Purest Of Forms (G/R).

Late 1980's, Recording Studio.
George watched the older man sleep, all curled up in an arm chair. He had always watched him sleep, ever since they were twenty years old. It was a sweet beautiful sight, even now in his forties.

And ever since George was twenty, he had always wanted to take a photo of his sleeping form, but was afraid that the loud clicking of the camera would wake him. (Remember, this is an old 1960's camera, possibly modeled from the cameras of the decade before so it's even older). So instead of taking a photo, he tried drawing him. But no matter how many times he tried, he could not make the sketch form into Ringo's. He was not really much of an artist. (Well, musically, yes, but in drawing? Not really.) The cameras of today weren't as loud, but he still couldn't bring himself to do it. It felt wrong somehow.

He knew trying to kiss him and touch him without his permission was wrong, but at least he was awake and aware of those times. So he could fight him off and argue. But his sleeping form was his most innocent, most purest of forms. He couldn't take a photo and he could not draw him, but he could try to kiss him...

No, he probably couldn't do that either. Ringo was a light sleeper, and his light senses would alert him enough to wake him if his ears heard the clicking of a camera or his touch felt someone else' lips on his own.

He wanted to take a photo or kiss him, but instead he did what he always did. He just walked up to his sleeping form, gazed down at him and slightly ran his fingertips down his hair.

Then as he walked away, he heard, "George." And froze.

The mother fucker WAS awake. He had always been aware. When he turned around to face him, Ringo whispered, nearly mouthed, "Thank you."

Thank you for respecting me.
Thank you for not taking advantage of me.
Thank you for being so sweet.
Thank you for resisting, putting my needs before yours.

He gave him a nod, then just when he was about to walk out of the room, Ringo extended his hand to him. "Come here."

He came over and kneed down in front of the arm chair, his head level with Ringo's lap. Ringo brought his middle and index fingers to his lips, planted a kiss on them and placed them onto George's lips. And when his lips came in contact with his fingers, he held onto his hand, tight.

"How long?"

"What?"

"How long have you known?"

"A long time."

"Do you fake it?"

Ringo smirked. "Sometimes."

George scoffed. "Teaser."

Then Ringo brought his hand up to his hair and petted him. George relaxed into the touch, closing his eyes and resting his head on Ringo's knees.