Title: Get Me
Fandom: Beatles Slash
Prompt: #084- High
Word Count: 465
Rating: PG-13, perhaps, for language and BOYS KISSING :P
Author's Notes: It seems my muse is on sabbatical. But she popped in this morning while I was reading the book The Beatles by Bob Spitz. One little excerpt spoke to me:
The sun was high in the sky, blazing thin trails of sweat down Ringo’s cheeks. He ran the back of his hand across his forehead, peering up at the cloudless sky.
“I’m fuckin’ bored, Rich.”
Ringo tilted his head back, squinting at an upside-down John walking towards him.
“Wot’d’you want me to do about that?” Ringo asked. John grinned in that way that only he could as the sun rippled across his hair, shooting the brown through with shards of red. He held up his right hand, a small wooden box lying in the flat palm, and he pushed those new glasses, small, round and wire-rimmed, up his nose.
“I’ve got that covered.”
The sun was teasing them now, bouncing, almost, on the horizon, threatening to slip and cast them into darkness only to rise slightly again, bathing them in the golden glow.
John sat cross-legged on the ground, shifting carefully through the box, picking and choosing from the greenery within like a connoisseur. Ringo sat beside him, short legs stretched out in front of him. Four small twists of paper, each blackened on one end, lay discarded between the two of them.
John expertly rolled the fifth thin joint, lit it, dragged on it, and passed it to his blue eyed companion, smoke still in his lungs.
Ringo looked carefully at John, even as he took his own drag. John exhaled slowly, savouring the smoke curling from between his lips and rolling up his face. Ringo smiled at him, calm and mellow, smoke easing out his nose.
“You get me, Rich.” John said quietly. “I mean... Paul gets me, sorta. And George too... but you... you get me.” He stressed the last two words, taking the joint back between finger and thumb. “You get me.”
The sun was gone now, and the moon was dark. When John was bored, he was bored, and four more joint ends had found their way to the ground, spent.
John was flat on his back now, head resting in Ringo’s lap. Ringo had one hand resting on John’s chest, savouring the rise and fall of his chest, the steady beating of his heart. His other hand traced the highlights in John’s hair.
Mellow. Calm. Totally at ease.
John reached on hand up, giggling quietly to himself as he placed his hand on Ringo’s cheek, running his fingertips through the streak of grey that those damned mop-like haircuts always hid.
Still calm, still comfortable, John’s hand moved to the back of Ringo’s neck, drawing him down. Their lips met softly, just like every time.
John breaks the kiss, and rests his lips instead against Ringo’s forehead. “I was so lonely here.” He mumbles. “So lonely.” John kissed Ringo’s forehead gently, smiling against his skin. “I’m glad you’re here, Rich.”
Richie Likes Boys
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