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The sun shone brighter on their heads while they were all high as fuck.
It was a bright day, with a clear, blue sky and only a few lonely and solitary clouds drifting by. The temperature was quite warm and the atmosphere felt pleasantly mild; the air was fresh but no longer as cold as it had been in the previous months. It was an unusual warmth for April, especially in a place like England. A gentle breeze occasionally blew, pleasantly tousling their hair; it was a majestic climate, hinting at the arrival of summer to come—a magnificent summer that was about to arrive and bring new perspectives into their lives.
They were all sitting in a typical English garden, at the house of... Ringo? George? Honestly, no one could quite remember where they currently were. The only thing they knew was that this place was somewhere in England, if their memory was serving them correctly; but, given their state, they could have ended up on the other side of the world without even realizing it. Wherever they were, it had to be admitted: it was, absolutely, a stunning garden, with flowers of the strangest and brightest colors everywhere. They were utterly surrounded by tall, enchanting, and lush trees, while, beneath their feet, the grass was thick yet well-kept; it was clear that it had been recently mowed and arranged in a neat and visually pleasing manner.
Around them were also flowers with bright and splendid colors, which seemed to almost protect them from the rest of the world outside the garden. At that moment, it was just them, the great Beatles, completely wasted, and no one else could break that little bubble they had created, in which they could truly be themselves.
It was probably afternoon, but the sun continued to shine as if it were morning, even though its rays seemed to have the soft orange hue typical of the evening’s hour, and the brilliant glow that it’s only visible at teatime. The day seemed to pass slowly, as if time itself had decided to stop, just to let them stay in that garden for as long as possible. And, honestly, it was better that way: more time meant more drugs.
At that moment, they were all laughing, sitting on the ground with their legs crossed, forming a sort of circle. John had just made a joke, in a slurred and slow manner, given his state, which made the others laugh even more, as they were almost more out of it than he was. Paul was laughing loudly like John; he would always be amused by his jokes, even if they, rarely, weren't funny, he laughed every time; whilst Ringo was laughing, holding his stomach from too much laughter, and George was also whickering, though in a calmer way than the others, too focused on figuring out whether the flowers in front of him were sunflowers or tulips. When he went out, he liked to look around and get lost in the colors of the world that became more vibrant, meanwhile his vision blurred and the shapes became fuzzy; he thought that this must be what the world looked like through the almost blind eyes of John.
Paul was still cracking up when he grabbed John's arm, who was still gesturing.
"I swear lads! It was like that, th’ penetration! Nah, wait, I meant th’, um, situation..." John said before cracking up again at his own silly mistake, whereas his arm burned where Paul was touching him; he leaned even closer to his bassist so that their shoulders were pleasantly brushing against each other. On the other side, George and Ringo also erupted into laughter even more because of John's blunder. Ringo was practically doubled, wheezing, and George had stopped fussing over the local flora to howl with glee, his head thrown back now and his eyes filled with tears from the hilarity of it all.
None of them, a few years ago, would have ever expected to end up like this, so overwhelmed with laughter in the garden of one of... Ringo! That's where they were. And, of course, they would have never expected to be dressed so absurdly, without their usual suits and ties, which they were perpetually required to wear. But more than anything else, they didn't expect to hear their music change so much.
They had radically changed their lyrics and, especially, their sound. If, before, John and Paul, and sometimes George, would think deeply about what to write and how to accompany their lyrics, now it was sufficient to take a pill to have a completely new and innovative song, or at least that’s what the newspapers would say.
When they managed to stop laughing like lunatics, they sat up straight again as they had before, talking about something they could no longer remember. George sat upright with his arms resting on his crossed knees; Ringo, on the other hand, had his legs crossed but his arms behind him to support his whole body.
However, on the other side of the little piece of grass they were on, Paul was not only still holding John’s arm with his hand but had also moved closer to John, who had placed a hand on Paul’s waist to pull him nearer, thinking that George and Ringo wouldn’t see it, but it was so visible and obvious that even from the outside they could tell that John had his hand on Paul’s waist. They were almost fused into one person.
The heat radiating from the drugs and the fervor of the afternoon made the bodies of the two lovers burn, pressed together to create a temperature so high that it could power a nuclear fusion plant or ignite a fire comparable to that of ancient Rome in the time of Nero.
As if that weren't enough, their almost exaggerated closeness sparked fireworks in the bodies of both. Perhaps it was the acids, they had both indulged in, that amplified everything and made that contact seem almost mystical and divine, but even when they were completely sober, when they still touched each other with simple gestures or even casual brushes, they could feel the stars exploding behind their eyelids. Not even an orgasm could provoke such miracles in any human being.
George spoke to say something he forgot as soon as he opened his mouth: “Anyway, I was gonna—uhm—” he began to say while, in the meantime, he fixed his gaze on Ringo, concentrating to make his eyes stop seeing blurry and to clearly see the drummer's face. “I think it was… knowing!” he said, then burst out laughing, still staring at his friend, who joined in, laughing right back. He had completely forgotten what he wanted to say, or rather ask. The effects of the drug were hitting harder than ever in the blur of that afternoon, when everyone felt their senses dulling, their limbs soft and almost boneless, their being fading into the thick haze of the too many pills they took that completely clouded their minds, and their bodies felt languid and slow even in the most mundane movements.
Everyone was about to give in to the temptation of lying on the grass, staring at the sky to show their eyes the pure blue and be dazzled by the sweet orange sun that reminded them of the colors of the flowers around them.
John and Paul were laughing with them when, after a good minute spent in guffawing, George remembered what he wanted to say and immediately tried to express himself, struggling greatly due to his mumbling, similar to John's earlier. “I wanna know! Yeah, I wanted t’know—wha’ flowers are those? I was… uh… thinkin’ of sunfounder—SUNFLOWERS,” he chuckled for a few seconds at the silly pun he had just made and continued: “Or’re they some other weird… pint? No, wait, I meant… um… plant! Or rather flower,” he finally concluded his guess with a happy smile for having managed to do it.
Ringo paused for a moment before responding while he was still sneering: “Mate, I don’t even know where I am, d’you think I know what flower is that?!” Ringo said, now laughing loud as hell, carrying the other three along with him, who seemed on the verge of tears from all the chuckling and the larks.
Paul was giggling so hard that he even buried his face in John’s neck, who used his other hand, not resting on the smaller one’s soft side, to tousle his hair in a messy way. It was an unusual gesture for two friends, not just for the act itself, but especially because John did it in a way that seemed almost sexual. Paul stayed there for almost a minute, laughing heartily along with John, who had his neck completely exposed and his head thrown back in laughter.
Neither George nor Ringo let this go unnoticed; just a few seconds after their laughter subsided, George nudged Ringo’s arm and pointed with a nod of his head. Immediately, both of them stared at the pair and started chuckling at the situation. It wasn’t that they had never thought about or even seen things like this before, but this time they were doing it much more openly than usual, right in front of them; without shame or modesty. But neither George nor Ringo cared if those two went to bed together; in fact, they thought it was good for the band: more number one songs for the Beatles, they guessed.
John and Paul were on the verge of wild sex in the garden when Paul pulled his face away from John and sat up straight again, but none of the hands that were on each other were removed.
“We should, like, write summat now!” Paul shouted excitedly, giggling like a schoolgirl; the drug was really doing wonders on his mood, making him all happy and buzzing nonstop, so cheerful every time. For once, he wasn’t the usual Paul they knew — the one who wanted to work around the clock every single day of his life — but this one was a carefree (and a little bit girlish) version of himself. Or, at least, he was… until he dropped that line...
As soon as the others heard and got what Paul was on about, they started to huff and tease him: “Ar u serious?! You wanna work right… NOW?!” George shouted, still cracking up with the rest.
“Why? Moment’s perfect, innit? We’re all high as kites and not understanding a jot! Just think of how many amazing songs we could come up with right now!” And with that, the trio continued to roll on the floor cracking up even more. “Stop laughin’! Y’ makin’ me feel left out here!” Paul said, looking at them all with an offended expression and furrowed brows, which only made the others laugh even more.
“How many?!” Ringo started, still laughing loudly, “D'you really reckon we can manage to write more than one verse before we’re all knocked out and snoring?!” He concluded, continuing to laugh with John and George, further annoying Paul.
Paul then turned to John and looked at him with adoring, charming eyes: “C’mon, John! At least you. What’s better than writin’ while we’re proper buzzed?” Paul asked with the cheesy voice he always used to persuade John to do something, but all those drugs had made his words come out much slower, more syrupy, and languid than ever, that seemed almost sexual.
And that's why, as a result of his tone, John, with his free hand, caressed Paul’s cheek, gazing at him with loving eyes. “Oh Paul. You know full well what I love to get up to most when I’m this fucking high.”
Paul smiled, not only because of the warm, soft hand on his cheek, now as red as fire from that contact, but also because he thought he had finally and utterly convinced John. But just as he was about to speak to declare his victory, John pulled away from him and held his hands in front of Paul to mime a sexual act with just his fingers.
The hilarity was such that both George and Ringo burst out laughing like never before at that scene. George fell back, and lying on the grass, he clutched his stomach from cracking up so hard. On the other side, Ringo was also in stitches, his head falling forward and one of his hands hitting the ground, while both had their eyes closed from the tears caused by the sheer fun of that moment.
Paul, who had not taken his gaze off John, suddenly widened his eyes when his brain managed to process John's teasing. With all the strength he had left — which wasn't much at that moment — he jabbed John in the arm, who was still miming exactly what he desperately wanted to do at that moment.
“Oh, s'top iit! Ya ain't funny at all!” Paul shouted, but this only made the other two laugh even more, and John burst into laughter again, stopping his gestures due to another nudge from Paul. Instead, he started cackling again, while his head was now tickling the crook of Paul’s neck. His mustache, now long and thick like the others — apart from Paul, who’d shaved his off — tickled the younger one, who began to giggle from the tickling. “John—JOHN! Get off, ya muppet! Ya ticklin’ me!” Paul shouted, laughing at the older one who was still cackling and shifting his face so the tickling could continue.
While John grabbed Paul’s shoulders to continue his “torture,” Paul clung to John’s elbows to avoid falling backward from all the laughter and tickling. But it was completely useless, as John pushed him onto the grass, and they both fell to the ground, with John lying on top of Paul, his face still nestled in the other’s neck.
Paul tried to wriggle out of the strange embrace and the man above him, but it was all in vain.
“George! Ringo! Help me, please!” Paul shouted amidst the laughter that John was still provoking, while his body also experienced shivers from a strange pleasure that was spreading within him all because of the crazy and silly mess they were in.
His two friends, as expected, did not help him; instead, they started teasing him about the absurd situation he found himself in: “Oh no Paul, we can’t. That’d mean gettin’ up, and, given our condition, we won’t do it,” George said, giggling like a fool.
“And looks like ya doin’ just fine!” Ringo kicked off, then added: “Also, seems that yer havin’ a bloody good time, huh? Lotta fun an’ pleasure, innit?” Ringo hollered at him as he helped George get into an upright position like him, but the younger one started giggling again for the amusing joke.
“Yer—John! T-Terrible friends! John, I beg ya to stop it now!” Paul giggled and tried to make John quit; still, everything was so useless that the older one had now placed his hands on Paul’s sides, continuing to tickle him, now in other areas too. “JOHN, NO!” Paul yelled, on the verge of dying from the tears and loud laughter he was emitting because of the boy on top of him.
But, at a certain point, John stopped laughing and suddenly decided to start kissing Paul’s neck. The boy beneath him, who was still laughing, was caught off guard when he felt John’s lips on him; all the pleasure he had been feeling intensified, again thanks in part to the drugs, sending sparks throughout his body and making him tremble with pleasure more than ever. Paul let out an unexpected moan: John had surprised him and multiplied that initial sensation of sweet passion he only felt when he was close to his guitarist. He found himself no longer laughing but letting out small giggles accompanied by delightful moans, caused not only by John’s kisses on his neck but also by the hands John was sliding over Paul’s hips, caressing them in a gentle and heavenly way, in a manner that was almost divine.
As if that weren’t enough, John also started moving his hips, rubbing their groins together in a way that immediately made Paul harder than he already was. Just hiding his face in John’s neck had awakened his arousal; but this was now driving him literally insane. Paul then found himself placing his trembling hands on John’s back, searching for something to hold onto, but his grip was weak and uncertain because he could no longer control his limbs, overwhelmed by everything he was feeling at that moment.
Paul was already reaching his limit: the electrifying scent of John intoxicating his senses, his soft hands sliding under his clothes, touching his skin, which was currently burning from that contact, the euphoric and determined thrusts that made their bodies rub against each other, creating in both of them an almost feverish excitement that sent them spiraling out of control; and, to crown it all, John’s kisses, with his soft and delicate mouth leaving burning kisses on his neck, which had turned a vivid red because of — or rather, thanks to — those magnificent lips, which more than anything else knew how to awaken Paul’s lust — and, even after all these years, they continued to mark him so passionately that they had both fallen hopelessly in love with each other’s touch.
But everything was suddenly interrupted by John, who sat back up, straight as before. It was so quick that all the heat Paul felt burning in his body was instantly replaced by a chilling cold that penetrated deep into his bones and, perhaps, even into his soul.
But for Paul, it was much harder to pull himself together; the condition in his pants was nothing short of tragic: his excitement was now so obvious and too impossible to hide. He tried to get his own body up, but found himself forced to grab John's arm again to haul up his weak and more excited body than ever. His biggest concern, however, became: how the hell am I going to make my erection disappear?
The two in front of them, not only noticing their state but also having seen and heard what the two had done just some seconds before, began to chuckle. They never openly talked about what the two involved were doing — or rather about their "relationship", if you could even call it that; George and Ringo were only aware that it was much more than just a friendship, but knowing that it was none of their business what John and Paul were (or also what they felt for each other), they always remained silent in a corner, and, sometimes, they chuckled at how childish John and Paul could be at times, how utterly in love they were with each other.
After Paul had managed to compose himself a bit, awkwardly covering his erection, just as John did, he turned to look at the older one and started discussing again: “Y-you're a bastard! D’you k-know that?” Paul said, using the same sulky face as before and trying to maintain a tone that was a mix of angry and furious, but he miserably failed, using a weak and normal voice, with a bit of stuttering — unable to help it, since he was doing his best not to let a moan escape his lips at the mere sight of John, who was all excited and with messy hair, the same way he looked when he woke up in the morning. He wondered if his own hair was in the same condition, or even worse, with a few blades of grass stuck in it.
John looked at him with a shocked expression, even placing a hand on his chest to make it all the more dramatic. “Why? What have I done?” he asked with a guilty voice, unable to pretend much since he too was trying to stifle a bloody moan at the ethereal sight of Paul in front of him. His face was flushed, reminding him nostalgically of when, as kids, they almost got caught by his aunt or Paul’s father doing dirty things in their rooms; then he was slightly trembling with how eager he was to have John’s lips on him again, perhaps this time on his mouth or maybe on his cock — John didn’t rule out either option, thinking the same thing in return: how he longed for the lips of his beloved on him, and yes, especially down there where he ached to finally feel the release he had been waiting for since the moment Paul had placed his fucking hand on his arm. The little tempting bastard, the older one thought, so annoyed that John had pulled away from him just when things were about to get really vulgar that he forgot he was the one who had started a game he knew only John could always win.
“You know very well what you have done!” Paul shouted at him, a small smile growing on his lips at the mere sight of the smirk John had on his. He was so gone, high, and excited, John thought, that he couldn’t even stay mad at him; also because he knew that anger wouldn’t give him what he was so bad… craving. Yes, Paul felt the concupiscence inside him almost exploding and gripping his entire being, John thought, even if he found himself in the same damn situation.
"I do a lot of things, Macca, you should be more specific," John declared as he leaned closer to Paul to remove a blade of grass that had gotten caught in his hair. Ah, there it was, another thing that was almost about to elicit a moan from John's lips: his damn hair, all messy and tousled, reminiscent of how Paul looked in the morning, how they would make love in a nearly animalistic way, how good Paul would suck him off, in a so sublimely way that John would grab his hair roughly and pull it to bring his pure yet vulgar mouth and his increasingly swollen, red lips deeper. God, he absolutely had to stop: he was getting harder just at the thought of Paul doing—uhm... doing—well, you got it.
As their eyes were just inches apart, they could both see their dilated pupils and their eyes dripping with lust. Their lips were a breath away; it would have been so easy to lean in and meld their mouths in a kiss at that moment, they both thought almost in sync; it wasn't strange that they were so telepathic — one could say they shared a single brain most of the time.
“You know what I’m talking about”, Paul managed to say, and it was almost a whisper; it was a phrase meant only for John, just for him, because the rest of the world was not worthy of understanding their little personal challenge, that game to which only the two of them could participate, that complicated tangle of emotions and feelings they had for each other. A sort of skein that will never unravel.
In fact, George and Ringo, who had been watching for a while without quite understanding what the two were doing, were flooded with a mix of confusion and curiosity, due to the drugs and the fact that they didn’t quite grasp why they were hesitating so much and hadn’t kissed yet, given that they could feel the desire, both Paul and John were experiencing for each other, in the air. They tried to regain the attention of the two.
“Have you two finished doing… whatever it is you’re doing?” George said, amused, with a gentle look, while exchanging a knowing glance with Ringo, who had propped an elbow on the ground and was almost lying down on the grass.
However, on the other side, both John and Paul seemed not to have heard it, too busy looking at each other and teasing one another with just their eyes. John's hand was still just a few inches from Paul's hair, while the latter had his hands in his lap, eager to touch any part of John. It was as if two worlds, two completely different universes, were about to collide and merge into one.
"Mate, I really believe they hadn’t heard you," Ringo chuckled as he watched John and Paul being just John and Paul as always; no one but the two of them, without the world intruding, without anyone ever being able to break what they had and who they were. They had always been John&Paul, and they always would be, Ringo thought.
On the other side of the garden, John and Paul were still gazing at each other as if their two friends didn't exist and as if they weren't in public yet. John chuckled at one point, while Paul looked at him with a smile and furrowed brows, not understanding the source of this little amusement that John was feeling.
“Why are you laughing?” Paul asked, smiling at John. It was so beautiful when he laughed, even softly; he loved John’s smiling face so much and would do anything to always see him smiling — to quote himself: “every single day of his life”.
John, in turn, smiled and replied playfully, “No, Paulie, I don’t know what you’re talking about”, he chuckled again, pretending not to know what he was talking about. A playful look drifted into the air, and his eyes quickly became cunning and mischievous as he spoke again: “Show me,” he finally added, not believing that only he had finally won, but that Paul had also gotten what he had been longing for.
Paul then laughed softly. The air was getting cooler, but the sun was still in the sky, even though it was now setting, giving way to the cold, dark English night. A gentle breeze made the flowers around them sway, as well as the green leaves of the nearby trees. Everything was quiet; only their breaths could be heard; even their friends on the other side seemed to be waiting for the longed-for moment.
"You're an idiot," Paul could only say, and instead of doing what John had done before, he took the man's face in both hands and kissed him with such fervor that John had to cling to him. His cocky smile vanished the moment Paul’s full yet soft lips were on his, and he immediately opened his mouth to let Paul’s warm tongue in. He grabbed Paul’s hips and gently pushed him back onto the grass, laying them both down and savoring every moment of that instant.
The grass was cool beneath them, lacking the softness of a bed, yet offering enough comfort for them to feel at ease. John kept his hands on Paul’s hips like before, but now he was gripping him more firmly and caressing him a bit faster, as if he were afraid Paul might escape from him. He was moving his hips again, making both him and Paul feel so good — moans of pleasure escaping their mouths, but fortunately, they were muffled by the kisses they were sharing. Paul, on the other hand, was cradling John’s cheek with one hand while the other rested on the back of his neck, tangled in John’s soft, tousled hair — the most enchanting and spectacular hair ever, with its warm hue and coppery highlights that made it unique. It was a romantic gesture that didn’t reveal too much of the passion Paul felt at that moment, but rather his desire to have John even closer, as if their joined lips weren’t enough. When they were done, they always felt as if their bodies were fused into one; sometimes this happened even when they made love sober, but under the influence of hallucinogens, that sensation intensified a thousand times more.
They focused so much on that kiss that they truly forgot about the world around them; in fact, Ringo and George were still in front of the two of them, shouting at them in an attempt to stop them: “Alright. As flattered as we are to witness the genius of Lennon/McCartney at work, we ain’t want to see you two snogging nor having wild shag in this garden! There’s a limit to everythin’, y’know!?” George shouted as the two were getting more and more passionate with each passing second, completely ignoring their two best friends in front of them who were witnessing this indecent spectacle.
“Well, I think it’s better to go back inside, George. This situation’s turning rated R”, Ringo added with a chuckle, exchanging a knowing glance with George, who nodded and started chuckling as well. They quickly got to their feet and went up the stairs back inside, leaving the other two alone outside in the garden.
John and Paul, now by themselves, pulled away for a moment and looked intensely into each other’s eyes.
“What a shame, it seems like the only two who will be partaking in this orgy are us”, John said, raising his eyebrows to appear cheeky, making Paul laugh beneath him.
“John, if it’s just the two of us, I don’t think you can call it an orgy,” Paul chuckled; he was gently stroking the back of John’s neck and thought he never wanted that moment to end. If he could, he would spend his entire life in that garden, with John, with the person he always wanted by his side, or, in this case, above him.
“Oh, shut up! Keep kissing me, ya ‘know-it-all’,” John said, smiling sweetly at the lovely boy beneath him, who in turn smiled tenderly, his other hand still caressing John’s soft, warm cheek, now flushed like the desire within them that was igniting their bodies.
“With pleasure,” and so Paul brought their lips together again in a passionate yet loving kiss.
John certainly wouldn’t have told Paul at that moment, when his tongue was almost in the bassist’s throat, but this make-out session had sparked a song idea in his mind. Better to wait for the next studio session to write down that line he had in his head than to ruin this special moment with his beloved.
The sun was now setting, they were all still quite high, and John and Paul felt that it was the perfect atmosphere for a kiss in an English garden.