SEQUEL TO THE TREEHOUSE: I'll Never Leave You (part one)
Title: I'll Never Leave You (part one)
Sequel to: The Treehouse ( ch1) (ch2) ( ch3)
Pairing: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Rating: PG or PG-13 (by part)
Warnings: Cussing, fluff, nothing really slashy
Timeframe: It says per section
Summary: Ever since young John and Paul grew closer as friends and lovers due to an old treehouse, they've had one promise to each other. But it had never occurred to them that the promise might stay intact for the rest of their lives...
Author's Notes: Alright. For those of you who have been keeping up with the Treehouse fic I've been writing, you'll remember how I promised to write an ending for it. Or a better one, at that, as I wasn't satisfied with the one I'd used. Anyway, I was writing, and this massive idea came to me, like a huge epilogue basically. I think it's too big to fit into just one entry, so I've kind of made it into a second fic -- a sequel, if you may. Just so you're not all overwhelmed, I'll be posting two sections per part over a span of a few days. Enjoy, I'll Never Leave You! --Blakely
A/N2: You don't necessarily have to read The Treehouse fics before this one, though it is recommended because those three entries do set up the exposition.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Beatles. This is a piece of fiction and should not be taken literally.
Part 1
Three Years Later...
Hamburg, September 16, 1960
The doors to the cramped back room swung open. Paul McCartney's eyes were wide, his blood was racing, and his mind was reeling. It was the prellies, he knew, and as effective as they were for staying up in the club, now it was 5 am and all he wanted was that forbidden sleep.
The storage room in which they lived in at Hamburg was cold and empty, messy with the strewn Beatles clothes and the dull thumping and bass of the club a few rooms away -- probably where the others were partying at the moment. Paul knew that if he felt like shit, the others must have felt worse, especially John, who had taken almost three times as many prellies as Paul.
John. Paul grumbled to himself, bunching up the Union Jack flag he was forced to use as a measly blanket and tried to close his eyes, but it was as if they were sewn open. John wouldn't be coming back. John was having a bit too many pills, a bit too much booze, a bit too many German fraus, and a bit too much damn Stu Sutcliffe. Ever since John had met the fucker at art college, he'd been practically head-over-heels.
" 'Oh, Stuart's so flexible for playing bass for us!' 'Stu's so unique and talented!' 'Stu is the best, Stu is amazing, Stu Stu Stu!' " Paul growled to himself, flipping to his side to find a more comfortable position. Whatever, John. Whatever.
But then the doors to the storage room opened again, and light illuminated the wall Paul faced. He didn't give a shit who it was, so he pretended to be asleep. The person seemed to pause at Paul's figure before going to his own bed, but the sound of his shivering gave away to Paul exactly who it was.
The man whispered. "Paulie."
He stayed quiet.
"I know you're up, and I'm bloody freezing. Let me stay with you, please."
Paul breathed out loudly.
Suddenly John was up out of his bed with his own blanket, and to the younger man's bed. Paul shocked himself when he moved over, allowing John room. John immediately climbed next to him, wrapping his arms around Paul. He smelled of the sweat and sex of the party outside, but there was still traces of the familiar Johnny scent there. He knew he still had a right to be furious at John for the way he'd been treating him lately, but something else was stopping him from blowing up in his mate's face. Something was there, but Paul couldn't put a finger on it.
Smooth lips kissed his neck, freezing with cold sweat. "Hello, luv," he muttered.
Paul didn't say anything, but John kept on kissing him.
Finally Paul spoke. "What are you doing here?"
" 'M tired."
"No you're not. And you were supposed to be leaving tonight, with Stu. What happened to that?"
Paul couldn't hide the pain in his voice, and when the older man heard it he pushed Paul's shoulder so he was on his back. Then he was kissing him, hard, fervently and yearningly. "Macca," he said. "Haven't you learned yet?" John smiled in the dark.
"I'll never leave you."
-~-
Los Angeles, August 21,1965
A portable reel-to-reel tape player was spinning away playing soft instrumentals as the Electra airplane rose and rose in the sky. The concert in Minneapolis had been a nonstop mental and physical combat for all four Beatles, and John smiled as he watched George and Ringo reenact a scene about a rabid fan onstage that night. He was just glad the night was finally coming to an end, so he could get some shut-eye before the busy day in the morning.
"You can't possibly be falling asleep, Johnny?" Paul's voice filled the older man's ears and he jumped suddenly, hitting his head on the airplane window. Paul snickered.
"Bloody little weakling you are, can't stay up to watch the wondrous show Geo and Ritchie are putting on for us, eh?" The bassist's voice was harsh, but only mockingly, as he brushed John's auburn hair from his face and smiled so it touched his eyes.
He was obviously reminiscing what happened last night.
"Oh, I'm the weak one, then? I'm not the one who almost got beaten up by a little girl at the concert, huh, Macca?" John stabbed back, staring into Paul's enticing eyes and smirking. Oh, last night...
Paul opened his mouth to speak, a sneer forming on his lips, when someone's voice filled the airplane from down the hall. "Fire! There's a fire in the right engine!"
John stood up first, peering over the seats. It was Larry Kane, an American reporter on tour with them, pointing out the window to the right. Sure enough, a bright light off the left wing shined in through the windows, billowing back in the wind from the high speed of the plane.
"Oh shit. Oh shit... Holy shit!" By now everyone on the plane was up, and the flight attentants were dutifully trying to calm the passengers down, though they were looking quite apprehensive themselves. John ignored them, acting on impulse.
The emergency door. Not thinking, John stepped over Paul in his seat and flew to the hatch at the rear of the cabin, grasping the handle with two shaking hands. Shit shit shit shit...
But someone came up and shoved his hands away. "Are you crazy?" It was the same reporter. "You'll get killed!"
"John!!" Paul's warm arm suddenly wrapped around him, dragging him back to the seats. "Johnny, you need to calm down. Calm down, John."
"Calm down? How am I supposed to calm down when the fucking plane's on fire?!" John struggled but Paul gripped both of the guitarist's wrists in his hands, trapping him.
"John, the pilots know what they're doing. Trust me, please." Paul's hands were then massaging John's own, reassuring him. He was obviously trying to remain calm himself, but by the subtle biting of his lip John could tell he was fearful himself. "Don't do anything, John."
"But the fire..." He glanced out the window again at the engine ablaze, and his heart started racing again. "We're gonna die, Paulie, for fuck's sake we're gonna die..."
"No we're not! We are not! You need to trust me, love. Trust me, Johnny, please..." With the commotion going on up at the front, no one was paying attention when Paul stole a quick kiss from John, and then embracing him tightly. "I need you to trust me."
"I trust you." The answer came out impulsively, and John didn't know whether or not to trust himself. Suddenly the sheer reality of the situation dawned on the guitarist, and he bit his lip to keep from cracking in front of everyone. On this very night, he could be losing everything. He could lose his band, his family, his life. He could lose Paul. I can't let that happen.
"Paul, I love you."
"I love you too."
"Say you'll never leave me, no matter what. Even if we die on this fucking plane tonight..."
"Johnny, love..." Paul's grip tightened soothingly, and he breathed out shakily.
"I'll never leave you.
-~-
Stay tuned for Part Two, kids! In the meantime, comments will be held and cherished and appreciated and loved. :3