New Story
Title: Always Forgiven
Rating: PG
Pairing: Mick/Charlie, onsided Mick/Keith
Genre: Angst
Word Count: 1,232
Disclaimer: All events are completely fictitious.
This is written for captain_planet who has posted so many wonderful stories here and asked for a Charlie/Mick story ages ago. I hope you like it :)
Charlie sighed running a hand over his tired face, his fingers grazing over his growing stubble. The physical reminder of his dishevelled state felt foreign under his fingertips. But the sound of raised voices in his intended direction did much to dispel the prickle of embarrassment he felt. It wasn’t as if anybody in his planned destination was in any state to observe critically the condition of his beard, he would be in luck if either of them was able to discern his appearance in the room at all.
The shouting increased in amplitude as Charlie strode forcefully towards its source, to the extent that he was able to distinguish the words coming from through the open studio door.
“Wha’ do ya mean we’re not tourin’? How can ya possibly put you fuckin’ solo career above THIS BAND?!” A haggard deep voice was projecting.
Seconds later it was met with a reply spoken at the same excessive volume. “I need to do this Keith, anyway, it is NOT your chose what I decide to do with my time and talent...”
“YOUR talent??” The first voice interrupted thunderously. “Oh that’s right without Mick Jagger this band would be NOTHING! It certainly wasn’t the time Brian and I spent practicing in that freezing cold apartment, while you attended your preppy little school, or the hours that me and Gram spent strumming in the kitchen in France while you attended the high life in Paris...”
“Gram’s not even part of the band!” Came the seething reply.
“Yeah but at least he was in it for the music, not the fuckin’ prestige and money. You’re pathetic Michael, constantly pretending to be something you ain’t. One day all your adoring public are going to discover ya nothing more than a fraud, and then maybe ya’ll wish ya treated ya friends right cause there will be NOBODY to pick ya up when ya fall. Least of all me.” Keith’s voice was losing its vehemence and Charlie had to move closer to here the final blow. “If you decide to do this Mick, we’re over, that’s it, I’m done.”
The silence was deafening, Charlie could feel his heart beat hard against his rib cage.
“I’m sorry Keith.” Mick’s answer was barely a whisper, but to Charlie it sounded as loud as a gun fire.
Standing stock still, the drummer heard as Keith left the room slamming the door with a final bang, and felt the wind as he matched past him probably not even recognising his long time friend and colleague.
Charlie lent his body against the wall prolonging the inevitable entrance into the room. The fight replaying in his mind; the two had fought before, a lot in recent times, but never with the finality of tonight. The light strumming in the next room seeped through the door cracks bringing him gently back to the present.
Resolutely Charlie opened the door and entered the room. The previous occupant looked up quickly. Although, the glance was only brief before the long hair dropped down to hide the face again, it was long enough for Charlie to observe the red wine stained lips and angry purple mark nestled under red rimmed eyes, marring its otherwise perfect ivory complexion.
Charlie felt his blood stream run cold, he had caused that disfigurement. The strumming had resumed, its mournful mood hanging heavily in the air as the ringed fingers teased the fret board. Charlie did not know how long he watched as his band mate shaking hands gently stroked the instrument and his blood red lips hummed along a sombre tune.
Mesmerised by the fragile beauty Charlie felt himself being draw forward. Tenderly, Charlie ran his fingers through the curtain of silky hair in front of him, watching Mick exhale sharply as his fingers grazed his bruised cheek bone.
“I’m sorry,” Mick’s whisper sounded like cracking ice.
Charlie frowned, and sat on the bench beside him, the music had stopped. His thumb and forefinger found the hard bone of the singer’s chin and applied gentle pressure to align this man’s face with his own. Mick acquiesced to the silent request his blue kohl-stained eyes coming to rest on Charlie’s. Who watched wordlessly on as moisture gathered on their thick black frames and slid smoothly over the high cheekbones.
Mick crying was different to Brian, Charlie decided. While Brian sobbed and angrily swiped at the falling tears, Mick hid his silent despair beneath his head of hair so that you could be in the same room as him and not even notice unless you looked especially carefully. Keith always looked carefully, Charlie’s mind supplied.
“I know why you did it.” Charlie stated, and was surprised with the intensity of the pain in Mick’s sapphire orbs. “And I know it wasn’t for your solo career. You were right. We wouldn’t have survived another tour.”
Mick laughed a singularly humourless note. “Looks like we won’t survive this way either, it was all a waste of time.”
Charlie’s eye’s gazed the bottles of Jack Daniels and fancy wine that lay scattered across the room. “I’d say it was already killing us.”
Mick gazed transferred to the door Keith had left through, tears creating glistening tracks down his face.
“He’ll come back you know.” Charlie whispered with as much hope as he could.
“Not this time.”
The sentiment caused Charlies insides to crawl.
Acting on pure instinct, Charlie lifted both hands to his singer’s cheeks using his thumbs to gently dust the tears from their surface. Bringing his face closer Charlie allowed their lips to touch, holding the man before him as if he were made of fragile china. Mick’s reaction was immediate as his turned his head slightly allowing their lips to push more tightly together.
His lips were plumper then Shirley’s, Charlie noted, but the sensation was not sufficiently different as to jar him out of the experience. The eldest man started slightly, as a tongue tentatively entered his mouth bring with it the tart taste of expensive wine. Mick’s hands ran his body looking for purchase, something real to hold onto and Charlie shivered under their desperate tirade.
The two pulled apart breathing heavily, Charlie stood up but did not forgo his handle on the soft skin of Mick’s neck were his hands had fallen. He looked on with satisfaction at the faint pink tinge that gave life to the man’s otherwise deathly white features.
Adopting his most fatherly voice, Charlie spoke sternly to the man before him whose androgynous appearance only added to his childlike fragility. “Here’s what you are going to do, you are going to go on tour by yourself, maybe write another solo album. Keith will wait for you, but you can’t stay here to waste away with desperate desire for someone you cannot have. So please, just leave for a few years, you owe yourself at least a chance to move on.”
Blue eyes pieced his own, as Charlie reluctantly removed his hands.
“Do you forgive me, Charlie?” the words were so quiet they we almost more felt then heard.
“You’re always forgiven.”
With a gentle caress to Mick’s forehead, Charlie gently slipped out of the room, well aware that it would be years, if ever, before the three of them are reunited once more, but he sincerely hoped by then that Keith would recognise what he had been missing.
Wrong era but still :)
