Fandom: Beatles Slash
Prompt: #041- Rain
Word Count: 620
Rating: PG fluff. Technically not even slashy, but, what ev. Let’s just say that it’s a prelude. :P
Author's Notes: 2nd Person to Ringo’s POV. Erm... takes place in Hamburg, when Richie’s still in the Hurricanes. I tweaked around with some nonsense, but who really cares?
You’ve always hated rain. In a completely nonsensical way, bad weather always reminds you of the childhood you spent ill.
It’s raining tonight, and you’re remembering why you hate it so much even as you stand in the downpour.
Your hand is turned upwards, to the less keen observer as if you were trying to gather the water. You’re actually trying to keep your last cigarette dry enough to stay lit.
The door beside you opens with a click and a crash of noise from inside, and you take another step away from the door. Only the patrons are allowed to smoke inside the Kasierkeller, and Bruno Koshmider breaks his rules only for himself.
You only vaguely recognise the scrawny boy who’s closing the door. He flips the collar of his leather jacket up against the rain. You don’t know his name, but you know his face, and you particularly know those sticky-outy ears and heavy eyebrows. He’s one of three guitarists for that band, The Beatles.
They’re good, you’ve always thought so.
He draws out a cigarette and a small book of matches. There’s only one match left, and just when he manages to strike it, a gust of wet wind blows the little bugger out.
He curses quietly. Rory or someone told you once that he’s only 17, not even supposed to be in Germany.
You bring your cigarette to your mouth and leave it dangling there as you pull out your lighter. You take a step towards him, sparking a flame with a flick of your thumb, and cupping your free hand around the flickering heat.
He eyes you for maybe a millisecond before putting his already slightly damp cigarette in his mouth and lighting it on the offered flame.
“Ta.” He says, smoke curling out of his mouth with the world.
You nod, closing the lighter with a snap and returning it to your pocket.
“I’m George.” He says, offering his hand. You shake it, a tingle running up your arm.
“Rich.” You respond in turn. He smiles, and you notice an over-large canine tooth. It looks like a fang.
“Ringo.” He says, smirking, a hint of correction in his voice. You return his smile.
“Or so they call me.” You hold up your hands, showing off the four rings from which you got your stage name.
There’s a comfortable pause. Your cigarettes almost dead, but for some reason, you don’t want to go back inside, back to the lager fumes and second-hand smoke from the customers. You don’t want to dive back into the noise that makes up the rest of tonight’s talent. You’d rather stay out here with this scrawny kid.
“You’re really good.” He says suddenly, eyeing you.
“Wot?” You’re taken aback by this. Rory’s always called you ‘Liverpool’s best’, but to hear someone else laud your drumming...
“You’re a good drummer.” He repeated. “Really. I mean, as well as I can hear. Pete... our drummer?” You nod, so he continues. “Pete’s not really into it at all. He’s alright, but he doesn’t really care.”
“You’re good too.” You say, finally letting go of the last of your cigarette. “Really. Your whole band. You guys are going somewhere.”
George smiled. “Thanks.”
You move towards the door, brushing against his shoulder slightly.
“Wait.” He says. You stop with your hand on the doorknob, and turn to look at him.
He flushes slightly. “D’you, er... want another ciggie?”
You look at him for a moment, then check your watch. You aren’t on for another half-hour. Your hand leaves the knob, and you return to him.
His face lights up with that same fanged smile, and he digs another cigarette out of his pocket.
Richie Likes Boys
My slash_100 Table
X-Posted to oneandonlytrey, slash_100, and beatlesslash