Hi, if you're still taking requests from the January OTP prompt lists, I would love to request "Shooting Star" for McLennon! :-)
Thanks for the request, @crepesuzette2023! I hope you like this. Early days McLennon.
Previous fills here on AO3.
Most of the time Paul swam through life taking the easy path, just a normal bloke who liked to please his elders and make people laugh. But when it came to music, well, that was a different story. He wasn’t normal at all about that. Inside him was something so big and all-consuming, it was hard to keep his mind on anything else. HIs skin itched with the need to express himself in chords and rhythms, as if his very thoughts were musical and he had to translate them back into English to get along in the world.
John was the same. When they were together, Paul could relax and be himself, speak his native language. It sounded ridiculous, but sometimes he thought the only time he felt truly alive was with John. Time became a meaningless concept. They’d joke and laugh, constantly ribbing each other. But it always came back to playing and singing, trying out new song ideas, listening to records and figuring out the chords. Back and forth they’d go, like a game, passing the ball between them trying to make a goal. But each time the ball changed slightly, one lending his ideas to the other, so it came out as something they’d both created.
And all along they both had this hunger to get to the top. It would sound daft if he put it in words. And for sure he’d never say anything to his dad about it. But it thrummed and vibrated deep in his core. When his dad went on about staying in school, becoming a teacher, Paul would nod and stay quiet, pretending to himself, at least for the moment, that it was something he might do. But then that fervent need would re-assert itself and he knew there was no other option. The desire to be something more, do something more, was an itchy craving to throw the doors open and announce to the world, “I’m here.” In John he recognized the same desire. Together the real world fell away and they could immerse themselves in limitless possibility. The next Elvis! The next Buddy Holly!
One night after a gig, they shed the others and spent hours walking around the city, wrapped up in their own little world. Suddenly the sky opened up and they discovered they were at the docks. It was a different universe from the densely packed clubs and shops of the city center. Like sentries on guard, immense port buildings lined up facing the water. On the water, black silhouettes of ships and boats of all sizes massed around the docks, lights here and there puncturing the dark. They paused for a smoke break, leaning against a wall and surveying the scene. Paul unslung his guitar from his back, grateful for the rest.
“Did you ever see it so clear?” John mused. He gestured with his ciggie. “Look at the moon.”
“Yeah,” Paul agreed. Its pocked surface was clearly visible, grey features like flecked paint on canvas. “It’s bright.” Moon…loon…spoon..baboon… His mind spun out possible lyrics as they smoked in silence.
“Let’s stow away on one of them ships tonight. What d’you say?” John said.
Paul laughed. “Wish we could. Kind of sick of this place. We could go to India or maybe Egypt.”
“Naw, America’s where I’d like to go.”
“Oh yeah, we could say hi to Elvis,” Paul said. “Think he’d let us play for him?” He snorted.
“Go to Hollywood,” John added. “Wouldn’t mind seeing Elizabeth Taylor.”
The silence of night took over again, just the clang and clink of boat sounds ringing across the water, both contemplating the far-away nirvana of the US.
“You know, we might go to American some day,” Paul said. “It’s where it’s at. If we get good enough.”
“If? If?,” John said with mock dismay. “There’s no if about it, son. The world’s gonna hear about Lennon and McCartney, no doubt about it.”
Paul grinned at John’s confidence. A little flame burned low in his belly. “Hope so.” He wanted it more than anything. He could barely stand to say anything about it out loud. “Lennon and McCartney. Has a ring to it.”
“Sure does, mate.” John looked up at the sky. “Like those stars, yeah? We’ll be like them. Up so high no one can reach us.”
“We just gotta get there,” Paul said. “Think we can do it?”
“I will broach no more disagreement on this point, my young man,” John said in a posh accent. “The Beatles shall go as high as,” he pointed up, moving his hand around. “That star right there. See the really bright one?”
“Yeah, think so.” He tried to look where John was pointing.
Suddenly, a star shot across the sky. Adrenaline shot through Paul’s body and they gaped at each other in wonder.
“Did you see that?” Paul asked at the same time that John said, “Did I just see what I think I saw?”
“It’s a sign,” John said, turning to Paul excitedly. “I know it. Has to be.”
Paul bit his lip, wanting it so badly he could burst. “You think?”
“We’re gonna make it. Don’t you feel it?”
“Sometimes. When I’m with you,” Paul said. He looked up at the sky again, yearning to see the shooting star again, but it was gone. He tried to find the brighter star that John had pointed to. “I wanna believe it.”
John took Paul’s shoulders in his hands so they were facing each other. His eyes were bright in the moonlight. “Never doubt it. I can feel it in my bones.”
Paul nodded. He was abruptly aware of a crackling current rising between them, as if channeled through John’s touch. The energy fizzed through him. He thought of all the songs they’d already written, the gigs they’d played, the girls who watched them adoringly. How the four of them playing together was a high like no other. “We’ve got it. It’s gonna happen.”
“That’s right, son.” John clapped his hands on Paul’s shoulders then put an arm around him as they ambled away. “The world doesn’t know what’s coming.”
