⇾ 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈

Chapter Sixty-Two: Ravishing

January 4, 1962

Trixie and I were sat at the bar of the Cavern Club, watching the four sweating boys on the stage belt out a stupefying performance of Little Richard's "Long Tall Sally." Their energy was radient as they played and the audience cheered the whole time, yelling things up to them that, considering all but one of them were currently in a relationship, weren't exactly appropriate.

Nonetheless, they all were having a good time, that I certainly knew. When Paul wasn't at the mic, he was back with John, yelling something that made both of them laugh like maniacs.

"I hope I didn't scare you earlier," Trixie said, breaking me from my stare. I turned to her.

"What do you mean?" I cleared my throat and looked down.

"Oh, come off it, you know what I mean."

"I'm fine, Trix, I just—." I looked back to the stage. "Now I just—what if he expects it...soon?"

"Who expects what?" John's voice made me yelp slightly.

"I—didn't realize you were done." I looked down.

"What could you possibly be hiding from me?" he asked, undoubtedly on the edge of annoyance. I gulped.

"Oh," said Trixie. "I'll go find George," she stuttered. "Best of luck, Donna." She winked and I waved her away frantically.

"Donna—." John just sounded worried now. "What's up?"

"I—let's go outside," I said. He nodded solemnly.

~~~

"Trixie thinks I need to...loosen up."

John slouched back against the brick of the alleyway wall, crossing his arms. "Donna—."

"I just—." I stopped to breathe. "I don't want you to—." My stutter decided to make a quick appearance.

He walked towards me and took my face in his hands and I could see every bead of sweat gathered on his forehead from his performance. I relaxed under his gaze. "Breathe, love. Wouldn't want you fainting on me."

I fought to look away from his coaxing gaze, but couldn't. "John, I just—." He let go of my face and took my hands instead. "I don't want you to be...expecting it...anything...soon. I'm just not r-r-ready for any of that." Tears came to my eyes and he wiped them away.

"Love," he said. "I would never pressure you into doing that," he said. "I'm willing to take it as slow as you need."

I breathed out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, John. I—." I looked away at all the couples or drunks stumbling away from the club. "I'm sorry I brought this up. It was...silly."

He smiled, leaning forward to envelope me in his arms. "No, it wasn't, love. I hope I could put your mind at ease."

"Thank you for understanding," I blubbered, having no idea why I was crying once again.

"Aww, love," he said, rubbing my back. I tried to tune out the uncertainty I was sure I heard in his voice. "I love ye. I'd wait a hundred years for you."

"I love ye too," I said, crying like an idiot. "Why do I always make such a fool of myself?" I laughed.

He rubbed my back and led me gently to sit on a metal bench against the wall of the Cavern, sitting me down and pulling me across his lap. "You don't, love. You don't," he said and I just clung to him like my life depended on it.

"I don't want to lose you," I mewled.

He pulled me away and looked me in the eyes, his expression somehow hard and soft at the very same time. "You never will," he assured me. "I'll always be here, whether yer happy, sad, mad, or even unconscious—." I laughed with a blush. "I'll always be here. I promise."

I had stopped whining for a moment to listen to him, but started right again when he'd finished.

"Aww, love," he said, pulling me back into his chest.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," I puled. "But I'm so glad I did whatever it may have been. I'm so lucky."

"To have me?" He chuckled. "Love, I'm nothing compared to the blokes you could get. I'm the one that's lucky to have you."

"No, me," I huffed.

"Persistent, as always." He kissed me on the cheek. "That's one of the things I love most about ye."

I pulled back and looked at him, laughing suddenly, realizing we were in a dingy alleyway, outside of a run-down club, professing our love to one another.

"What's funny, babe?" he asked cheekily.

"Just look at us," I said. "You're all worn out, having to deal with me being a prick, in an alleyway, outside of a club, drunks stumbling all around us...." I gestured around. "Should I go on?"

"If you do, I'll kiss ye."

I blushed, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "Well, you can do that anyways, y'know." I looked around. "Only we would—."

He shut me up with a feverish kiss, starting calm, but escalating very quickly. I still always found myself forgetting that he was a lot more seasoned in these things than I was.

Our lips moved in sync, like two pieces of a puzzle. We'd tried other pieces, but it was these two that fit together. His hands found a shaky grip on my waist and mine found his neck.

We only pulled away when we heard someone clear his voice from the end of the alleyway, back towards the door that led inside to the room where bands got ready to go on stage.

We jerked apart quite quickly, turning to see a red-faced Paul standing awkwardly outside the door.

"Sorry to—uh—interrupt, but they're—uh—wanting you to come in, John, and talk to—er—Rory Storm and them," he stuttered.

John waved him back inside and looked at me, studying me up and down.

"Of course they bloody do," he hissed irritatedly, leaning back in for another peck on the lips. I removed myself from him and stood, dusting off my blouse and smoothing my hair down, wiping my eyes so no one could tell I'd been crying. John smoothed his hair down and looked at me. "I look alright?" he asked with a dopey grin.

"You look amazing," I responded with a laugh. "How 'bout me?"

"You look—." He stopped to choose his word. "Ravishing."