Summary: 1957 or so. John and Paul visit the cemetery in Liverpool, looking for inspiration.
The two boys quietly walked through the cemetery. One had a guitar strapped on his back; the other cradled a guitar in his arms, softly strumming chords. Snow fell on the boys and flecked their dark hair and clothes with bits of white.
“John,” whimpered the boy playing his guitar. “Can we go now? It’s cold.”
“Not yet, Paul,” John growled.
Paul let out a frustrated sigh and sat on a bench. “Well then, get inspired so we can leave soon,” he replied.
John stared at the graves; snow swirled around him. He glanced over his shoulder at Paul and grinned wickedly.
He’d walk over to Paul and tear the guitar out of his arms, throw it over his shoulder. The younger boy would stare up at him in shock and open his mouth to say something. John would grab his coat collar and throw him against the tree. He’d roughly kiss Paul’s mouth and then kneel before him and unzip his -
“John? John. John!” said Paul, interrupting John’s daydream.
John blinked and scowled, “What is it, then?”
“You alright?” asked Paul. “You had this odd look or something.”
“I’m fine,” said John. “Let’s go. It’s freezing, whose idea was it to come to the cemetery?”
“It was yours,” said Paul, slipping his hand into John’s.
“Don’t let me,” said John kissing Paul’s cheek.
“And how do I do that?” he asked.
“You’ll have to figure that out,” John purred.
“I think I’ve got something in mind,” Paul grinned.