Two pieces in one day ? Yes

This is just the sketch for now, but I'm pretty happy with it

It's a recap/cover art of Rewind.Reset.Rewrite by @chrisis-averted ! Go read !

Before This Dance Is Through VI

Chapter: 6/16

Rating: M (Smut Warning)

Summary: Ringo's being going through a dry spell for the last year or so and when he regretfully tells his best friend John, he insists on taking them to an all-male strip club for some "fun". Ringo isn't sure whether it's the alcohol, his desperation or a mixture of the two but he thinks he might be falling in love with a stripper.

Tags: AU - Strippers, Modern Setting, Smut, Slow Burn

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Ringo found himself getting excited for the following Tuesday, he'd be sitting at home watching the television and suddenly the image of Spike in a short skirt or wearing makeup would flash into his mind and he'd have to consciously calm himself. John tried to get him to go along to the club in the meantime, but Ringo refused for a multitude of reasons, although he wasn't sure which was the genuine one. Part of him was still a little nervous about facing Spike again, especially after how much alone time he'd been spending with his pictures. Another simply told him that he wanted to wait, it'd be more special that way, and he didn't really have the primal urge that John seemed to have that resulted in him ending up at the club almost every night.

In the days leading up to the event Ringo spent most of his time working. The school year was coming to an end which meant he was being called in for a mass amount of activity days. They weren't Ringo's favourite thing in the world, he much preferred earning his money by teaching students one-on-one but it definitely mixed things up a little. The day would mostly consist of younger children coming into a large hall where Ringo would talk for a little bit about drumming before the students got a chance to try it out themselves. It got a little chaotic at times, and Ringo felt relieved that he didn't have to bring his own kit in because these children were anything but predictable. Sometimes they'd result in one or two students expressing a real interest in drumming and so Ringo would give them one of his business cards to pass along to their parents; more often than not it wouldn't result in anything at all but on occasion he could get several new students from participating in a few of these activity days.

One aspect of these events that Ringo never enjoyed was the attention he got from the teachers. He'd gotten used to it by now: one of the younger female teachers asking to try it out and for Ringo to show them how to play - just an excuse to get him stood over them with a chance of their hands touching - but no matter how often it happened it didn't make it any less aggravating. While the children busied themselves with the array of instruments set out, Ringo often had no choice but to stand at the back and talk to whichever teacher was meant to be supervising them. The smalltalk wasn't the problem, usually it was quite refreshing to talk to someone else who worked with children, it was the awkward flirting that drove him up the wall. The worst was when they'd pretend to have a child interested in learning how to drum, or that they themselves were, but when Ringo would actually press for details it would amount to nothing. It was never the men that flirted with him, Ringo had started to think he was the only gay teacher in the area, and there had certainly been times he'd wished they had.

"You need to look gayer." John had pointed out.

"I'm going into a school, John, I can't rock up in a rainbow tank top covered in glitter." Ringo chuckled.

"Why not? Kids love glitter."

There was one male teacher in particular that Ringo had liked the look of, but he'd only met him the once; he taught English, or had it been art? The problem was that the female teachers would be so desperate to volunteer to stand in for Ringo's lesson with the students, even if they seemed to be aware there was no chance of anything actually happening, that he rarely got to see another man. Every time he went back to that same school he'd hoped to see that particular teacher again, yet he was always disappointed.

He was heading back home after completing a session at the local secondary school, the one he'd actually attended when he was younger, fairly exhausted from the energy of the children and massively exhausted from the persistency of the women. As he sank into the driver's seat of his car with a sigh, he swore he was going to buy a rainbow pin to attach to his jacket to ward off anything in the future. On his way home he stopped off at the record shop, partly to pick up something that'd improve his mood but mostly in the hopes that he'd see Spike again. He'd rather see him in an ordinary setting, without the dynamic that existed in the club, as strange as it had been at first. But luck was apparently not on his side today as there was no sign of Spike anywhere in the shop, he'd even browsed the clothes in the basement, which he'd never done before, just to increase the chances of bumping into him.

When Tuesday finally came around Ringo was in dire need of some intoxication, so much so that he went along with John's idea of beginning the drinking before they'd even sat down to eat dinner. Ringo cooked for the two of them while John sat in the kitchen waffling on about some new idea he was having for a story. It was unusual for them to be eating dinner over at John's place, but it was far closer to the club and Ringo definitely wasn't going to risk driving with how much alcohol he was planning on drinking.

"I'm surprised your oven isn't covered in cobwebs considering how little you use it." Ringo stated as he fried up some bacon.

"Why would I use the oven when I have a perfectly good microwave?" John mumbled in response, he was scrawling down ideas messily in a notebook.

"This is not a perfectly good microwave." Ringo chuckled as he gestured with the spatula.

"Calm down, Gordon Ramsay." John quipped.

"What are you even writing?" Ringo asked as he walked away from the oven.

"My mate's putting together some gay poetry book and asked me to write something for it." John explained without looking up "I should've finished it two days ago but I forgot."

"Maybe tonight will give you some inspiration." Ringo tried to read what John had already scribbled down but his handwriting was fairly intelligible.

"Don't tempt me. Paul's already said he won't accept any more poems as payment." John chuckled to himself.

"Any more?" Ringo raised his eyebrows.

"Long story." John finally looked up then and flashed Ringo a grin.

By the time they'd finished eating they were already quite drunk, John had begun blasting music from one of his many playlists.

"Sooooo." John leaned over the table slightly "How's Spike been treating you these last few days?"

Ringo felt his face reddening and he tried to tell himself it was just the alcohol "No complaints from me."

"Can I have a look?" John tilted his head and smiled.

"Er-" Ringo hesitated "I dunno."

"Oh come on!" John reached his hand forward teasingly "I'll give you the 20p or however much a day costs, if that's what you're so worried about."

Ringo didn't budge "Pay for it yourself if you wanna see."

"I'm the one who bloody told you about it in the first place, you twat." John huffed but he was still smiling "Is there something you're not telling me, Ringo?"

"What do you mean?" Ringo shuffled in his seat.

John's smile widened then he casually picked up his drink to take a sip "Nothing. Don't mind me."

The two of them managed to get over to the club in one piece, although John did stumble into the road a couple of times. It was considerably more busy than a normal Tuesday night, or so John claimed, and there were far more people clamoured outside smoking than there usually was. Ringo felt like he had to brace himself before stepping inside, closing his eyes for a second and taking in a deep breath. The amount of people inside was astounding and Ringo began to worry that this had been a bad idea after all. Music was blaring as loud as always, it was difficult to even think but luckily Ringo didn't really need to think when he had John by his side, pulling him over to the nearest bar. As they moved further into the club Ringo could finally see what all the fuss about, one of the strippers was walking around in tall heels with a transparent platform - the kind Ringo had seen in films - paired with a lilac skirt and a white bra. Ringo recognised the man under the makeup from when he'd been here before, he never found him particularly attractive but the sight of him like this definitely interested him at least a little.

"This is gonna be well confusing for my sexuality." Ringo stated as they moved away from the bar with their drinks in hand.

"Best of both worlds for me." John replied with a grin as he looked out amongst the crowd of people.

"So you're into girls again now, are you?" Ringo nudged John lightly.

John paused for a second then turned his head to face Ringo "What are you drinking?"

"Vodka coke, why?" Ringo furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Well you were drinking beers back at my place. You're into drinking vodka now?" John raised his eyebrows in turn.

"I don- Oh, I see. Point made." Ringo punctuated his sentence with a sip of his drink.

It was difficult to get a decent view of the main stage on which someone dressed as Madonna was doing a very graphic dance to 'Like a Prayer', Ringo had never really thought about the double meaning of that song until this moment, but considering it was neither Paul nor Spike they weren't entirely interested. Both of them were scoping around for any sign of their 'preferred' man but it was almost impossible to pinpoint anyone in such a mass of people, particularly when none of the dancers were particularly looking like themselves. John grabbed Ringo around the wrist and pulled him through the crowds until they were heading down to the back room, Ringo could recognise the rhythm of the distant song as Queen's 'I Want to Break Free'.

"I should've worn my Freddie outfit." John commented as they descended the stairs.

"Someone might've beaten you to it." Ringo chuckled.

"This is a strip club not a drag show, don't get it twisted." John shouted over the music as they walked through the door.

Ringo realised very quickly how very 'twisted' his expectations of tonight really had been when he caught a glimpse of what was happening on the stage. Upon hearing the song, Ringo had expected some crude recreation of the music video complete with fake moustaches and enormously large, and clearly fake, breasts. But no, he couldn't have been more wrong. Ringo stopped in his tracks in the doorway, his eyes widening and his throat feeling suddenly dry; John had to pull him forward with great force just to get them over to what few empty seats were left around the edge of the room.

"I told you this was the more alternative stuff." John said excitedly but it wasn't until he settled down on a stool that he realised "Wait... Is that-"

"Yes." Ringo replied bluntly, his mouth remaining slightly open after he'd finished speaking.

It was Spike. Of course it was Spike. Handcuffs were around his slim wrists, chaining him around the pole in the centre of the stage with his arms raised above his head. He wasn't wearing a wig but his face was painted quite beautifully, purple eye-shadow merged with dark eyeliner and a light peach lipstick, somehow he looked even more breathtaking than usual. The makeup was the least startling aspect of the whole thing, even the outfit wasn't what had stunned Ringo, although it was a definite contender; he wore a black laced-up corset which was pulled tightly around his slim frame connected to which were his stockings, on his feet he wore a velvet heel which buckled over his ankle. The sight was simply diabolical, the way his flat chest was still exposed and the hair of his underarms clearly visible alongside the femininity of his face and body. Even that wasn't the issue. The issue was that he wasn't alone on the stage, someone from the audience had stepped up and was slowly unlacing one of the threads of his corset. Ringo could see that a black skirt, almost a tutu, was lying discarded on the edge of the stage. When the realisation sunk in of exactly what was going on, Ringo wasn't sure he'd be able to get up again.

Spike had his characteristic grin on his painted lips as the man slowly pulled at the fabric keeping his corset in place, they were close enough that they easily could've kissed - and for a long time Ringo feared that they would. The man soon lost interest with the corset, giving Ringo a second to breathe in which he hoped the man was going to turn and leave, then moved his hand to run up Spike's clothed leg. He brushed his fingers over the thin material, gripping the back of Spike's thigh and lifting the leg up to wrap around his own waist. Ringo felt sick. If this had been anyone else, anyone else in the world, he wouldn't have cared, hell he probably would've been aroused by the whole thing. But it wasn't just anyone, it was Spike. The worst part was that he had no reason at all to be getting upset, this was his job and Ringo certainly wouldn't have been complaining had he been in the man's position.

"Is this even legal?" Ringo mumbled to John.

"Fuck knows." John's eyes were wide with excitement "Are you gonna go up there?"

"Me?" Ringo scoffed "Not very likely."

The man had continued running his hands over Spike's body, but as soon as his fingers crept up towards his crotch he was pushed away; it was light, clearly wanting to appear playful, but the man quickly got the message and hurried back to his seat somewhat embarrassed as though he'd fallen into some kind of trance. Now alone on the stage, Spike began scanning the audience - who were watching very intently - for someone else to help him 'break free'. While he waited he made a very enticing show of how bound to the pole he was, sinking down almost to the floor with his hands still raised high as he spread his knees out to draw attention to prominence lying in his tight underwear.

"I like this. Very clever. Why do the stripping when they can do it for you?" John was talking more to himself than to Ringo, who was barely listening.

Spike's eyes moved over to where the two of them were sitting and Ringo thought time must've stopped for at least a second. John took a moment or two to realise the eye contact but as soon as he did he was quick to move, shoving Ringo off of the stool and luckily onto his feet. Ringo was surprised his knees didn't give out immediately, but he was stable enough to turn around to glare at John who looked at him smugly.

"You can thank me later." John winked and then nudged Ringo towards the stage with his foot.

Fuck. Ringo prayed for the floor to swallow him up in that moment, it almost felt like it had when he saw Spike's expectant gaze looking directly at him. He wished he could've just sat back down but not only did he not want to make a fool of himself, but also he knew John wasn't going to allow that. Slowly he made his way over to the stage, fortunately the room was so small so it didn't take him long, meaning he didn't have to be so conscious of not only Spike's but also the whole room's eyes on him. He could hear his heart thumping in his ears, his breath was uneven and he had to consciously stop his hands from shaking. Spike's grin had grown, his eyes slightly squinting as Ringo approached him sheepishly. John had begun whooping from where he sat which spurred on a few others in the audience. The whole thing felt like some strange fever dream, perhaps even a nightmare.

Spike had gotten back up to his full height, usually he was only slightly taller than Ringo but now with the added platform of the heels he practically towered over him. Even in this submissive position, with his arms helplessly chained above him, Spike still oozed dominant energy as he watched Ringo fumble where he stood in front of him. Ringo had no idea what to do, his hands felt heavy and almost impossible to lift; watching someone strip was one thing, but actually stripping someone was something else entirely. Up close he looked even more stunning, a faint blush lying on his cheeks which accentuated his high cheekbones perfectly, his dark eyelashes elongated with mascara and sparse glitter dotted across his fair skin. Ringo never considered himself as someone particularly kinky, but he was feeling a rush he'd never felt before. He had no idea how long he'd been stood there, how long he'd been staring up at Spike who's teeth were beginning to show past his curled lips. It must've been long enough for Spike to worry that it would start getting awkward if he didn't do something, and do something he did.

It all seemed to happen in a heartbeat, Spike turning himself around and bending downwards so that his bare arse - he was wearing yet another thong, which Ringo had quickly noticed - grazed against Ringo's crotch. Ringo let out a small gasp, bordering on a moan, as he watched Spike's tongue dart over his sharp tooth. He hadn't realised that an erection had already been growing since he'd laid eyes on Spike like this, but the sudden contact make him very aware of how hard he was getting. It sent a bolt of adrenaline through Ringo's body and he was sure to make use of it, he didn't want to stand there like an idiot as much as it would've been the easiest thing to do, so began imitating what he'd seen the previous man doing and started unlacing the ribbon of Spike's corset. While he did this, or attempted to at least, Spike continued to move his hips and dip down slightly on the pole but never quite made contact. Both the ribbon and Spike's skin were soft to the touch, the silky feeling of the material put Ringo at ease somewhat. His fingers must've been quite cold because every time they brushed against Spike's skin he let out a quiet noise, Ringo didn't think he was aware he was even doing it. The unravelling had been far easier than Ringo had expected it to be, his desperation in the moment probably helped considerably, and soon the corset fell off of Spike's chest with ease. Ringo held it in his hand for a second and wasn't sure what to do with it: the skirt had clearly been tossed aside without much care but Ringo really didn't want to look inconsiderate like the previous man had. Spike seemed to notice Ringo's momentary dilemma and gestured slightly with his head for Ringo to throw it, which he did quite erratically. John let out a loud cheer at this and Ringo was suddenly very aware of his presence on the stage; had John been silent this entire time or had his brain just blocked it all out? It was enough of a falter in his mindset that Ringo decided it was best he got back to his seat. As much as he'd love to pick off each item of clothing piece by piece until there was nothing left, this alone had almost been overwhelming and he didn't want to risk looking like an idiot.

Ringo flashed a nervous smile to Spike who was still watching him with that same intense gaze, then hurried off the stage to clutch his drink eagerly. For a moment Ringo thought he saw a hint of disappointment in Spike's eyes as he turned away, and that when he got back to his seat Spike had been looking at him while he'd been walking, but he wasn't sure. John gripped Ringo with both hands and shook him excitedly, a massive grin on his face.

"I told you tonight was going to be the one! And it's only just getting started." John giggled as he finally let go of Ringo.

As much as Ringo didn't like to admit when John was right, though it happened far more than anyone would've expected, his words in that moment couldn't have been truer. The night was only getting started, what followed was nothing Ringo could've anticipated.

whole heart home

<working title?> less than 2 weeks ago, i felt befuddled / “why...again? / why am i failing, another exam?” orthopedic, manual specifically. one year taken / to transition from “grad” status to                                  “undergrad” to learn the nature of human movement / kinematics, a force to my own invisible balls when i returned to graduate status, i shadowed anatomy and took all of the exams to confirm my knowledge / “why....again? / why am i failing, another exam?” the throes of graduate school bite at my heels, like an annoying doxen that your grandmother insists on loving the feelings that rush in, the feelings that rush in: sorrow, fear - intense fear, unsteady, v-vvery disappointed, less than / less than capable. (re: went to drop-in counseling 2 weeks ago) --------------------------------- the following week, a week of spring “rest” was dedicated to preparing for  a spinal cord injury written exam / taken today, neurological levels determined by physicians,   highly experienced educated physicians, we were held accountable for. determining reflexive / a-reflexive bowel, bladder, sexual function, did you know there’s a difference  between reflexive and psychogenic erection/arousal? (there is. too much to type here.) treatment methods, the nitty gritty behind the most up-to-date research, a 12 page exam that took me nearly 3 hours. sometimes i wonder if professors  steeped in academia have a conscious awareness    of HOW challenging their exams are/ pockets, beautiful pockets of where my mind is jumping through the hoops, following the steps, making connections, and understanding the material,     the approach,  conceptual flow broken by frustration,  blank canvases in my mind, i want to splash red paint on them                                             and walk the fuck away, a circle does for now,                                  move to the next blurb, the palms grow sweaty, my hands get dry, the sounds in the hallway echo, i shift in my chair (more than i realize), i flip between pages,      i tug at my short curly hair / i return to that previous blurb,   closing my eyes,  returning to that blank canvas, “where was that in my notes? what is the patient’s impairment? what makes logical sense?”  a deep breathe in,  a slow exhale- sometimes the answer comes,      sometimes i throw more red paint exam over. on my walk home, i rattle through the questions i struggled with. truth be told, solace is found when i write the lingering questions down,    using resources, attempt to answer. “how was my mark?” so many say this is destructive, self-destructive / but it works for me? sometimes, confidence comes to me.     (confidence doesn’t come to me often haha) when the “right answers” highlighted blue    out weigh the purple “what if’s” and red “X’s”, visually-represented confidence. hours later, the tangles of spaghetti-worries fall away, like cobwebs on a branch  --------------------------------------------- as a good friend says, “team no-naps today.” (haha) team no-naps, (even though attempted) home briefly, back to the department to practice                  skills, skills, skills patient education, demonstration, compensation patient-friendly language, PT body mechanics, it’s all different for every neurological level. collaboration with classmates, friends, “which strategy is easier? which strategy would work if they had a flexion contracture?” clinical reasoning, learning through discovery, with my particular classmate today, we often say, “let me try that, just so i can feel it.” attempting a skill in a completely new way, different than your prior level of function     is TRULY mind-blowing. learning kinesthetically     encouraging, empowering,     educating myself to teach the patient     humbling to BE the patient,     non-traditional classroom but sooooo LEARNING! i won’t tell you the hours i spent in the neuro lab today practicing / the average student probably required    half my own!; but even if i know i know the skill, doing it again (and again)    builds my confidence       (visually represented). often on long days like these, i leave the grover building exhausted, deteriorated, -- useless  but tonight, my parasail                                  catches a second-wind. this summer! THIS SUMMER!, my mind, body and spirit     will work with neuro patients time-intensive, heavy hearts, and                                                       nerds alive, my skills will be needed /    i will be helping                             with that neuroplastic change a second-wind, a second-wind / can you feel the breeze in this line? carrying you to the next one, i’ve hit many stones and low rivers to reach this moment of grace,    grounded euphoria, conceptual-spiritual flow of energy, my heart speaks, Quaker light flowing in my veins, “This is it, Jordan! This is it, Jordan!” smaller-frontal-lobe Jordan chose this path,    excitement bubbling,       so ignorant of the path ahead           but hopeful for meaning, the hard work pays off, the structure sets me free, my heart feels so whole during this moment / substance-free, co-dependency on no one. my heart feels wholesome during this moment, the traumatic crater filled with love, compassion, selflessness,   and knowledge a profession of service, in healthcare my calling. my walk from grover to my car,    feels different / than previous walks. my feet still drag, my eyelids heavy i look up, at the night sky. “you’re watching, aren’t you Dad?” a corner of his lip turns up, into a slight grin as he nods,                   his gray curls bouncing his green-brown eyes follow my steps. he leans into my direction and whispers into my ear, “keep it up, kid. i know you’ve busted ass and felt your ego bruise                        a million times. keep it up, kiddo / people like me / we need you / to know the struggle is worth it, we need you.” whole heart (finally) home