Behind the Curtain

The Curtain

The sounds of laughter and cheers were drowned out by the thick curtain, just like the previous week in their small town pub. And just like every night at that dark wooden bar, George pulled the drapes over him to let Ringo walk under his arm. It was a meaningless gesture to the drummer, and besides a chippy 'thank ye' coming out of him, it never crossed his mind more than once. 

But for George, it was everything. When the new group had to find a replacement for their drummer, he was quick to disapprove whoever Paul and John decided to add to the trio. It was just another mouth to feed and another mouth to bicker with, too much trouble for him to care for. Indeed, he was hellbent on giving whoever walked through those doors the worse treatment he could think of; but along came Ringo. Just about everyone who's met him knows the lad for his nose, but what he noticed first was his smile. If he wasn't grinning ear to ear, he was laughing or had his lips pressed in confusion. Never once did he frown, not even with his big blue eyes. When he was still, there was always something so childish and kind to the way he held himself, and the way he looked to everyone (even grumpy George) with the most cheerful and polite smile he could. He couldn't give this lad hell, no, he needed to make sure that smile never left his face for a moment.

And that's what he did.

No matter what it was, George would be right there to help him with whatever meaningless task he set on. From carrying his drums to opening a can of cola, it was always George to help him. Of course, he never made a big deal of it and it quickly became reflex; but every time Ringo would give him a smile he warmed to let go of his brooding anger for a fraction of a second. That curtain was everything to George.

"Paul's aught to let you sing more often y'know, you've got a brilliant voice! Sure it's not show-stoppin' but you've got the chords to sing anyone to sleep."

"Hm. I'd rather leave it t' the pretty boy and Lennon. I'm no good with the spotlight."

"Don't be stupid!" he swatted at his chest dismissively, "You've got a lovely voice. An' between you n' me, if Paul wasn't up there singing his heart out- you'd be the pretty boy y'know. You've certainly got the looks." Ringo winked with a big grin, his blues sparkling up at him.

With a tug at his collar he coughed into his sleeve, masking his obvious flushed cheeks and furrowed brows. Damn, he was cute.

"Can it. You know I can't charm a bird for shite."

"Oh, oh! C'mon now Georgie I know yer not that thick! Ye got the looks and the voice, you could charm any bird ye want. Right, tell you what. I'll be a nice lass coming to compliment ye on yer performance and you go on and try t' charm me."

"Fuck's sake Ringo, that's the stupidest shite I've-"

After shrugging off his coat, he started fiddling with his button down to fashion it into a crude crop-top; he even tried to use his tie as a bow on his head. And with a disturbingly accurate pose of his hips and a dainty hand placed on his waist, he put on what was the worst impression of a women England's ever seen.

"Oh my gosh are ye George Harrison??? THE George Harrison??? I can't believe me eyes- yer just as handsome as in the magazines! I never knew ye voice was so delicate too- oh my gosh it was like heaven!"

"What the absolute fuck are you-"

"Aye! I'm a lady, George. Watch yer language."

Pulling his features down with a grumble, hiding his snicker, he begrudgingly tried to play along.

"Er- yea. I'm George. Erm," he scratched his head, "Yer fit yourself."

"Fit?? Ye don't call a lady fit! She's beautiful, gorgeous, lovely- she's not fit!"

"Aye, aye, alright! Yer a very beautiful.. girl... yourself. It's er, always good to meet a fan. What's yer name?"

"Awe yer as kind as you are cute! I'm Nancy. 'Tis a real dream meetin' you in person y'know," he waved his hand like a fan with the bat of his eyes.

"For fuck's sake Ringo cut it out," with a growl and a show of his canines he was quick to fix his shirt for him, "Ye want to know if I can charm a bird? I'll fuckin' show you how to charm a bird-"

Pushing his short figure against the wall, he kept his forearm over his head and used his hand to hold him by the waist. With heavy eyelids and a frustrated blush to his sharp cheek bones, he stared at those lips- not smiling, but pressed in confusion. Damn it to hell, he was cute- "You charmed yet?"

"You've got nice eyes y'know. I never get to see em since yer always squintin'."

"Shut up," he did him a favor by pressing his lips against those pressed together. It was as sweet as he imagined it, soft and easily moved. There was no complaints from the drummer, in fact he was quite welcome to it, his heavy hands even came off the wall to hold his thin waist. George moved the hand on his hip around the small of his back, bringing him closer as his boney fingers grabbed his buttoned shirt. Even though he made the first move, he was shaken with his own nerves and soon parted from his lips to stumble out a string of apologies.

"George, George- calm down. what're you on about??"

"Why- Why aren't you cross with me?"

"Well, yer a good kisser. It was a nice experience I wasn't complainin'. I won't be mad if I liked it."

Looking over his shoulder, he hunched over the smaller's figure with fidgety hands, "you... liked it?"

"Hey," with a simple pat to the chest and straightening the skinny lad's tie, he smiled, "Stop lookin' over ye shoulder. Paul's chattin' up the ladies and John's having a smoke- it's just me. I don't care what they think about this, it's only about us. But it ye want to forget it and move on I understand."

With a shaky lip, he smashed himself against that smile and pulled him close to his chest. There were even tears in the corners of his eyes. How he could be so nonchalant about the whole ordeal is beyond George's mind, but Ringo simply gave a happy clap before delightfully kissing his partner.

"You're,, a sweet."

"Awh, thank ye Georgie. Yer fit yourself!"