back to the basics
Title: Music When the Moon Comes Out
Pairing: John/Paul
Rating: PG
Word count of story: 280
Chapter _ of _: 1 of 1
Brief summary: English summers are intriguing.
Warnings: Nothing major.
Notes: A response to the application prompt, with "glowed in the moonlight" and "forsaken."
In the moonlight, everything is illuminated. Or things are unbearably dark, depending on your mood. This was the mood that struck John Lennon squarely in the face on the balmy summer night in Liverpool. The breeze caught him, sending shivers that trickled slowly from his eyes to his feet, resting with a delicate sensation at his chest. He breathed deeply, watching an errant mosquito flit his way across the sky.
“Why did you bring me out here?” He complained loudly to Paul beside him. The two stood quietly for a bit, then Paul shrugged.
“I don’t know. It just seemed rather nice. First night of the summer.”
“English summers are bloody terrible.”
“You love it,” Paul grinned. “Besides, you’ve spent all winter moaning about the cold.” He sat on the small, grassy hill at his feet, prompting John to do the same. “You know your problem?” He said, the moon urging him on. “You’re never satisfied. You always want more.”
“Yeah, that must be it. You should be a fucking shrink.” John looked over darkly, but he was smiling. Their skin glowed in the moonlight, pale rays emanating from their very bodies. A handful of fireflies floated by lazily, as if entranced. The sky was forsaken, with a thin haze of clouds that left only the moon alive.
They paused, breathing in nearly matching rhythms, their eyes meeting occasionally. “We should probably go back,” Paul consented. “Swing by a pub, maybe.” He gave John a small smile, the contours of his body lighted by a faint silver.
And surreptitiously John leaned over, kissing Paul as the fireflies gave their silent consent, each nodding with the peculiar flying motion they possessed.
Pairing: John/Paul
Rating: PG
Word count of story: 280
Chapter _ of _: 1 of 1
Brief summary: English summers are intriguing.
Warnings: Nothing major.
Notes: A response to the application prompt, with "glowed in the moonlight" and "forsaken."
In the moonlight, everything is illuminated. Or things are unbearably dark, depending on your mood. This was the mood that struck John Lennon squarely in the face on the balmy summer night in Liverpool. The breeze caught him, sending shivers that trickled slowly from his eyes to his feet, resting with a delicate sensation at his chest. He breathed deeply, watching an errant mosquito flit his way across the sky.
“Why did you bring me out here?” He complained loudly to Paul beside him. The two stood quietly for a bit, then Paul shrugged.
“I don’t know. It just seemed rather nice. First night of the summer.”
“English summers are bloody terrible.”
“You love it,” Paul grinned. “Besides, you’ve spent all winter moaning about the cold.” He sat on the small, grassy hill at his feet, prompting John to do the same. “You know your problem?” He said, the moon urging him on. “You’re never satisfied. You always want more.”
“Yeah, that must be it. You should be a fucking shrink.” John looked over darkly, but he was smiling. Their skin glowed in the moonlight, pale rays emanating from their very bodies. A handful of fireflies floated by lazily, as if entranced. The sky was forsaken, with a thin haze of clouds that left only the moon alive.
They paused, breathing in nearly matching rhythms, their eyes meeting occasionally. “We should probably go back,” Paul consented. “Swing by a pub, maybe.” He gave John a small smile, the contours of his body lighted by a faint silver.
And surreptitiously John leaned over, kissing Paul as the fireflies gave their silent consent, each nodding with the peculiar flying motion they possessed.