“I don't wear small shoes, or tight pants that squash your balls.”

George Harrison

"Good God" George moaned as soon as he stepped out of the room, a hand in his crotch trying to pull the pants down. They were painfully tight and yet they looked great, and that was what Brian wanted: he wanted them to look great.
Paul, of course, was more than pleased to squish himself into anything Brian told them to: the tight pants, the shirts with those narrow black ties, the waistcoats, the cuban heel boots. He loved all that stuff, anything that would make him look even better. But George felt incredibly stupid when he put on the clothes Brian had laid down on the bed for them. He was sure the teddy boy look was his thing, the leather pants, the jackets, the t-shirts. He looked like a schoolar with the suit.
But the pants...! George walked down to the lift fighting against the fabric that was squashing his balls, ignoring the shocked looks of some passing-byers. Cursing to himself he pressed the button for the first floor.
"Good morning" George turned around to find Ringo smiling at him, leaning against the lift's mirroed walls. "Or just morning, apparently" the shorter boy added, stepping up to George as the doors closed.
"It's the damn pants" George said, opening and flexing his legs.

{UNFINISHED}