s legs over his shoulder for better access. At this angle, Ringo could feel himself pushing deeper inside, and a satisfied smile crossed over his face as George began to push back against him and whine, loudly.
George grabbed Ringo’s face with one hand, pulling him down for an aggressive kiss full of colliding teeth and rasping moans.
“Richie, fuck,” George breathed out, “don’t stop, please don’t stop,” and God knew Ringo couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. With a broken scream, George was finished, cumming hard enough for some of it to end up in his open mouth. He was tight, so unbelievably tight, and he was twitching and hot all over. Ringo knew he couldn’t take it much longer, either.
“George…” Ringo’s voice was low and raw.
“Don’t fuckin’ stop,” George growled, his eyes squeezed shut, prick still leaking come onto his blushing stomach. Ringo blissfully followed instructions, continuing to pound into George, his perfect rhythm beginning to falter as his own end rapidly approached. Finally, a rush of ecstasy moved through Ringo’s body as George’s legs yanked him closer. Ringo’s hips continued to buck uncontrollably as he came, hard and long, emptying all of himself inside of George.
Ringo slowly pulled out after catching a breath or two, gripping George’s hips tightly as overstimulation wracked his nerves. A small amount of his come dripped out of George’s hole, and for a moment, Ringo's prick threatened to get hard all over again from the filthy sight.
He stumbled backwards, vaguely aware that he should find a washcloth. He looked down at George, a divine sight: his blushing chest was still catching up, his prick still half hard, stomach covered. He absentmindedly licked his own come off of his lips, peering up through wet lashes to catch Ringo staring.
“Yer beautiful,” Ringo said breathlessly, without a second thought. George scoffed and looked away, but Ringo could tell he was happy with the comment. “Ye really are bladdered, talkin’ like tha.’”