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George squirms next to Ringo, fully aware that both of them were awake. Ringo doesn’t mention it though, and George is fighting the urge to speak up and just ask. He could barely stay in his shirt, chest aching and full. He hears Ringo sigh, and George can’t take it anymore. He sits up, looking down in the dark.
His nipples were on fire, painful to the touch. He knows that he could easily go and ask John or Paul to soothe him, but he didn’t feel like getting up. Plus, he’s always felt that it’s a bit unfair that Ringo doesn’t get to taste. He doesn’t even know about it.
“Ringo, are y’awake?” He asks softly, and Ringo rolls over before propping himself up.
“Yeah,” he hums, “y’alright? Yer squirmin’ a lot,” he acknowledges, and George hesitates. This was different from the previous two times. The first time he had been in heat. The second time he had been too pissed off to care. Something about this felt more intimate than either of those.
“My chest hurts,” he admits, watching Ringo’s face scrunch with confusion in the dark. It makes his cheeks flare red, and he continues. “Could ye.. I mean,” he pauses. How would he even say what he wanted? Did he call it breastfeeding?? He didn’t have breasts, so chest feeding? “Could y’suck?” He asks, needing to fill the silence.
“What?” He asks, and George cringes,
“My nipples— they’re.. they’ve got milk,” he exhales, “‘n it helps if someone.. drinks.” He says, looking away. There’s a pause before he feels Ringo shift beside him, sitting up properly.
“Of course, love, y’should’ve asked sooner,” he murmurs, and George relaxes. He undoes his shirt, guiding Ringo’s head to his chest. “Do I just..?” He hums, hesitating. George shivers at the sensation of his hot breath tickling his chest. He strokes his hair, pressing him against skin.
He shudders when Ringo runs his fingers over his chest, brushing ever so gently over his nipple. It makes him flinch anyway, a pained whimper leaving his lips. Ringo whispers an apology, withdrawing his hand now that he’s found it, and his lips close around the nipple, encasing his whole areola rather than just his nipple. He moans, eyes shutting as Ringo’s cheeks hollow, taking in the first gulp of sweet milk.
He slumps into it, feeling Ringo relax into it as well. His arms fall over Ringo’s shoulders, rubbing his back gently in encouragement. He was gentle with each suckle, refusing to take too hungrily from him. It makes something warm flutter in his chest, and he wonders if Ringo can hear his heartbeat from there.
He lets him suck, tiredness washing over him as the relief begins to set in. His eyes shut, though he whimpers when Ringo pulls away.
“Yer runnin’ dry on that side,” he informs him, and George yawns. He moves his hand, though it feels heavy, and he threads it back into his hair. He guides him to the other side, and Ringo latches on, understanding what he needs. George wriggles, laying down properly with Ringo half sprawled on top of him.
He sighs again, the ache ceasing entirely. Ringo sucks the final few drops from him before pulling away. He licks his lip, pressing his face into the crook of George’s neck. George snuggles closer, finally slipping into sleep with his needs sated and alpha close.