george x ringo

Starrison Slash

This is for my son @spooklad enjoy son!! 

The feeling of walking into the flat after such an extensive period of time  was a feeling like no other. The difficulty of having George slung across his aching shoulder, carrying the younger one up the flight of stairs and standing at the door of their apartment for well over 5 minutes just so he could manage to extract the keys from his pocket without dropping George seemed all worth it in the end for poor Ringo. Unlike his sensible boyfriend, George took  a few too many drinks that night and could hardly walk, let alone stand up straight towards the end of the night in the club. It was the very last day of their tour and without a doubt, the four Beatles were definitely going out that particular night.

 It was one of the most prestigious nightclubs of London and any celebrity or anyone worth knowing were drawn to it. Ringo gave George a clear warning before going in not to indulge himself in too much drink considering he was skinny and couldn’t take it as well as the others. Oh but no, George was dead sure at the time he could handle it. Nothing, not even his sensible Ritchie could convince him otherwise. As the night continued, George and John ended up being the ones who drank the most. Shot after shot and Ringo could only wait for the outcome it would have on George. John was an exception however- he had a bigger build in comparison to George and so when their clubbing came close to the end, he could at least walk out of place to his lift home waiting at the entrance.

On the other side of the equation, it was the third consecutive time George fell on his bum on the dance floor that night leaving Ringo no other choice but to pick him up and carry him out of the place himself and back home. Thankfully, George was a happy drunk and continued to laugh and giggle to himself right until they reached the door of their flat. Ringo managed to close the door behind him and proceeded to carry George to the couch and placed him down carefully where George laid down on his back.”The state of you Geo” Ringo exclaimed as he tenderly rubbed his sore shoulder blade. “Didn’t I tell you this would happen?”

Ringo sat himself down on the opposite armchair and pulled out a well deserved cigarette from his jacket. He lit it and took a long drag, watching the smoke evaporate into the air of the room. He looked directly across at the younger lad who could only try to hold back giggles. “Well?” said Ringo “what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Sorry” George replied with a cheeky grin across his face.

“Are you?” Ringo questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“No” said George and with that he laughed and chuckled only for Ringo to smile and chuckle along with him.

George was just so beautiful in Ringo’s eyes. He had the most adorable smile that accentuated every feature of his beautiful baby face. His narrow and skinny little frame was like a plush toy for him to wrap his arms around and pull close towards him at times when he just wanted to feel warmth and comfort. His little Georgie also had one one of the most sweetest and playful personalities that Ringo ever came to know. The quiet Beatle? Not that Ringo ever knew of. 10 seconds wouldn’t go by in a day without him predominantly laughing or messing about childishly with Ringo and the others with his favourite guitar. George also had one of the finest of butts that ever came from Liverpool and just thinking about it placed some intentions in Ringo’s mind…

“Ritchie” George said as he began to bite his lower lip “I’m thirsty”.

“D’you want me to stick on the kettle,love? I’m fairly sure there’s leftover tea bags in the kitch-”

“I’m not thirsty for tea” George interrupted in a seductive tone and now began to twiddle his fingers. It was only now Ringo copped-on towards George’s hint. Ever since he and George started to fuck each other, George would always play with his fingers until he’d catch Ringo’s full attention. In return Ringo would always stroll by the younger chap just at the right time to suggest “going to the loo for a quick piss”- which was obviously a load of fucking bollocks. If they were lucky, the bathroom at the studios or wherever they were might be completely empty and they’d get at least five minutes of rough and quick sex before Eppy would start looking for them again. But now, the touring season was over and Ringo longed for some nice sex in bed with his Georgie considering they had all the time for each other in their hands.

Ringo stuck the remaining of his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table beside him and casually picked George up from the couch and placed him on his lap as they sat in the armchair together. George crossed his legs around Ringo’s back and placed his arms over his older boyfriend’s neck. In return, Ringo played with George’s bangs and stroked the few hairs back from his cute little face. “What are you thirsty for Geo?” Ringo asked in his husky Liverpudlian voice as he began to plant soft kisses over George’s neck.George was so caught up in this affection he almost forgot what Ringo even asked him.

“I-I’m thirsty for you” he moaned and tried with difficulty to look at Ringo without his dick going rock-hard. Ringo moved the kisses upwards from George’s neck, to his chin and then slowly pressed his lips up against his. George opened his mouth and now his Ritchie was given full permission to explore with his tongue. At the same time, Ringo now slowly caressed George’s back and made his hands all the way down to his arse to squeeze tight. It was the element of surprise and made George quickly pull away from Ringo’s lips.

“Don’t worry Geo, we have all the time in the world. No one’s looking for us. There’s no rush.”

Just as Ringo was about to lean in for another snog, George turned his head to the side as a means of preventing.

“Ritchie?” George asked with a devious smile on his face, “d’you think we can try something new in the bed?”

“Not unless you give me another smooch” Ringo demanded. He tilted his head and leaned in again and was surprisingly smothered by George. The younger boyfriend had his plump lips pressed up hard on Ringo’s. Their tongues clashed and swerved around sensually without them even stopping for a quick breath. If this is what George had to for what he wanted in the bed, he sure as hell would pull out all the stops. George Harrison was determined to get what he wanted that night and no fucking way was Richard Starkey to say otherwise. It was Ringo who now pulled away first for a gasp of air- George chuckled now that he was the one with the upper hand.

“What are you laughing for you cheeky git?” said Ringo with a grin.

“I’m gonna get what I want tonight” George replied now pressing his nose on Ringo’s, making sure their eyes were locked on one another.

“Oh are you know?” Ringo seductively whispered and wrapped his arms tighter around George’s back. “How do you reckon that out?”

“Well, I gave you that smooch you wanted didn’t I?”

“I mean obviously, you lil’ gimp” Ringo teased “but what do I have to do for you to get what you want?”

George bit down on his tongue and gave Ringo a small peck on the lips. He tried to talk without giggling but of course his intoxicated state ceased to allow that to happen.

“I…hehe…I think we could try something new in the bedroom and you’re gonna need to get ice out of the freezer for it”

“So we’re looking for a bit of temperature play then are we now?” said Ringo in his deep sexual voice. “Does my Georgie wanna be fucked with ice?”

“I really wanna be fucked with ice” he replied almost desperately  and could now feel the back of his neck getting hotter and hotter as they sat like this without even getting started.

“Well if that’s how it’s gonna be…” Ringo suddenly stood up with George who held on tight to his torso with his legs wrapped around Ringo’s waist. Ringo made sure not to let him fall down as he hurried to the freezer and took out the first ice tray he saw.

“I think this is just about enough. Hold this will you Geo?” as he handed over the tray into the younger lad’s hand. Ringo then repositioned George in his arms until he was held in bridal style and proceeded to walk rapidly into their bedroom.

Ringo lay George down on the king-sized mattress and decided to dim the lights for a more romantic effect. He began to take off his shoes, trousers and shirt until he was finally left wearing his tight pair of black boxers. Ringo then crawled onto the bed until he was directly on top of the fully clothed George.

“Well we can’t have this now, can we?” Ringo smirked and slowly began to unbutton George’s shirt. After flinging it off the bed, Ringo placed his hands on George’s skinny chest and slowly moved them down his boyfriend’s soft skin until he reached his hips and from there, pushed down the legs of George’s jeans right until they reached the bottom of his feet for him to throw onto the floor behind him along with the shirt.

George could now feel himself growing hard and stiff in his crotch and it wasn’t too long before Ringo noticed.

“Well well well, we better take off those” Ringo said in his sexual voice as he darted his eyes towards George’s navy underwear.

“Ritchie…” George whined. “Please hurry, I can’t wait like this any longer…”

Ringo raised his eyebrows but definitely did not comply to George’s needs this time. Instead, he deliberately chose to pull down George’s boxers slowly just so he could tease and hear George moan like this for a little longer. George’s hard cock stood up vertically now in front of Ringo’s face where his head lay in between his Georgie’s skinny legs. The sight of the thing was beginning to make Ringo hard as well. He tenderly stroked George’s dick and could already see the pre cum from the tip.

“Fuck Rings!” George exclaimed now beginning to tense up. “Please please me…” he whimpered. And it wasn’t too long after this Ringo stripped off his boxers and grabbed a large ice cube in his hand from the ice tray that lay at the side of the bottom corner of the bed.

“You ready, love?” Ringo asked rhetorically. And without further ado, he placed the ice cube on the tip of his tongue and licked George’s soft nipples until they grew hard and cold. A wave of shock went down George’s spine and he began to grip the sheets for support. Ringo wouldn’t allow this and instead held down both of his arms himself. The ice cube still lay on the tip of Ringo’s tongue and this time, the crotch of George was his target. He softly ran the cold object around his balls and cheekily, a little touch off of the tip of his boyfriend’s penis.

“Ringo please fuck me. Please please please fuck me now!” he begged and spread his legs wide for the moment he longed for. Ringo grabbed the lube that they kept at their bedside table and rubbed it in and  around George’s hole and a bit on his own dick. Carefully with his fingers, he began to stretch the hole just a little wider for his massive cock to fit in.

George breathed heavily as Ringo carefully placed it in. He thrust his hips back and forth and placed his hands back on top of George’s arms so he couldn’t move. “Tell me when I hit the right place” said Ringo and after only a few seconds, George let out a whimper and and ferociously nodded his head with big wide eyes . Ringo began to thrust faster and deeper until he could only hear George puff and pant erotically. “Don’t come just yet” Ringo stated as he himself now began to feel fairly heated in the moment. For the third time that night, he picked George up again with the exception that Ringo still had his dick in him and now had George’s back pressed up against the bedroom wall and his legs wrapped around the older one’s waist. Ringo thrust harder and faster than he did the first time and began to jerk off George’s cock with his spare hand- the other one tightly clenched George’s firm bum.

George’s panting grew louder and louder until all he could do was whimper and make some of the most feminine squeals Ringo ever heard come from his mouth. To shut him up, Ringo planted a hard sloppy kiss all over George and jabbed his tongue right to back of George’s throat. The hand job and the rough thrusting continued and just as Ringo pulled his mouth away from George, the younger lad let out  an orgasmic scream and finally came .When he heard that sound of pleasure, Ringo came inside of George not too long after.

Ringo took out his dick and fell back onto the bed with George lying directly on top of him.

“I fucking love you George” Ringo said with his head resting back on the pillow. George gave Ringo one of his  genuine smiles and planted small little kisses over Ringo’s cheeks.

“I love you too” George replied and before he could try to say anything more, he fell asleep on top of Ringo’s chest and with that, Ringo wrapped the blanket over them, held him tight in his arms and lay there in peace knowing that his Georgie was gonna need a nice cuppa for his hangover in the morning.

Young Blood - Chapter One

Title: Young Blood

Author: SgtPepperRigby

Pairing: George/Ringo

Rating: PG-13 (For now)

Word Count: 1,766

Summary: George is a student who just can’t get enough of his teacher.

Warnings: Just sexual fantasies

Disclaimer: I don’t own the Beatles, as well as any other characters represented in this fic. I am not claiming to own them, either.

Notes: I only had about forty minutes to type this up, so hopefully the cliffhanger is exciting. I really hope this fic does well. I haven’t done anything Starrison in a while, and hopefully it’ll make up for my lack of George/Ringo action.

  School wasn’t always something I’d enjoyed. I was a mere student of just twenty at a small university, studying for god-knows-what. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I’m pretty sure no one really does. But I was still studying, knowing that in a short while I’d be done with school for good, ready to get on with the rest of my life.

  I was on my way to class, starting up a new semester in English. English always was my favorite and best subject. I wasn’t the smartest student in class, but I paid enough attention to know what I was doing. English was the only class I could actually manage to focus in without daydreaming. The only thing I hated about the class was the teacher, a wretched old man by the name of Mr. Mustard. The class was fun, and so was the material we were covering, but he was a rude man whose teaching methods were harsh.

  I walked into class as usual, slinking by Mr. Mustard’s desk as I made my way to my seat. I sat down in my chair and let my book bag hit the floor, making a louder thud than I’d have liked. I looked behind me. I was the first one in class, as usual. It wasn’t that I was a teacher’s pet. I just liked arriving in class early. Usually it gave Mr. Mustard a good impression of me. But when I looked up, it wasn’t Mr. Mustard at his desk.

  Instead was a young man, no more than four years older than me with chocolate brown hair and bright blue eyes. He was short, but his height made no negative impact on his appearance. He was absolutely beautiful, in a way I thought a man could never be.

  Being queer, I thought it was normal to think these kinds of thoughts about another man. I knew on the inside it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it. It was just too easy to think of the new teacher like that. I figured, as long as he didn’t know I was thinking about him and his wonderful appearance, then it wasn’t quite as taboo as it normally is.

  “What happened to Mr. Mustard?” a tiny voice sprang from my throat. I couldn’t even help myself before the words were said.

  “He was replaced,” the incredibly attractive man taking his place replied. “I’m the new teacher.”

  “For how long?” For some reason, the voice escaping my throat was full of sass today. I didn’t even want to ask him that question. But, of course, my voice was speaking things I didn’t want it to.

  The teacher chuckled. “Permanent.”


  “Why? Do you not approve of me or something?”

  I smiled slightly. “No. I approve.” Shit. I bit my tongue. I had not meant to say that.

  The teacher smiled. He stood up from his desk and walked over to mine, leaning in a rather seductive way over my desk. “I’m Professor Starkey,” he said, extending a hand to shake mine.

  “George,” I replied, grasping his hand and shaking it. “George Harrison.”

  For a brief moment, our eyes connected. His glowing blue ones were caught in a pure moment where time virtually stopped, gazing back into my deep brown ones. I felt as if we were connected in a way much greater than simply a teacher and student should be, and I felt something inside my chest burning with an odd tingling sensation. It felt like my insides were glowing and melting.

  As soon as it had started, out odd little connection was broken. I looked down awkwardly at my desk as our hands broke apart, Professor Starkey returning to his desk. He sat down just as the first students to the class poured in, staring with wide eyes at their new teacher. They took their seats, and soon, class began.

  Class with Professor Starkey was exciting. He taught in ways I had never even heard of before, expressing his love of poetry, Shakespeare, and new writing techniques through his rich, educated vocabulary. I caught myself staring at him and spacing out a few more times than I’d like to admit, his blue eyes pulling me in every time we made brief eye contact. It made my heart pound and my head feel light.

  Professor Starkey kept staring at me as well. At first I thought it was mere coincidence, a connection of our eyes that was purely by chance. But as the class ventured on, his vision of sight always seemed to land on me. I felt vain thinking that he was looking at me, but it was exciting nonetheless. Every word he spoke was more dazzling than the last.

  I also caught about half the girls in my class staring at Professor Starkey. I knew he was an attractive man, but virtually every female in the room had their eyes glued to the blue-eyed babe at the front of the room. I even caught one girl sighing and smiling as her eyes were nailed to his luscious body. He was a beautiful man, I’d give him that. But it was quite annoying, and the curriculum was lacking quite a bit considering pretty much everyone was focused on the teacher’s looks. We were supposed to be taking notes, but no one was actually paying attention. All the girls were giggling with each other as I actually attempted to focus on the teachings. Not that he was teaching anything I didn’t know already.

  “Mr. Harrison?” Professor Starkey’s voice rang out into the vast classroom, and shudders were sent down my spine.

  “…Yes?” I asked, my voice weak. All the eyes in the classroom were now glued on me. I was known as a quiet student, so the fact that I was actually managing to talk must have scared a few students.

  “I need to see you after class.”

  “Er, what for, professor?”

  “I want to discuss a paper you turned in last term. With Mr. Mustard?”

  “Ah, yes.”

  And like that, class was back to normal. But of course, I couldn’t focus. The bloody teacher, the sexy-as-fuck man that everyone in the class couldn’t stop looking at, was asking me to stay after class! I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t manage to understand a word anyone spoke for the remaining twenty minutes or so of class. I doodled in my notebook, drawing girly things like hearts and swirls in a failed attempt to let out my emotions before I had to stay after class.

  Soon the bell rang out, my throat dry and vision slightly blurred. I was scared as hell to approach the teacher. All the other students cleared out of the room, and then it was just he and I, locking forced eye contact as I slowly walked toward his desk.

  “You wanted to see me?” I leaned over his desk this time, trying not to look seductive but failing miserably. For whatever reason, the only thing my mind could do was make me appear sexual toward the teacher.

  “Yes, actually. Your paper was wonderful.”

  I smiled, but raised an eyebrow. “What paper exactly are we talking about?”

  Professor Starkey chuckled, his laugh bellowing out across the room. “The one from last term that Mr. Mustard assigned. It was on topic of choice, I believe? You wrote about guitars.”

  “Aha..” I forced a laugh. “He said to write about whatever we wanted, so I figured, what other than music?”

  “I appreciate your free-willingness. It was refreshing… all the other students wrote about Shakespeare or something of that nature to suck up and earn a better grade. But yours was the only one I actually enjoyed.”

  “Gee… thank you, professor.” I could tell Professor Starkey was wincing at the use of the word ‘professor,’ but I simply couldn’t help it. I was so used to calling every teacher by their professional name. Besides, what else was I supposed to call him? “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “Me too.”

  I smiled weakly at him, turning and walking out the door. Thankfully, English was the last class of the day. I began walking the short distance home, my book bag slamming against my leg. The throbbing pain from the books hitting my leg must have triggered something in my brain, because I began thinking. Me too? What the hell had that meant?

  Once I arrived at the room to my dorm, I couldn’t help but rush in to tell my roommates. They knew I was gay, so everything was alright. I guess the idea of a ‘hot for teacher’ was too exciting for me to handle. I had to tell them right away.

  “Paul!” I cried, rushing to the youngest of my roommates what had happened. He was embracing our other roommate, his partner named John. John was slightly older, but he still lived with us.

  Since Paul’s family was quite wealthy, and I was good friends with Paul before classes, we all shared a small house rather than a dorm, like most students have. Since Paul and John were in a relationship, John lived with us as well. Thankfully, I had my own room.

  “Leave!” John cried. He smiled darkly, and I of course knew he was joking. He was John, he messed with me on purpose. He and Paul had just been snogging, for crying out loud. Of course he didn’t want me there.

  “But I have great news!”

  “What, did you meet a boy or something?” Paul smiled, raising an eyebrow.

  “Actually, yes…”

  “What?!” Paul cried, jumping up from John’s arms and running over to me. “Details, now!”

“Okay, okay… well…” I swallowed my spit. “He’s a few years older, and he has the most beautiful blue eyes. His smile lights up the room. He’s wonderful… but there’s a catch.”

  “Oh?” John and Paul raised their eyebrows and looked at each other before turning to me. “Do tell,” Paul continued.

  “He’s my professor.”


George Harrison and Ringo Starr, backstage at the Olympia Stadium, Detroit, Michigan, 13 August 1966

Photos: Bob Bonis

“The [suits, from Hung On You] were in a very light grey, with thin orange stripes running down them.

To go with the new gear the boys chose an assortment of new shirts in a cool crepe finish. No ties this trip. The shirts were orange, yellow-striped, straw and maroon - colours which seemed to be suitably inerchangeable with either set of suits.” - Neil Aspinall, Fab 208 magazine, 1966, quoted in Fab Gear: The Beatles and Fashion [x]

George Harrison and Ringo Starr, 1969; photograped for The Beatles Book by Mal Evans or Tony Bramwell. This looks like it may be when George was working on “Octopus’s Garden” with Ringo.

“Generally speaking, the quiet, thoughtful, slow-to-anger Beatle, George Harrison, values his friends even if he is slower than most to make friends, and a man with a worthwhile ability to switch off his Beatle-image and retire into his Harrison-image. It’s not too easy to maintain that ability when you are such an important international figure.
But I think of him still as the HELPFUL Beatle.” - Billy Shepherd, The Beatles Book, March 1969 [x]


The Beatles rehearsing for and appearing live on Top Of The Pops, and posing for publicity photographs, BBC Television Centre, London, 16 June 1966.

Photos © Mark and Colleen Hayward, Mirrorpix, Robert Whitaker, Chris Walter/WireImage, Cummings Archives, Ron Howard, Getty Images

“The more fame and that we got, the more people who came about to see us, and it got into the time when there was just thousands of girls everywhere and everybody making a noise, and so that nobody could hear us anyway. So over the last two years nobody’s heard us on stage, so consequently, our performances have deteriorated to such an extent now that, you know, really our stage shows are terrible. But, you know, they can’t hear it, and we can’t hear it, and that’s why it’s terrible.” - George Harrison in an interview with Kenny Everett, c. August 1966 [x]