Smut Book

How 'bout it, Gorgeous? - Starrison

(Side note: Peartree/Birchie do not read this or else I'll eat you alive)

George's point of view:

I drift off a bit when listening to John blabber on about nothing in particular. It's not that I wasn't interested in what he was saying, he had just told me this story five times before and I knew it back-to-front.

"-then Mimi caught me trying to trim me eyelashes with the wire cutters-" he goes on, Paul laughing at him and rolling his eyes. I smile a little, but continue to look out the window on the other side of the corridor.

"George!" I hear someone whisper-scream as they pull harshly on the sleeve of my jacket and I turn around to see Ringo looking up at me. "Yer comin' with me," he says sternly and I frown in a confused manner as he pulls me away from the others and down the semi-crowded corridor.

"What yer want?" I ask, completely baffled at this point. He just shakes his mop of hair as an answer and continues to rush around the school; holding his books awkwardly at his hips. Eventually, he yanks me into the empty boys' bathrooms, dragging me into a grubby cubicle and locking the door. "What is it?" I ask again and he sighs, his face heating up as he self-consciously gestures downward. "What? Yer shoes? There's nothin' wron-"

"Not me bloody shoes, George! Me pants!" he shrieks and I still continue to frown, my bushy brows furrowed together.

"There's nothin' wrong with 'em-"

"Me dick, yer bloody idiot!" he cringes, his face turning all the possible shades of red and pink. My eyes widen as I spot the tent in his trousers and I uneasily make eye contact with him. "I don't know how to get rid of it, and it's really annoying," he mutters into his hands and he chews his nails shyly.

I swallow awkwardly and glare at him. "Yer've never done this before?" I ask quietly and he sighs.

"I'm not as grotty as yer are." He utters.

Ringo was only a year younger than me; I didn't think he'd be this bloody innocent. I grunt and try to stop my eyes from roaming downwards...

"Yer-....-Yer know..." I start to say awkwardly, making a wanking motion with my hand.

"No, I don't know. I wouldn't be askin' yer if I did," he says quietly, his face closely resembling a tomato. I exhale loudly, starting to feel very hot and bothered.

"Yer just rub it...-sort of." I cringe and shift my weight awkwardly from foot to foot. Ringo bites his lip and places his books on the toilet seat, hurriedly, he starts to undo his belt and I gasp. "Not while, I'm in 'ere, mate!"

"Then just bloody stand outside the door, in case someone comes," he mutters and I unlock the cubicle door, stepping outside and letting Ringo lock it again. I can feel just how red my face is when I hear the sound of a zipper being undone and an almost inaudible whimper from Ringo. I shove my hands in my pockets uncomfortably. The tiny sound of friction on skin can be heard from behind the thin wooden door and I cringe.

After a few long, embarrassing moments I hear Ringo sighing in annoyance. "It isn't workin'." he murmurs. "It's just making it worst." he groans uncomfortably. "It startin' to ache."

"I don't ruddy know what to do." I groan, letting my head fall back onto the door with an exasperated 'whack'. Silence filled the air between us, and the tension starts to rise once I have a horrible, little, nasty, dirty old thought. My face goes a deep crimson and I slowly turn around to face the door.

"How bad is it?" I ask timidly through the crummy door.

"It's startin' to hurt. Really damn bad," he whines and I close my eyes embarrassedly; knowing I'm going to regret this.