#im not as versed in starrison as i am McLennon so

[johns-prince]

Do you still do fic requests? If you do, I'd like to request for a starrison fem Ringo.

Not even the bluest ocean waters could rival the blue that colored Rachel's eyes. It was a daft thought, George feeling cliche and soppy. But, it's true, even if it's bad poetry, it's true.

"You've the bluest eyes I've ever seen," George says, a slip of the tongue. He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but there it is. Those big blue, soppy cow eyes have turned towards him, the softest curve of a smile, and a light dusting of pink across her visage.

Swallowing thickly, Adams apple bobbing visibly, George could feel the heat crawling up his neck, to his face, the tips of his ears. Had she heard? Must've, even if the dancehall is crazy with youth and music their parents can't hardly understand, thrumming all around. Because she's looking at him, and smiling so sweetly, and--

"You've been staring then, Georgie?" Comes from one of the lads at the table, which earns a bit of jeering from the others, and George telling them all to piss off. Try to play it off as amusing, though, it hit closer to the truth then George would like to admit yet.

They were just, mates, he and Rachel had gotten close when she, John, Paula would go out after their shows, still strummed out on prellies and cheap alcohol (they figured the drummer was a boy at first, on account of being called Ringo by her previous bandmates and by those who'd introduce the band up) When Pete went off on his own, they got close to Rory Storm and his Hurricanes. Long story short, that's how he'd ended up knowing this pretty little thing before him, nicknamed Ringo ("See, got all these rings on me hand," she'd laughed, then, with a roll of her watery blue eyes, added, "And, just makes it easier gettin' shows, if they think the whole band is just lads, y'know?") And in which in the last few months, he's had no better luck ridding of these desires for her.

George didn't even realize he'd been off, lost in his thoughts, until he feels a small hand on his arm, giving him a little shake. Blinking out of it, he found himself gazing back at Rachel, those great big blue eyes of hers. "Sorry, what?" Cleared his throat, moving to the point her hand slipped off his arm.

"Let's dance, yeah?" She asks, again, smiling hopefully. At first George just, blinked stupidly at her, and could already feel himself growing painfully shy. Why was she asking him? A kid. He hated it but, that's what he was to her, wasn't he? Being three years older, she's practically a woman, while he's still considered an adolescent delinquent. And sure, maybe he'd gained a bit more confidence in himself when he came back from Hamburg (involuntarily), losing his virginity with an older woman. But, there's a difference between bedding older, working girls for a quick buck and a half, and seriously wanting to pursue an older bird, a classy girl, because you've stupidly developed feelings for her.

But, then you have another boy at the table, older then George, who's leaning over and offering himself as her dance partner, if George isn't up for it. Up for it? Why wouldn't I be up for it--

So, he acts, nearly jumping as he straightens up in his chair, accepting readily, "Right, I'll go for a twist with ya, lass."

Tries to ignore how seeing her face light up, and how eager she is, gets his stomach to do funny little summersaults. Or how his heart feels like it's going to leap out of his chest when she grabs his hand, pulling him towards the dance floor once he's up and standing himself.

A pretty little frock, dark in color, with her lovely hands all adorned in rings. Warm brown hair, framing her pale face, pinned and curled and styled for a night at the local dancehall. She's a dream.

At first, it was a bad dream edging on nightmare. He felt so goddamn high-strung, why? It's just Rachel for Godsake.

But that's just it, it's Rachel. Rachel, who only seemed to have the utmost patience for George as he worked through his nerves on the floor. Nearly stepping on her foot-- he was about to call it in. But the blue eyed sweetheart grabbed him, pulled him back, and smiling at him. "Don't go, you're doing fine." She sounded so honest, George really wanted to believe her. "Really," she said, softer, having to lean in a bit closer for him to catch it. Finds himself leaner down closer, too. "Long as you don't end up on the floor like Rory did, that one night, alright?"

A pause as he took it in, remembering that night in which someone took a photo of them, Paula was there... Holding someone's foot. Just their foot. Turned out to be Rory's. He'd been so pissed, the poor sod ended up on the filthy floor and simply hadn't in him to get back up for the picture, so, just his foot made it.

And then he was laughing, snickering, and soon enough so was Rachel. Alright, okay-- he can do this. "I suppose I can keep makin' an arse out of myself," George sighs, and Rachel gives him a playful little tut of sympathy. Poor lad. "But, just for you, a'right?" That seemed to catch her attention, almost off guard. He could feel himself wanting to clam up again, with her looking at him like that, so, boldly, grabbing for her hands, and saying loud over the music, the sound of moving bodies around them; "Here Ringo, let's dance."

He was still a bit rigid, making slip ups here and there, but as he made himself focus on the music, the beat, and the natural inclination for his eyes to find hers, soon enough, it wasn't so difficult anymore. Rachel clearly had a better knack for dancing than George, but he wasn't so bad, was able to keep up as they swung each other around, he spun her, her shimmying down then springing up, skirt whirling up and out and, and she looked amazing. The two simply riding off the waves of music and life around them. Laughing, laughing so much, smiling so hard, their cheeks started hurting.

No matter their hands would get damp and sweaty, or that Rachel ended up having to discard her shoes to continue dancing comfortably (made her even shorter), George having to toss his coat off. Neither caring that there was perspiration making strands of her stick to their foreheads, hairdos slowly coming undone, imperfect.

Must've danced through three songs, and at the end of the third the two leaned into each other's sides, moreso Rachel into George's. Him impulsively just, throwing his arm over her shoulders. They giggled and laughed through their panting, George pushing his ruined quiff back, and Rachel trying to fix a couple pins threatening to slip loose, brushing back loose strands behind her ears.

And then George realizes, and it's like his heart skipped a beat. She was so close, pressed firm against his side, such a warm presence through his shirt. His arm felt far too heavy back and around her shoulders but, she didn't seem to mind a pinch. She seemed rather content, natural, letting out a huff as she used her hand to fan herself. George wasn't sure what to really do.

And then a slower sort of song started up, and his breath hitched. A song for couples, for lovebirds that want their beau's to hold them and caress them, act as if their entire goal wasn't to just cop a feel or get a heated makeout later. Bit cynical, eh?

He was pulling away as he started, "Let's go back--" but as he slipped away, turned to head back, his arm was caught. Rachel had his arm, his wrist with both her hands. Half turned, glancing to those hands, then at Rachel, the look on her face had him curious.

She looked timid, and even in the low, smoky light, he could see that her face was tinted with a flush. Lower lip that she'd had caught between her teeth, slipping free as she spoke, no need to be so loud with such a softer song playing. "One more," a gentle tug was given to his arm, made him sway subtly, and finally turn fully to face her. Releasing his arm, she continued, "One more dance, okay?"

Those blue, blue eyes, did she even realize how deep they could penetrate someone? They looked so hopeful, it twisted his heart like someone would twist his arm. Those eyes were just for him.

"...Okay," George replied, with a soft upturn of his thin lips. Delight, those eyes gleamed, a soft smile breaking that shy, uncertain expression. Carefully, she found herself in his embrace, arms around his neck, and his around her petite little waist. Her head, resting against his chest, above his heart. She could probably hear it fluttering like a wild bird in a cage. Slowly, they rocked and swayed together.

One more dance, but, just for you.