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“Okay- okay, I’m walking,” A lace of a laughter followed Peter’s speech, his arms sprawled out around him, the gentleness of his lengthened, dirty-blonde hair tickling the sensitive tinge of his cheeks, despite the roughness of his course beard.
“No peakin’ there,” Mike adjusted his right hand, secured tightly over his lover’s tightly-shut eyes, his left adjusted against the small of Peter’s back, clearing a path in the depths of the grand living-room.
Mike halted, adjusting the Scandinavian beside him to remain still. “We’re here.”
With a nuzzle of his nose, and Mike’s soft spool of laughter; the Texan’s large, rough hands moved, “open ‘y eyes, honey.”
Peter, in an instinct, clutched his sides; his chestnut-coated eyes softly fluttered open, studying the dimness of the lighting, the piercing silence, the darkness of a homemade stage, looming in the darkness. “Our living room? That was the surprise?-“
In an instant; a light, flickering from overhead, paused on a figure, ringing the notes on a large, grand piano, the woman’s shining, almost ethereal blonde strands shaking with her movement. Their faces were covered by the darkness, as soon; the white-light flickered on a drum set, the steady following rhythm echoing through their residence, beating along to the delicate piano.
The beat was familiar, a comforting rhythm; though, Peter still stood, baffled alongside his partner. “No- you’re joking-“
Mike adjusted the sleeves of his suit, the prim-and-proper gesture allowing a familiar grin. “Can I have this dance, Mr. Tork?”
“Are you joking?!” His gasp was light, flowing even sweeter than the grasp of the music surrounding them. My love, my love. “It’d be a sin to say no.”
Their hands interlinked, the steadiness of the beat keeping them together; step-by-step, they began, Peter’s hair sprawled over the darkness of his jean-jacket, Mike’s midnight waves combed neatly, autumnal eyes fixated on the beauty of his lover; his golden freckles, faded from the sun’s absence, the waves of his lengthened hair, reflecting in the warmth of the darkened lighting, the scruff of his messy beard, adding, if possible, even more into the Connecticut-natives everlasting charm.
He swung Peter into his arms; with his own growing weight, filling his features out, Peter had taken a charm to relying on him, allowing his thin- almost fragile, body to flow with the steadiness of Michael’s own.
Their hips swayed to the beat, following the fastened-slowed pace, the switching of the pace allowing Mike to steal a gentle peck, pursing against Peter’s soft, pink-tinged lips.
Their pace resumed; the bottom of their dress-shoes tacking, even against the carpeted floors. “They dance like this in Texas?”
“Oh yeah-“ Mike nuzzled their cheeks together, the roughness of their matching beards tickling the other’s; light and dark, Peter thought to himself. Yin and Yang.
Paul’s bobbing figure took the stage; the length of his darkened mullet swayed in the cool air, the microphone tight underneath his grip. “No one ever left alive! Nineteen-hundred and eighty-five will ever do.”
Their dancing stopped; Peter’s eyes widened, pupils dilated in shock- lust- pure amazement at the performance, unfolding in front of him. “You’re fucking kidding-“
“She may be right! She may be fine! She may get love-“ He leaned along the piano, Linda’s loving, diamond gaze fixated to her husband. “But she won’t get mine, ‘cause I’ve got you!”
“Happy birthday babe,” Mike pulled his lover close, arm wrapped against his broadened shoulders, his strong, Greek-nose nuzzling in the comfort of Peter’s neck.
“Oh I,” Paul began, his own laughter resting on the tip of his tongue. “Oh I!”
“I love you, Michael,” Peter’s gaze was tinged with tears, his voice crackling- shaking. “I love you.”
“Well I just can’t get enough of that sweet stuff, my little-lady gets behind!”
With the tapping of the piano, falling away underneath Linda’s touch; their bodies swung into formation, Mike’s leading steps allowing Peter to fall into rhythm, recollecting their movements.
“Shake it!” Paul shuffled along the makeshift stage, a smile, warm and welcoming, fixated on his expression. “Baby don’t break it!”
Mike twirled Peter’s figure, shuffling him against the carpet; he was agile, spinning against the carpet, arm extended towards Mike. Paul’s echoing grunts fell from his lips, matched with the illuminating echos of the music, his stare tainted with admiration. Mike surrounded him, dipping Peter in his grip; their eyes gleamed, a mixture of love and lust hinted in the depths of their gaze.
The drums started once again; their shoulders shuffled against each other, pressing and releasing, darting across the swiftness of the carpet.
“Oh, my mama said a time would come when darlin’ I would find myself in love with you!” He pointed to the lovers, dancing along the carpeted floor, laughter spooling from their lips. “I didn’t think- I never dreamed, that I would be around to see it all come true!”
Peter glowed like an angel, surrounding him, blessing him with the gift of his presence. The way his gleaming strands coronated him, a crown of gold spilling over him, his beautiful, deep, coffee-toned haze reflected back towards him.
“Oh I,” Paul grinned into his speech, his hand clasped over his chest, his voice preaching. “Oh I!” His gaze moved downwards, though his smile never faltered. “Well I just can’t get enough of that sweet-stuff my little lady gets behind!”
The chorus was beautiful; as sweet as a choir, amplified further by Peter’s teary-eyed smile, the twitching smile, only brought out in their most passionate, special, moments. And god- if I don’t want that smile to stay with me forevermore.
“Oh- no one ever left alive! Nineteen-hundred eighty-five will ever do!” Mike pulled Peter’s warmth closer to him, clutching the small of his back, clasping his arms behind Peter’s back. “Well she may be right! She may be fine! She may get love- but she won’t get mine!”
“Because I’ve got you,” Mike whispered to him, eyes widened, his smile matching Peter’s own.
“Oh, I,” Peter’s tone dropped to sultry, seductive, even. In an odd way; it matched Paul’s own, their conjoined ranges mixing in its own perfect little brew.
“Well I just can’t get enough of that sweet-stuff my little lady gets behind!”
Paul’s soft-spooled grunts fell along to the beat, his fixation never leaving the duo; Peter’s arms fell across Mike’s shoulders, the Texan’s large palms resting gently against Peter’s waist. They swayed in beat, the synthesizers beating rhythm swinging along the guitar; the room filled with the bellowing sound of music, surrounding them, engulfing their souls in the rhythm of the beat, the rhythm of each other.
As the music progressed, so did their movements; the sharper turns, the swinging steps of Mike’s feet, allowing Peter to surround him, to further the flush in his cheeks, hidden by the depths of darkened hair.
The beat progressed; the sounds growing louder, the space between the southerner with his loving hippie closing, until they remained face to face, their eyes fixated on the other’s lips, their breath heavy, smiles wide. At the climax; their lips conjoined, Mike’s tongue pushing into the warmth of Peter’s mouth, savoring him on his tongue, his taste, filling his senses with Peter; all of Peter.
Their kiss broke at the echoing sound of laughter, the applause filling the room, Linda’s own whistles prominent in the air.
“Happy birthday, honey,” Mike breathed, catching Peter into one final kiss. I love you.
“I love you too, Michael,” Peter hummed, his head turning towards Paul’s leaping figure.
“You’re getting old there, Sonny!” Paul waited, bringing Peter into his grasp; their hug was strong, Paul’s laughter warm, welcoming.
“I’m older than you, McCartney,” the Scandinavian’s speech was broken by Linda’s presence, the cake held tightly in her grasp, candles swaying in open air.
“Happy birthday to you,” the song began, their voices light, Paul’s echoing clapping following the natural rhythm. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Peter,” Mike’s kiss fell onto his temple, stroking his hair behind his lover’s hair.
“Happy birthday to you!”