A/N: This was written in one afternoon as a respond to a prompt giving to me on tumblr. I should have been working on my two essays that are due next Monday, but instead I did this so... enjoy ;)

Prompt: Starrison- George gets jealous when he sees Ringo flirting with John and Paul but mostly John and he shows Ringo that he belongs to him by getting him into bed.

George was seething as he looked at where Ringo was sitting perched on one of the amplifiers, listening with adoring attentiveness as Paul played him a bit of a song he had been working on, his slender fingers moving easily over the guitar strings as he hummed along, not yet having figured out the words to it. He couldn't help but hate Paul a little as he sat there, dressed in a colourful combination of patterns and materials which had become usual for all four of them, but somehow seemed to suit Paul much better than him. He hated the way Paul seemed to drink up the other man's attention, and George could practically see the man's ego grow with every affirmative noise Ringo made. He hated the way Paul would smile at Ringo's compliments, or chuckle at a joke; the way he would lean closer to him; or the way he would gently touch him in response. George almost wanted to shout at them to start fucking already, though he kept himself under control, albeit with difficulty.

He knew Ringo didn't mean anything by it, he knew Paul simply loved attention, and he knew that although they had crossed the lines of mere brotherly friendship and camaraderie years ago, when they had been bored out of their minds and locked into a too small hotel room with two large beds and nothing but a pack of cards to entertain themselves with, the bond he had with Ringo was deeper than anything Paul and Ringo had together.

And yet, he had to grab at his seat with both hands to keep himself from jumping up, slapping Paul in the face and calling him a cunt, and claiming Ringo back as his. Besides, he had no right to do so. Ringo wasn't his in that sense. Though, for all that was good in the world, he wished he was.

In the end, he had to get up and leave the room. As long as it was with Paul, he would be fine. As long as it was Paul, it didn't mean anything. With Paul it was just flattery. Paul liked the attention, the compliments, the feeling someone looked up to him, and he swore Paul got off on that alone. It wouldn't lead to anything. But that didn't mean he had to sit there and watch.

***

It didn't just stop with just Paul, though. He wasn't sure what he had expected when John had come in that day to work, happy as ever, eager to get to work, and ridiculously playful. He should have realised from the moment he set a foot in the recording studio that John had been high. Ringo, however, had noticed, and, being the good and caring friend he always was, had taken it unto himself to keep an eye on their best mate and "fearless leader", as John described himself. It appeared he had picked up one of those old magazine articles about them and read through them - Paul had countless of magazines strewn around the place at his home for whatever reason - and had found an article with picture of himself with that description beneath it, and had fancied himself to be exactly that. Paul had indulged him at first, but had soon grown tired of his friend's ridiculous attitude, which often crossed into the territory of pure arrogance for a moment, leaving Ringo to deal with him instead.

Happy Ringo, John called him, and George figured that had been what Ringo had been called in the aforementioned article - Ringo had always had the least interesting descriptions, something George thought did him great injustice - and Ringo would laugh and play along with him. Although at first John's behaviour had been amusing, George quickly found himself agreeing with Paul that he was rather annoying, though not for the same reasons.

John, the only one of the four Beatles for whom crossing sexual boundaries wasn't just mere experimentation and a bit of exciting and dangerous fun, became more accepting of himself under the calming influence of pot, and it didn't take long for him to start making inappropriate comments about the blueness of Ringo's eyes, the smallness of his frame, and roughness of his hands. Ringo more often than not just laughed it off, telling John not to be silly and just finish his vocals for the song they were working at as Paul stood waiting by the mic, tapping his foot impatiently.

"You're pretty too, Macca, my darling," John would say as he slid over to him and for a moment Paul's lips would curl into something that resembled a smile, before he turned to the mic and told John to "get started already".

George was fine with it at first, most of the flirtations between John and Ringo being instigated by John and neither refused nor encouraged by the other. It annoyed him slightly, but he knew, again, it didn't mean anything. For a moment, Ringo even managed to break away from John and came to stand with him outside for a smoke and to get some fresh air, and everything was perfect and fine for a little while, with Ringo's side pressing against his as they shared a cigarette - Ringo had forgotten his own - and had made some stupid jokes at John's expense. Ringo had even given his hand a tiny squeeze before he had been called back inside to deal with John, leaving George alone for a moment longer, allowing himself some time to think.

He wasn't certain why he suddenly felt this jealous and possessive over Ringo. Why it had bothered him so much to see him with Paul, or to hear John make his comments. They weren't exclusive in anyway. They were barely even anything at all that either of them didn't have with John and Paul as well. But still, he felt agitated whenever someone would touch Ringo or flirt with him, or whenever Ringo would flirt with them, even if it didn't mean anything.

Truth it, George wasn't so certain if "it didn't mean anything". Whenever he and Ringo shared a moment, "it didn't mean anything" either. Except that it did. It meant something to George. Ringo meant something to him. Something more than a close friend or a brother or a band member. The whole "it didn't mean anything" was bullshit, and George knew it. He knew it too well.

Sighing, he stamped out the last of his cigarette onto the ground and slipped back inside, thinking perhaps he could talk to Ringo about it. It didn't matter if he were to laugh at his face at the mere suggestion. Talking was important. People did too little of it.

***

As George made his way through the halls back to the studio again, however, he suddenly heard a pair of hushed voices coming from one of the closets. He halted in his step and frowned as he turned to the door where the voices had been coming from.

"John, please come back to the studio with me. We don't have time for this."

"Hmm... you're such a good boy, aren't you, Richie? Such a good boy, happy, cheery, Richie. Always doing the right thing. Not like our Paulie, who only pretends to be a good boy. Always fucking off with some bird or whatever, writing love songs. Romantic Paul... Or Georgie... no one knows what he is thinking. Mysterious George... No, you're the good one, aren't you, Richie? Happy Ringo." John's voice was muffled and murmuring, and when Ringo give a little moan in return, George knew what was happening inside. He froze on the spot, his crotch giving a little tinkle as he imagined the sight the two would make Beatles in the closet: closely pressed together, touching, John's face buried in Ringo's neck while Ringo grabbed at John's clothes for support, pulling himself up against him so their faces were even closer.

"Am I handsome, Richie? Do you think I'm handsome?"

"Very handsome, John."

"I think you're handsome, too."

"George and Paul are probably waiting for us-"

"You smell nice. You smell like cookies. Those soft American ones. Buttery, fresh out of the oven."

"Maureen baked cookies before I left the house."

"I should thank her.

"Please, don't." Ringo giggled. Giggled. For someone described as "happy" it was odd how little Ringo actually giggled. He laughed, chuckled, chortled, and even roared with laughter, but never giggled. For as far as George could remember, Ringo had giggled with him exactly once: they had been drunk and exhausted from a gig and had fallen into bed together. George hadn't forgotten that sound, and to hear it now, with John of all people... He felt that same anger bubble up inside of him again as he had felt with Paul, but it was worse. Ringo belonged with him, should be giggling with him, should be in that damn closet with him. John was high. He probably didn't even mean the things he said. George would mean them. He would mean them.

"I like it when you get playful like this. That smile..." Ringo murmured, his voice barely audible, and George stepped closer to the door, pressing her ear against it to hear better.

"I could play with you all day, Richie."

"Hmm... if you come with me and be a good boy yourself, we may get to play later on once we're finished for today."

"But I don't want to play later. We can play now. Right here, Richie..."

"John... Oh-"

Unable to hold back any longer, George made for the doorknob and turned it, roughly pulling the door open to see John and Ringo on the floor together, John looking high and horny as was only to be expected, while Ringo had been made to sit in his lap, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed as his head spun round to see George looking down at them.

"George!" he cried out, his hands falling from where he had been playing with the soft, silken material of John's scarf. Before either of the two Beatles on the floor had realised exactly what had happened, George had frantically grabbed a hold of Ringo's arms and hauled him up and against him as if he was something precious that needed to be protected.

"Geo! What the-" John started, frowning deeply as he stared up at them, looking helplessly confused by the sudden lack of sweet and willing boy in his lap and stupidly reached out for Ringo, his fingers barely scraping the material of Ringo's dark purple trousers as he was whisked away by George and pushed into the hallway. Still, George refused to let him go and his nails dug into the material of Ringo's shirt as he tightened his hold on him, as if afraid he would run away if he didn't. Ringo, however, was far too shocked to move.

"George, we were just-" he started, but George shushed him.

"I'll get to you later," he said, before turning back to John, shooting him an angry glare. "John, go find Paul or something. He'll know how to deal with you."

Without another word, he grabbed Ringo's hand and began dragging him away to... he didn't know where. His head whipped around quickly in search for a place they could be in private for a moment, and ultimately opted for the bathrooms out of sheer desperation.

"George! What are you-" Ringo started again, but before he had time to finish that question, George had forced him against the back of the bathroom door and forced their lips together, hard at first, and then, once the door had locked with a gentle click, softer as Ringo gave into him and relaxed against him.

"George..." he whispered, as George's hands found his hips and pushed him harder against the door, holding him in place, as his lips moved down to suck a soft mark on the man's jaw.

"Fucking flirt..." he half-moaned as he peppered kisses all along Ringo's jaw, lips catching at the slight hint of a scruff. "Didn't think I cared seeing you flirt with other people? First Paul, now John..."

"I-I don't..." Ringo tried to speak, his breath was already coming out in short, hot puffs as George's hands started roaming, taking in every little bit of his body, until finally one of his hand slipped underneath his shirt, touching his bare flesh. "Oh Christ..."

"Got me all riled up, you did, with the way you were watching Paul, complimenting him, touching him, and the way he drank it all up. And then John, looking after him, allowing him to touch you, to pull you into his lap, to say those things to you. You were encouraging him, weren't you? You wanted him."

"George... I- I don't... Yes... Yes, I did."

"I want you, Richie... Oh fuck, I want you," George moaned, his hands making quick work of the buttons of Ringo's shirt, revealing more and more skin as he dipped his head to suck on the exposed skin of his shoulder, teeth scraping against it.

"Shit, Geo... where is this coming from? It doesn't mean anything. You know nothing we do together does. Me and Paul, or me and John... it's just sex. Fuck!" George had slammed him even harder against the door, causing Ringo's head to bump against it painfully, but before he could complain, he was kissed again and all the air was sucked out of his lungs, leaving him helpless under George's almost violent ministrations.

"You mean something to me," George whispered hotly against the other's lips, and without waiting another beat, he dropped onto his knees before him, his hands coming down to hold Ringo down at his hips, keeping him firmly in place as he looked up at him. Catching his eye, he leant in to nose at Ringo's crotch, taking in his heavy scent as Ringo cried out his name.

"Fuck..." he moaned and without another thought, he slid a hand into George's hair and pulled, forcing him closer as his hips buckled from pleasure. George didn't need any more encouragement than that and easily drew back to undo the other man's trousers, unzipping him before roughly pulling his trousers and underwear down in one go. Ringo's fat, hard cock bounced before his eyes a few times as it was set free, and for a moment George stared at it hungrily before he opened his mouth and took him inside, letting him fill him up until he struggled to breathe.

"Oh! Oh, Georgie!" Ringo cried, hands pulling eagerly at the other's hair, urging him to continue and not to pull away, begging him not to. But George wouldn't even if Ringo asked. He closed his eyes and made sure to breathe through his nose as he opened his throat as much as he could and slid Ringo's cock further down his throat, taking him as far as he could until he was left gagging. God, it felt so good, to have Ringo inside of him, filling him up, his hard, dripping cock pushing at the inner walls of his throat, while Ringo cried out his name and pulled at his hair, completely and utterly his, even if only for a moment. George was his everything now, and that was just the way George had wanted it. It was perfect.

Relaxing his throat, he started moving his head up and down, gently letting Ringo slide in and out of his mouth as his tongue came up to message the underline of his cock, gently sucking him off to the best of his abilities. He could feel Ringo trembling under him. His knees were weakening and his hips stuttered as he tried his best to hold back and restrain himself, for which George was thankful. It felt good to do this for Ringo, to satisfy him like this, and let him consume him, to hear him moan and know he was the sole reason for that.

Unsurprisingly, Ringo didn't last long, and George, although slightly disappointed, couldn't really mind too much, his throat and jaw already starting to feel sore at the pure lust and enthusiasm with which he worked, leaving him with little room to care about preserving those parts of his body. His knees were starting to hurt too, the tiled floor being too hard to kneel on and be comfortable. Still, he sucked as well as he could and hummed in encouragement as Ringo's fingers began pulling at his hair more urgently, making sure to take him a little deeper, so there was no doubt in the other's mind that he had zero intention of pulling away.

"Geo..." Ringo moaned, his voice faltering as his orgasm pulled at stomach, "I'm... I'm..."

George hummed something that would have sounded like "I know. Just let go", if he didn't have his throat stuffed with cock, and looked up at the other man to lock eyes with him as he opened his throat and pulled back a little so the head of Ringo's cock rested on his tongue. He massaged him that way, tongue eagerly licking at the hot flesh as he hollowed out his cheeks and continued sucking, urgently drawing the pleasure out of him.

For a moment, Ringo stared at him helplessly, overcome by both intense sexual pleasure as well as a strong fondness for the other man, and gently cupped his cheek in his hand as he began moving with him, fucking himself gently in and out of George's mouth in search for his orgasm.

"Feels so good, Georgie... You're amazing," he muttered, and George merely hummed again in return, shooting tremors down Ringo's cock, into his balls, and up his spine. It was making him shake and finally, as George continued to let out those encouraging little moans, Ringo couldn't hold back anymore and came, crying softly.

"Fuck, Geo..." he moaned, voice broken, and George sighed as the familiar bitter taste of cum erupted on his tongue and spread through his mouth and down his throat as he swallowed around him, drinking it all down.

Once he had finished, George pulled off with a wet plop and started licking him clean until Ringo tugged at his hair again, pulling him up onto his feet with sudden urgency. Before George knew what was happening, or even standing properly on his own two feet, Ringo had cupped his head in his hands and forced their lips together for another deep kiss, his tongue licking into his mouth with any sense of reservation, and George moaned helplessly.

"You're a fool, Harrison," Ringo said, chuckling, as he pulled away and looked at him with a loving twinkle in his eye as George finally regained his balance, his lips curling up into a satisfied smile under his moustache. "Getting jealous over something like that. You're lucky John was high, or he would murder you in your sleep for pulling me away like that."

"I didn't like you being with him," George confessed, and Ringo smiled even wider at that, his thumb gently stroking his cheek.

"And we thought John was the irrational, jealous one," he said, though there was a fondness in his voice, and George could not help but chuckle along with that, knowing he had a point.

"Really, Geo. If you don't like the four of us being that way, you only have to say so," Ringo suggested, but George was quick to shake his head.

"No. No, it's not like that. I know that what you do with John and Paul doesn't matter. Neither does it what I do with them. But... I would like it if what happened between us would matter," he said and frowned in confusement as Ringo began to laugh at that, not understanding why what he had said was so funny to the other man. As soon as he began to retreat, however, Ringo pulled him back to him, forcing their bodies together from chest to toe as he ran a gentle hand through George's hair.

"It already does," he said, smiling, and for a moment George could only stare at him, before he realised what Ringo was trying to tell him, and he sighed in relief. "Silly boy," Ringo added, giggling, and George's heart made a little jump, before Ringo kissed him again, smiling all the while.