And in flies a guy who's all dressed up like the Union Jack
Title: A Mutual Agreement
Rating: R
Pairings: Jimmy Page/Mick, Keith Richards/Mick Jagger, Jimmy/Robert, Jimmy/Jeff Beck, implied Jimmy/random women, implied random men and women/Mick Jagger, brief Keith Richards/Anita Pallenberg-- dayumn.
Word Count: 12, 062
Disclaimer: I don't own either band because I don't have the money for it. Though there are many facts in here, it is stretched for my imagination.
--
“May I check into a room, just for tonight?”
“Let me check to see if our rooms have been booked, and then I’ll get back with you.”
Her hands fell upon a clipboard, brown-colored eyes shifting over the page, thin lips pursing into a thinner line. Minutes would tick by before she raised her head again.
“Sir, a few rooms haven’t been booked yet.”
“Could I have a room on the first floo--”
“I’m sorry sir, but all the rooms have been booked on the first and second. Only a few rooms remain open on the third.”
The guitarist resisted to sigh in circumvention. He asked for where the elevator would be as he hoped to quickly get there and dump his load of extra limbs. When she answered, Jimmy resisted to huff in annoyance again.
“The lift is out of business right now due to renovation-- one of the chords seemed to have snapped and a few buttons have been malfunctioning. The stairs are next to the elevator. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
Jimmy generously accepted the room key, turning on his heels, and heading to the stairs. His eyes watched as the scenery leisurely pass him by: the potted plants, the many tones of different smells, the bright colors, and statues. The stairs were seated beside the lift as the woman had directed.
Mick vaguely took everything in. He could barely diagnosticated all that went around him, his eyes bordering on closed. When he, with the help of Jimmy, approached the concrete structure, he almost immediately closed his eyes again. The light from the fixtures drilled holes in his head, creating a deeper pain inside his skull. Mick hated when he was completely wasted, and he knew he was going to have an almost murderous hangover in the morning.
Suddenly there was a woman talking. Instead of being soothing as her voice was soft, it only further spurred more pain, crushing his brain in an iron hold that threatened to destroy the order of his mind. The floor was somewhere below him in a far off land. Feet connecting with the floor sounded downy. The singer wanted to have some control over his body that was currently reduced to a boneless mass of flesh and blood.
Mick wanted to raise his head but only found it rolling on Jimmy’s shoulder, the guitarist’s dark hair pooling under his chin. Mick didn’t know if he could stand the lack of control. It had been such a long time since he became this drunk as it always obliged as a reminder to never let it go this far-- or however far it went almost an hour ago.
Jimmy gripped the handle of the door and pushed, opening the door to an empty staircase. As soon as the dark-haired boy took the first step, Jimmy realized something: it was going to be hell trying to climb up the flight of stairs. He was never acclimatized to carrying people since he disliked people in his personal space. He’d rather drag the singer up the stairs, but Jimmy knew he wasn’t that strong to do so-- even if Mick weighed less then him, it still didn’t make a difference.
The guitarist also noted the increasing nature of his lower regions. What Mick had started in the cab had made its way through Jimmy’s body, circling him and winding him up. He would find himself breathing deeper, a more hastened cadency and finally, the physical reaction. It wouldn’t be long until Jimmy was ready to jump anyone’s bones.
Jimmy made his way up the stairs. The winding staircase seemed to never end, growing longer with every second, as if it were stretching whenever the guitarist was not looking. The climb was even more dawdling, the extra weight making Jimmy take smaller strides so he would not topple over. Strain was weaving its way through Jimmy’s shoulder, his arm tiring due to holding the other body. Jimmy needed Mick to help himself up the stairs.
“Mick,” Jimmy tried, “do you think you can help yourself without my help to get up the stairs?”
“Vous voulez ... que je fasse quoi?”
Was that even in English? Jimmy blinked. “What?”
Mick tried to think, but his words came out more slurred then legible. “I said, ‘You want me to do what?’”
“What were you talking in?”
“I end up speaking French when I get drunk sometimes.”
“Really?”
“It helps when I start blurting things that I have no control over. Better to say something no one understands that may be private.”
Jimmy hummed. “What I asked was do you think you can carry some of your own weight up the stairs. I don’t think I can fully make it up the stairs carrying you.”
Mick denoted the words, though they were like delayed filmstrips, he took them in. The singer tried to move off Jimmy’s shoulder, finding his legs as unsteady as ever. Jimmy slowed to a halt as Mick tried to situate himself. Jimmy looked up the stairs, seeing that he was a small portion away from the second floor.
“Hey Mick, I’m going to move us to the second floor. If you fall, I don’t want you to go down the stairs. I don’t need an injured, drunk man on my hands.”
Once at the top of the stairs, Jimmy tried to ease Mick off his shoulder, trying to help the older man from crashing to the floor. The alcohol should have had some time to wear thin in its grip. Mick breathed, his head still amass of swirling colors. Mick finally stood on his two feet and Jimmy noticed him gradually leaning towards the stairs…
… before almost tottering over and Jimmy nearly diving forwards to save Mick from crashing to the bottom floor. Jimmy was not completely expecting Mick to come down this hard and he crashed down with Mick, Mick’s head colliding into the floor, and the leftover momentum bouncing Mick’s head off the floor directly into Jimmy’s forehead. Jimmy clutched his forehead in pain, grunting in pain as he positioned himself to sit, almost cringing into himself. There was an almost nauseating pain clenching in the guitarist’s stomach.
Mick thanked whatever force was out there that he was drunk, or else there would have been excruciating pain broadening through his head. He felt a dull pain crackling inside his head, throbbing with ever breath he took. Though being drunk did numb some of the pain, it did not stop all the pain. It extended through his head, two sledgehammers smashing in the front and back of his cranium and it finally dawned on the singer just how much it hurt.
“Merde, ça fait mal,” Mick groaned.
Jimmy didn’t pay attention to what French Mick spoke, or how much the older was in pain. Jimmy worried about the almost blinding pain that coursed through head. Jimmy stayed still, waiting for the pain to abate. Jimmy opened his eyes after a moment, seeing the older male on the ground. Mick was still lying on the ground, his hair fanned outwards in a hurricane-like storm. Mick was regaining the sense on his head that slowly spread to the other parts of him body. Using what little control he had that the alcohol hadn’t complicated, he raised up on his elbows, hoping to not go too fast or else he’d have to face another bout of spinning vision and nausea, mostly likely resulting in him falling back down and cracking his head on the floor again.
The guitarist regarded the other man. “You okay,” he asked after a moment.
“Je vais bi-- er, I’m fine,” Mick said.
“You talk French often?”
“Only when I’m raging drunk so no one can figure out what I’m saying.”
Jimmy languorously nodded and began about the task of rising to his feet. His head throbbed dully, but it would thin until nothing was there. Mick was still on the ground.
Jimmy raised an eyebrow.
“You coming?”
Mick looked up sheepishly. “I’m kind of stuck.”
“That drunk?”
“Yep.”
Jimmy sighed, knowing what he would have to do. “Alright, grab hold of my arm and I’ll help you.”
Mick reached up his arm to grasp the offering arm, his hold almost slack, and Jimmy having to provide the rest of the support. Mick pulled himself off his bottom and Jimmy put his arm under Mick’s shoulders as he strung Mick’s arm around his neck. The guitarist grunted as the familiar weight descended over his body again, his shoulders filling with tense strain. Jimmy gazed up the staircase, mentally calculating what steps would be left to climb and how fast he could climb them without taking too much energy to do so.
“Y’re gonna have to help me out here, Mick,” Jimmy said without looking to the person beside him. “I don’t think I’ll get up there on my strength alone-- I could try, but I don’t think it’ll be that successful.”
Mick grunted an answer, trying to fixedly place his feet flat on the ground, hoping to achieve some type of physical stance. Tremors were vibrating from his nerves and into his legs.
“Alright,” Jimmy said as if he were preparing for an important mission, “I’m going to try to go slowly so you don’t fall, taking me with you.”
Jimmy placed one foot on the lower step, testing if his theory would could go on successfully. He peered out the corner of his bice-colored eyes to see if Mick was following his lead. The singer followed Jimmy’s lead and put a foot where Jimmy’s was situated. Jimmy mentally nodded and pushed his weight onto the foot on the stairs, using his foot in the same time to lift himself and Mick up to the second stair. Mick was trying to see Jimmy’s foot, as it was hard with his vision seemingly going haywire.
Both of them ingeminated this process until the third floor door came into view. Jimmy saw the bright red sign that spelled ‘exit’ and he wanted to get there faster. Both of the musicians made it to the top and Jimmy gladly reached for the handle.
Something in Mick’s head started flashing, a bright day-glow sign that yelled to him that he needed to take control of something. It was a surging feeling that made Mick realize just how truly he was out of control he was of his body. He didn’t like how this feeling made him feel so destitute and unable to do anything. He needed to do something instead of mumbling and acting like some fool.
Jimmy grasped the room key inside his pocket and gazed at it, then to the door numbers to find what do it went to. Jimmy saw it in the middle of the hallway and tried to gradually pick up the pace in hopes of Jagger not being too caught off guard by the speed changes. He did not need Mick taking him with him to the floor again-- and he didn’t want another splitting headache or a concussion. Jimmy halted at the door and looked to the doorknob. Jimmy had unlocked the door and was reaching for the handle again when Mick began to move.
He was struggling now as if he were under attack by some entity that only he could see. Jimmy’s eyebrows knitted together as Mick was trying to push himself away from Jimmy.
“You know that if I let you off here, you’ll crash to the floor?”
Apparently, Mick didn’t hear. If he were sober, he could easily maneuver himself out of this situation. But he was slovenly now, and he felt like a garbled mass of limbs and useless flesh and tendons that could not move and work together if his life depended on it. The door was creaking open and Mick took it as some type of warning, congealed all of the energy and movement together, and shot himself from Jimmy’s arms.
“What the fu--”
Jimmy couldn’t completely say anything as Mick had suddenly tried to dart his way from Jimmy’s shoulders. Mick then realized something. He was like one of those prisoners. The ones that had been compassed to a place for such a long time that they spend every waking moment of their life plotting to escape. Their moment comes, their opportunity comes, and it’s quickly taken. But there is one thing that the prisoner didn’t count on: why he had not plotted what to do after they had succeeded after they had escaped.
This was how Mick was. He had wanted to desperately find some type of control that he hadn’t thought his way completely through the ordeal, and he started to plummet towards the ground. His hands sought out anything before he could crash, hoping that something could break his fall. Jimmy’s shirt became balled up inside Mick’s hands and the door was flung open due to Mick’s body hitting the structure, leaving nothing to stand behind Mick as he tripped his way inside the room.
The air of the room rushed past Jimmy’s ears and through the strands of his hair. Feet were smashing against each other and colliding with the floor. Mick gasped and the world was violently streaking and plowing through his eyes at an almost painful velocity. It almost seemed too unreal to go this fast.
The floor was Mick’s next visitor as his body splintering with it again that night. He still kept an almost iron hold on the material he had grasped, not knowing-- or caring-- that it belonged to the guitarist. He also did not realize was that due to him falling, he would drag Jimmy down with him to crash on top of Mick. Jimmy’s body fell onto Mick’s and all the air in the singer’s lungs were forced up through his throat and out his mouth. There was many groans emitted from both as they tried to recover from the sudden fall.
Jimmy pulled himself up onto his hands, distending as they tried to keep him up. Mick and Jimmy’s legs were in a tangled heap together. Jimmy finally opened his eyes and realized how peculiar this position that they were lying in. Jimmy was on top of Mick, auditing down at the mess of beige hair that was splashed around Mick’s head. He noticed Mick lying between his legs.
And Jimmy would especially note how much Mick, whether aware on not, was grinding against his already partially alive crotch. It was almost in slow motion, enough where Jimmy could pick out the small details of how he feels about this. Mick continued to let loose the words that expressed his misery while Jimmy would use his thoughts to express this.
He did think about how long it was since he had a bird or any type of carnal contact due to all of the work Jimmy spent putting into his new band Led Zeppelin, ensuring that it would not fail like the previous one he was in. Jimmy barely permitted himself anything when he worked, going into a decisive perfectionist mode. This time, it all came tumbling back to Jimmy and his body was suddenly interested in what this could bring him, while his mind vehemently protested about doing this.
He was appalled, but so interested at the same time that it was hard to obey either side. Jimmy stared down at the drunker man below him, seeing the pros and cons of this. Mick was a male, and Jimmy was a male. It was always taught that men and women were supposed to love each other, that it was the only form of true love. Never once did Jimmy hear the theory that it might not only be registered to males and females. He had heard of how many were against the idea that it could congeal between the same gender, especially with Christian folks.
He never thought it could happen until Jeff came into his life. And now that it had peeled his eyes open to the thought that it could happen, it didn’t seem so wrong to him, but Jimmy would rather spend more time thinking out the subject then really fulfilling it. But now, his body aching for some type of sexual activity, Jimmy was considering this more then he normally would.
And there was that summated appeal of saying to someone, “I slept with Mick Jagger,” and seeing the faces of people who would react.
Mick finally had the halting of a spinning world in the back of his eyes. He glimmed up to see what was happening and why things were frozen. He saw a blurred world, splotches of colors pouring into one another and out of their outer lines. Everything became focused after staring for a little while. Jimmy was suddenly shaped into the blob of color.
Mick looked up at Jimmy. How did he end up on top of him? It did not matter because Jimmy seemed so strange at this angle. His wavy hair was falling down over his shoulders, partially brushing against Mick’s body. It was like an explosion took place from Jimmy’s head. It was almost as if it were a curtain of darkness that Jimmy could hide in. Their eyes locked, one in a drunken haze combined with curious prodding and the other in an undecided emotion.
Jimmy was suddenly leaning forwards and Mick noticed he was too close. If he had a better amount of control on his body, then he could swat Jimmy away. This time he was too intrigued to see what Jimmy would do next. Jimmy stopped short of coming into contact with Mick. A grin appeared on his lips.
“Y’know,” Jimmy says in a low voice, “I’ve never done this often with another man. It’s very scarce that I don’t indulge in whatever groupie isn’t hanging around the band.”
“… where are you going with this, Page?”
Jimmy grinned. “I’m proposing this as a way to let loose. You’ve got your problems and I’ve got mine. Let’s set aside all that and have a night together, shall we?”
“That’s a bold move of you, James.”
“It is, Michael.”
It almost seemed as if they were willing to challenge each other, but both knew who the victor would be. Jimmy stared and Mick did the same.
“So what you’re saying is we shag each other, that it, Page?”
“For one drunk as yourself, you catch on fast.”
“I know my ways.”
Jimmy titled his head. “Y’know, for someone who is hailed as such a womanizer as yourself, you aren’t acting shocked.”
Mick grinned and a bit of drunkenness was implied in its almost daffy contours. “It’s the stuff that you don’t hear,” Mick said casually. “You’d be surprised at how many blokes want to sleep with me. Marianne thinks I’m mostly responsible for most of her and my guy friends because most of them have already asked to shag me many times.”
Jimmy laughed. “Well, you’re in a predicament, I’m in a predicament. We’ll just have this night together. Only you ‘n’ me will know about this. Whatta y’ say?
Before Jimmy could say anything else, a pair of large lips were on his own. He was efficaciously silenced as Mick pulled away.
“That took a lot of effort to raise my head. I dunno if I could do that agai--”
It was Mick’s turn to be silenced as Jimmy’s mouth crashed down onto his own. A part of Mick did not know how to react, thinking Jimmy wasn’t serious, substantiating to see if he was joking or not. It wasn’t until a warm muscle was wriggling at his lower lip. Out of instinct-- and to the fact that the alcohol was still making it harder to decipher the situation--- Mick opened his mouth, allowing Jimmy’s tongue to gain access.
This was different, Jimmy noted. It wasn’t like some random woman who had never done anything sexual. There wasn’t the perplexed fumbling and the questions of, ‘am I doing this right?’ This was certain experience, though a little sloppy from liquor, but Mick knew what he was doing. He expertly met Jimmy’s tongue, swirling and dancing with Jimmy’s. Jimmy’s arms found themselves moving for a more kindling contact. His hands found Mick’s sides, traveling, slowly at first, up and down the lissome body.
Mick found some control in his arms and the limbs found themselves gripping the guitarist’s shoulders, squeezing them until Mick felt like this wasn’t some charade his brain decided to conjure. Maybe he did hit his head hard enough to knock him unconscious while they were on the stairs that he was hurled into a dream land-- because certainly Jimmy, Jimmy Page, Jimmy Page the fucking guitar legend was certainly not here, kissing him on the floor of a rented hotel room, getting ready to do things that were not family friendly.
Jimmy was doing everything possible to forget his worries, slowly swiveling his hips and grinding himself experimentally with Mick’s hips. Jimmy felt an urge coming onto him, the same ones that always dominated him when it came to sexual encounters. Jimmy wouldn’t say that he was a controlling person; just that he liked to be the one to see the other person react to his touches, advances, and know what to do next. He could be pushy, but he believed it was all for sexual feelings.
Jimmy felt his arms strain in keeping him suspended over the body on the floor, lowering himself onto his elbows as his arms lay on the ground. His arms would find a home in Mick’s hair that was poured all over the floor, using his fingers to weave and interlock through the strands before settling on a firm hold. The sensations that were sparking through his body were very much welcomed and Jimmy needed more of it.
Jimmy began to break away from the inveigling lips, his mouth seeking out more land to cover. Old habits that Jimmy had not indulged in over a long period of time were bubbling to the surface. The guitarist’s hands were not contempt to stay in one place and sought out the rest of the body he was wrapped in. Mick had a feeling deep in his gut that he would not have much control over his body. He had random moments of gaining back independence and then quickly losing it as it just came. It was frustrating. His lack of control was starting to create enough vexation that it was starting to clash with the pleasant feelings that were surging through his body.
Jimmy briefly thought that they needed to get off the floor. Who knows what kind of dirt and other things that have been on this floor, or whenever the hotel last did a thorough cleansing of the floor. A bed was poised a few feet in front of them and Jimmy took the initiative to get themselves off the floor. Mick made a whine in the back of his throat when Jimmy disappeared but found hands back on him again, pulling him from the floor and he suddenly kept his legs solid with a stance. A bed was then at his back, ushering him into the softness of the blankets that held a small trace of its detergent. The bed sagged under the new weight as the guitarist moved to climb back on top of Mick.
“Sorry that took so long,” Jimmy said, his voice lower, “but I also had to retrieve something also.”
Mick wanted to say something, open his mouth and reciprocate any word that came inside his mind, but he couldn’t. Jimmy was back on his body-- one that Mick currently had almost no control over, and thought he shouldn’t get wasted like this again for the millionth time that night-- and hands were on him again. The appendages were seeking towards Mick’s shoulders, down his stick-like arms, and finally to the wrists. Something solid was then clamped onto them and the force of what this mystery object was had pulled his arms above his head.
Mick tried to find his wrists with his sight, seeing a long black streak in his eyesight. It was connected to the headboard of the bed, wrapped securely around the post.
“If you’re wondering what I did,” Jimmy spoke knowingly, “you’ll know.”
Mick was about to say something-- what it was, he didn’t have a clue-- but Jimmy interrupted him.
“I’ll give you a hint. I’ve decided that since I’m going to shag you into the bed, I’ll treat you like every girl who meets me and wants to know what I do in the bedroom-- though you’re a bit more then the average woman.”
Mick lightly tugged on his arms, his brain not yet concocting what Jimmy was up to. He still cursed himself for drinking this much. He felt like it was almost too illuminatingly bright to miss this, yet he did miss what Jimmy was doing. Jimmy came back down on his neck, leaving a trail of saliva on his neck. Jimmy’s fingernails trailed down Mick’s sides, scraping the skin beneath the material of Mick’s shirt. Mick let out a light groan, feeling the heat left over, cultivating red marks under his shirt that were surely developing right now.
The guitarist was popping the buttons of Mick’s shirt open-- and Jimmy envisaged that since he had bound the older man’s wrists together, he would not be able to relieve the singer of his shirt, so he left the shirt on. Jimmy had moved a hand to his own pants, trying to remove his pants in the most efficient and easiest way. He slid his face in the valley between Mick’s neck and shoulder, his mouth hovering over the pale skin before clamping his teeth down on the flesh.
Mick jumped, the sudden burst of pain on his neck jarring him from enjoying the pleasurable feelings that were racing through his body. It almost felt like he could feel every single tooth in Jimmy’s mouth, pressing harder into his skin. Jimmy pulled back before repeating the process.
Mick had no conviction as to what Jimmy was doing anymore. The boy was being unexpected. One moment he was running his hands over him salaciously, then the next moment was spent biting the fuck out of his neck. “Jimmy,” Mick groaned in pain and pleasure, “you’re gonna leave fucking marks there.”
Jimmy smiled and pulled his mouth away and peered at the red teeth marks marring the pearly-toned skin. The guitarist needed Mick to focus on what he was doing and surged his hips forwards, avulsing a hiss from the body below him, tensing and arching lightly off the bed.
“Never knew you were such a sadist,” Mick groaned out.
“You could say that,” Jimmy said absently.
Jimmy positioned himself between Mick’s legs, forcing them to move farther apart. Jimmy’s hair was leaking over onto Mick’s stomach; the ticklishness caused by the guitarist’s tenuously brushing against him caused him to squirm. Jimmy noticed this and moved down farther, his mouth pressing small kisses to the feverish surface. Mick stifled the sounds in the back of his throat but he did not have such a strong hold on his throat. The sounds almost freely tumbled from his mouth.
“I want to hear you,” Jimmy said abruptly.
“Wha--”
“I want to hear you speak in French.”
Mick tried to stare down at Jimmy as best as he could. “… why?”
“Because I enjoy it.”
After Jimmy spoke, his hand shot inside of Mick’s open jeans, grasping the part of Mick that did not need too much convincing to come alive. Mick’s breath seized up in his throat, almost chokingly fast and he stuttered. His mind was spiraling downwards into a land of sensibilities that breezed through him, rattling his core. The hand began an almost torturous movement, eating at him until it was becoming annoying.
“Christ, Jimmy,” Mick uttered. “Go faste--”
“Speak.”
Mick couldn’t believe this. Speaking French to have Jimmy go on was the most stupi-- all thoughts poured from his ears to escape as Jimmy clenched his hand and slowed his movement. Mick gave in.
“Vas te faire encule, Jimmy,” Mick hissed.
Jimmy grinned, knowing in his gut that Mick was most likely insulting him in French, but to Jimmy, it didn’t matter. “Keep talking and I’ll keep going.”
“Si vous ne faisiez pas cela, je vous aurais déjà percé.”
Jimmy liked this. He always had a special place for women who could speak more then just English. It showed they were very intelligent-- taking the time to learn another language showed at least devotion to something. There was something indescribably fascinating about hearing another speaking another language and Jimmy intended to take full advantage of it.
Jimmy desired to hear more of this and decided he needed to get Mick ready for the main part. He wanted to hear Mick’s voice spew this language to its fullest.
Mick’s body was tensing, and Jimmy’s hand was providing him everything that he needed. He wanted that climax so bad and-- there was nothing. Jimmy’s hands were gone and Mick opened his eyes. He gave himself time to adjust, as the room was still vaporous and spinning a bit. He first saw Jimmy, standing on his knees on top of the bed, removing his own pants, tearing the belt to his pants away, pushing his pants down, his boxers, and finally tore himself from his shirt.
Mick absently noted that his arms were going numb from being held above his head for so long. The singer started tugging at the fabric, his arms still weak. He severely wished for the liquor to completely leave him. He felt to so off since he had such little compromise.
Jimmy had finally realized how much he had been aching for this. He was so convened on hearing those languages coming from Mick’s mouth that he had lost sight off his own need. He was pulsing and shaking from it. He moved up the bed to Mick’s body and spat on his fingers. He was mostly going off the knowledge he had experienced with Jeff.
Mick was undeviatingly breathing, ready to insult Jimmy for stopping when he felt something warm and balmy press against him. His eyes were going wide as he felt fingers press inside his body. His lungs wanted to seize up, wait for the moment to pass in order to breathe again. Then there were more, moving around, and Mick almost felt the need to scream, to jump, to sing out, do whatever it takes to have his mind off of the intruding fingers.
Then everything was gone. Nothing was there anymore as the bed shifted. Jimmy must have retracted his fingers because now he was looming over Mick, viridian eyes staring into cesious eyes. The guitarist kept his eyes placed in the same spot, not missing a moment. The older boy broke the contact as Jimmy started to press against him, his chest filling pointedly with air, and he could feel it barreling through his mouth and throat. Jimmy pressed again and Mick bit his bottom lip and resisted the urgent need to arch his back, fingers digging into his palms.
The younger male had finally enclosed himself within Mick’s body, and he groaned. He felt the surging of luminosity coiling through his body and it was heavenly to him. His hands landed on the jutting hipbones Mick’s body had to offer, steadying himself as he tried to gain his mind in the right path, trying to focus in not giving under the waves of ecstasy that threatened to unravel his mind. Jimmy breathed and began his pace.
Mick wasn’t off to a start like Jimmy was. He had to deal with the intrusion of another person in his body, the pain of being stretched. It didn’t matter how many times a person went through this; it would always hurt like hell. No amount of providence could decrease the awkwardness and pain. Mick didn’t know if he was being split from the inside out or whether or not he wanted to Jimmy to speed up. He wasn’t even sure if he could feel his arms anymore.
Jimmy seemingly could read his mind and reached for Mick’s bound wrists and dexterously untied Mick’s wrists, both arms falling back to the bed to immediately grip the bed sheets. Mick was hitting the transitional period of this: the moment when everything melts away and becomes manageable and very desired. Jimmy’s rhythm was giving him everything to set him free of the pain. His breathing became labored as Jimmy snapped his hips faster.
Jimmy was drowning in the other’s body, the heat and tightness causing him friction like no other woman had for him. The tenseness in Mick’s body was empyrean. Mick wanted something to grip onto and his legs answered that question, wrapping securely around the guitarist’s waist. Mick’s hands still gripped the sheets as Jimmy increased his frequency, guttural moans and grunts coming out of Jimmy’s mouth faster and more urgently. Mick’s bony chest rose faster, breathing laboriously.
Jimmy felt like he was being swallowed, sucked into the body below him, as if he was being imbibed by an all-surrounding heat. Mick was pulling him in, and Jimmy was almost trying to resist, but found himself lured in. Mick needed to grab something, anything to keep him from falling into white-hot oblivion. His fingers reached in front of him, gripping the first thing his hands encountered with-- which were Jimmy’s shoulders. His nails dug into Jimmy’s skin, and Jimmy winced, but embraced this feeling.
“Mick,” Jimmy almost gasped, his hips rocking faster. “Say anything, just-- oh gods, anything.”
Mick did not know where to start. “Fu-- Jimmy, vous-- je ne sais pas.”
“Just keep talking like that,” Jimmy groaned. “I don’t c-care if you insult me, just say anything.”:
“I don’t-- je ne sais pas où-- pour commencer.”
It didn’t matter anymore. Jimmy was losing himself, trying to access the height of this so desperately. Jimmy could feel his body tensing, clenching and feeling his muscles nearly obstructing. Mick was uttering broken French and English, not sure what he was doing anymore.
Jimmy was thrusting his hips so fast and ludicrously that the bed began to squeak to life, slowly, but surely, moving in time with the bodies on top of it. Jimmy knew that moment was nearing him and his vision was going gauzy as his eyes slipped back and he almost arched his back. Mick felt the moment descending, his body tensing and in a moment of desperation, shot his arms upwards, seized Jimmy by his hair and pulled him down, colliding his and Jimmy’s mouths together as Jimmy made harder thrusts into his body, grinding the singer’s back into the sweat-soaked blankets.
Jimmy would pull away, wanting to do his finale. He backslided his mouth back to Mick’s neck and bit down again on the perspiring skin. This time it didn’t hurt so much, and Mick welcomed the feeling. Mick arched his back as he felt the intense ecstasy wash over him and Jimmy tightening his hold on his thin hips. Both stayed in that position for a moment, waiting for the waves to ebb away. The bed had creaked to a halt and both of their breathing could be heard coming to a steady pace. Jimmy finally regained his senses and he pushed himself off of the singer’s body, panting as he collapsed into the bed sheets.
Both lied there in a sweaty heap of after-sex, sweat and other fluids that happened to make it into the open. Mick took the first initiative, turning his head to see Jimmy beside him, his eyes still closed in a moment of amity. Jimmy finally moved his head and watched him.
Now there was only silence. Both welcomed the silence, in their own ways. The type of silence that comes after hard work and the noises that took so much of the space around them that it was relaxing. Both wanted to speak, anything to keep the silence from becoming awkward and congested with other thoughts.
“Que faisons-- I mean, what do we do now?”
Jimmy shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I thought we’d lay here and think of something.”
“Now when we see each other, it might get awkward,” Mick grinned.
Jimmy closed his eyes and chuckled. “If you think about it too much, then it will. But you’re almost like a sexual fiend, so you’d probably would think about it a lot.”
“Aw,” Mick cooed, “does Jimmy think I like him a little more then normal?””
“It wouldn’t surprise me.”
Mick laughed, patting Jimmy on the shoulder. “This’ll certainly be a night to remember for a while.”
“And with the added bonus,” Jimmy said amusedly, “is that since many of my groupies says that they’ve slept with you, I can say it too now. Imagine their faces when I do say it.”
Rating: R
Pairings: Jimmy Page/Mick, Keith Richards/Mick Jagger, Jimmy/Robert, Jimmy/Jeff Beck, implied Jimmy/random women, implied random men and women/Mick Jagger, brief Keith Richards/Anita Pallenberg-- dayumn.
Word Count: 12, 062
Disclaimer: I don't own either band because I don't have the money for it. Though there are many facts in here, it is stretched for my imagination.
--
“May I check into a room, just for tonight?”
“Let me check to see if our rooms have been booked, and then I’ll get back with you.”
Her hands fell upon a clipboard, brown-colored eyes shifting over the page, thin lips pursing into a thinner line. Minutes would tick by before she raised her head again.
“Sir, a few rooms haven’t been booked yet.”
“Could I have a room on the first floo--”
“I’m sorry sir, but all the rooms have been booked on the first and second. Only a few rooms remain open on the third.”
The guitarist resisted to sigh in circumvention. He asked for where the elevator would be as he hoped to quickly get there and dump his load of extra limbs. When she answered, Jimmy resisted to huff in annoyance again.
“The lift is out of business right now due to renovation-- one of the chords seemed to have snapped and a few buttons have been malfunctioning. The stairs are next to the elevator. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
Jimmy generously accepted the room key, turning on his heels, and heading to the stairs. His eyes watched as the scenery leisurely pass him by: the potted plants, the many tones of different smells, the bright colors, and statues. The stairs were seated beside the lift as the woman had directed.
Mick vaguely took everything in. He could barely diagnosticated all that went around him, his eyes bordering on closed. When he, with the help of Jimmy, approached the concrete structure, he almost immediately closed his eyes again. The light from the fixtures drilled holes in his head, creating a deeper pain inside his skull. Mick hated when he was completely wasted, and he knew he was going to have an almost murderous hangover in the morning.
Suddenly there was a woman talking. Instead of being soothing as her voice was soft, it only further spurred more pain, crushing his brain in an iron hold that threatened to destroy the order of his mind. The floor was somewhere below him in a far off land. Feet connecting with the floor sounded downy. The singer wanted to have some control over his body that was currently reduced to a boneless mass of flesh and blood.
Mick wanted to raise his head but only found it rolling on Jimmy’s shoulder, the guitarist’s dark hair pooling under his chin. Mick didn’t know if he could stand the lack of control. It had been such a long time since he became this drunk as it always obliged as a reminder to never let it go this far-- or however far it went almost an hour ago.
Jimmy gripped the handle of the door and pushed, opening the door to an empty staircase. As soon as the dark-haired boy took the first step, Jimmy realized something: it was going to be hell trying to climb up the flight of stairs. He was never acclimatized to carrying people since he disliked people in his personal space. He’d rather drag the singer up the stairs, but Jimmy knew he wasn’t that strong to do so-- even if Mick weighed less then him, it still didn’t make a difference.
The guitarist also noted the increasing nature of his lower regions. What Mick had started in the cab had made its way through Jimmy’s body, circling him and winding him up. He would find himself breathing deeper, a more hastened cadency and finally, the physical reaction. It wouldn’t be long until Jimmy was ready to jump anyone’s bones.
Jimmy made his way up the stairs. The winding staircase seemed to never end, growing longer with every second, as if it were stretching whenever the guitarist was not looking. The climb was even more dawdling, the extra weight making Jimmy take smaller strides so he would not topple over. Strain was weaving its way through Jimmy’s shoulder, his arm tiring due to holding the other body. Jimmy needed Mick to help himself up the stairs.
“Mick,” Jimmy tried, “do you think you can help yourself without my help to get up the stairs?”
“Vous voulez ... que je fasse quoi?”
Was that even in English? Jimmy blinked. “What?”
Mick tried to think, but his words came out more slurred then legible. “I said, ‘You want me to do what?’”
“What were you talking in?”
“I end up speaking French when I get drunk sometimes.”
“Really?”
“It helps when I start blurting things that I have no control over. Better to say something no one understands that may be private.”
Jimmy hummed. “What I asked was do you think you can carry some of your own weight up the stairs. I don’t think I can fully make it up the stairs carrying you.”
Mick denoted the words, though they were like delayed filmstrips, he took them in. The singer tried to move off Jimmy’s shoulder, finding his legs as unsteady as ever. Jimmy slowed to a halt as Mick tried to situate himself. Jimmy looked up the stairs, seeing that he was a small portion away from the second floor.
“Hey Mick, I’m going to move us to the second floor. If you fall, I don’t want you to go down the stairs. I don’t need an injured, drunk man on my hands.”
Once at the top of the stairs, Jimmy tried to ease Mick off his shoulder, trying to help the older man from crashing to the floor. The alcohol should have had some time to wear thin in its grip. Mick breathed, his head still amass of swirling colors. Mick finally stood on his two feet and Jimmy noticed him gradually leaning towards the stairs…
… before almost tottering over and Jimmy nearly diving forwards to save Mick from crashing to the bottom floor. Jimmy was not completely expecting Mick to come down this hard and he crashed down with Mick, Mick’s head colliding into the floor, and the leftover momentum bouncing Mick’s head off the floor directly into Jimmy’s forehead. Jimmy clutched his forehead in pain, grunting in pain as he positioned himself to sit, almost cringing into himself. There was an almost nauseating pain clenching in the guitarist’s stomach.
Mick thanked whatever force was out there that he was drunk, or else there would have been excruciating pain broadening through his head. He felt a dull pain crackling inside his head, throbbing with ever breath he took. Though being drunk did numb some of the pain, it did not stop all the pain. It extended through his head, two sledgehammers smashing in the front and back of his cranium and it finally dawned on the singer just how much it hurt.
“Merde, ça fait mal,” Mick groaned.
Jimmy didn’t pay attention to what French Mick spoke, or how much the older was in pain. Jimmy worried about the almost blinding pain that coursed through head. Jimmy stayed still, waiting for the pain to abate. Jimmy opened his eyes after a moment, seeing the older male on the ground. Mick was still lying on the ground, his hair fanned outwards in a hurricane-like storm. Mick was regaining the sense on his head that slowly spread to the other parts of him body. Using what little control he had that the alcohol hadn’t complicated, he raised up on his elbows, hoping to not go too fast or else he’d have to face another bout of spinning vision and nausea, mostly likely resulting in him falling back down and cracking his head on the floor again.
The guitarist regarded the other man. “You okay,” he asked after a moment.
“Je vais bi-- er, I’m fine,” Mick said.
“You talk French often?”
“Only when I’m raging drunk so no one can figure out what I’m saying.”
Jimmy languorously nodded and began about the task of rising to his feet. His head throbbed dully, but it would thin until nothing was there. Mick was still on the ground.
Jimmy raised an eyebrow.
“You coming?”
Mick looked up sheepishly. “I’m kind of stuck.”
“That drunk?”
“Yep.”
Jimmy sighed, knowing what he would have to do. “Alright, grab hold of my arm and I’ll help you.”
Mick reached up his arm to grasp the offering arm, his hold almost slack, and Jimmy having to provide the rest of the support. Mick pulled himself off his bottom and Jimmy put his arm under Mick’s shoulders as he strung Mick’s arm around his neck. The guitarist grunted as the familiar weight descended over his body again, his shoulders filling with tense strain. Jimmy gazed up the staircase, mentally calculating what steps would be left to climb and how fast he could climb them without taking too much energy to do so.
“Y’re gonna have to help me out here, Mick,” Jimmy said without looking to the person beside him. “I don’t think I’ll get up there on my strength alone-- I could try, but I don’t think it’ll be that successful.”
Mick grunted an answer, trying to fixedly place his feet flat on the ground, hoping to achieve some type of physical stance. Tremors were vibrating from his nerves and into his legs.
“Alright,” Jimmy said as if he were preparing for an important mission, “I’m going to try to go slowly so you don’t fall, taking me with you.”
Jimmy placed one foot on the lower step, testing if his theory would could go on successfully. He peered out the corner of his bice-colored eyes to see if Mick was following his lead. The singer followed Jimmy’s lead and put a foot where Jimmy’s was situated. Jimmy mentally nodded and pushed his weight onto the foot on the stairs, using his foot in the same time to lift himself and Mick up to the second stair. Mick was trying to see Jimmy’s foot, as it was hard with his vision seemingly going haywire.
Both of them ingeminated this process until the third floor door came into view. Jimmy saw the bright red sign that spelled ‘exit’ and he wanted to get there faster. Both of the musicians made it to the top and Jimmy gladly reached for the handle.
Something in Mick’s head started flashing, a bright day-glow sign that yelled to him that he needed to take control of something. It was a surging feeling that made Mick realize just how truly he was out of control he was of his body. He didn’t like how this feeling made him feel so destitute and unable to do anything. He needed to do something instead of mumbling and acting like some fool.
Jimmy grasped the room key inside his pocket and gazed at it, then to the door numbers to find what do it went to. Jimmy saw it in the middle of the hallway and tried to gradually pick up the pace in hopes of Jagger not being too caught off guard by the speed changes. He did not need Mick taking him with him to the floor again-- and he didn’t want another splitting headache or a concussion. Jimmy halted at the door and looked to the doorknob. Jimmy had unlocked the door and was reaching for the handle again when Mick began to move.
He was struggling now as if he were under attack by some entity that only he could see. Jimmy’s eyebrows knitted together as Mick was trying to push himself away from Jimmy.
“You know that if I let you off here, you’ll crash to the floor?”
Apparently, Mick didn’t hear. If he were sober, he could easily maneuver himself out of this situation. But he was slovenly now, and he felt like a garbled mass of limbs and useless flesh and tendons that could not move and work together if his life depended on it. The door was creaking open and Mick took it as some type of warning, congealed all of the energy and movement together, and shot himself from Jimmy’s arms.
“What the fu--”
Jimmy couldn’t completely say anything as Mick had suddenly tried to dart his way from Jimmy’s shoulders. Mick then realized something. He was like one of those prisoners. The ones that had been compassed to a place for such a long time that they spend every waking moment of their life plotting to escape. Their moment comes, their opportunity comes, and it’s quickly taken. But there is one thing that the prisoner didn’t count on: why he had not plotted what to do after they had succeeded after they had escaped.
This was how Mick was. He had wanted to desperately find some type of control that he hadn’t thought his way completely through the ordeal, and he started to plummet towards the ground. His hands sought out anything before he could crash, hoping that something could break his fall. Jimmy’s shirt became balled up inside Mick’s hands and the door was flung open due to Mick’s body hitting the structure, leaving nothing to stand behind Mick as he tripped his way inside the room.
The air of the room rushed past Jimmy’s ears and through the strands of his hair. Feet were smashing against each other and colliding with the floor. Mick gasped and the world was violently streaking and plowing through his eyes at an almost painful velocity. It almost seemed too unreal to go this fast.
The floor was Mick’s next visitor as his body splintering with it again that night. He still kept an almost iron hold on the material he had grasped, not knowing-- or caring-- that it belonged to the guitarist. He also did not realize was that due to him falling, he would drag Jimmy down with him to crash on top of Mick. Jimmy’s body fell onto Mick’s and all the air in the singer’s lungs were forced up through his throat and out his mouth. There was many groans emitted from both as they tried to recover from the sudden fall.
Jimmy pulled himself up onto his hands, distending as they tried to keep him up. Mick and Jimmy’s legs were in a tangled heap together. Jimmy finally opened his eyes and realized how peculiar this position that they were lying in. Jimmy was on top of Mick, auditing down at the mess of beige hair that was splashed around Mick’s head. He noticed Mick lying between his legs.
And Jimmy would especially note how much Mick, whether aware on not, was grinding against his already partially alive crotch. It was almost in slow motion, enough where Jimmy could pick out the small details of how he feels about this. Mick continued to let loose the words that expressed his misery while Jimmy would use his thoughts to express this.
He did think about how long it was since he had a bird or any type of carnal contact due to all of the work Jimmy spent putting into his new band Led Zeppelin, ensuring that it would not fail like the previous one he was in. Jimmy barely permitted himself anything when he worked, going into a decisive perfectionist mode. This time, it all came tumbling back to Jimmy and his body was suddenly interested in what this could bring him, while his mind vehemently protested about doing this.
He was appalled, but so interested at the same time that it was hard to obey either side. Jimmy stared down at the drunker man below him, seeing the pros and cons of this. Mick was a male, and Jimmy was a male. It was always taught that men and women were supposed to love each other, that it was the only form of true love. Never once did Jimmy hear the theory that it might not only be registered to males and females. He had heard of how many were against the idea that it could congeal between the same gender, especially with Christian folks.
He never thought it could happen until Jeff came into his life. And now that it had peeled his eyes open to the thought that it could happen, it didn’t seem so wrong to him, but Jimmy would rather spend more time thinking out the subject then really fulfilling it. But now, his body aching for some type of sexual activity, Jimmy was considering this more then he normally would.
And there was that summated appeal of saying to someone, “I slept with Mick Jagger,” and seeing the faces of people who would react.
Mick finally had the halting of a spinning world in the back of his eyes. He glimmed up to see what was happening and why things were frozen. He saw a blurred world, splotches of colors pouring into one another and out of their outer lines. Everything became focused after staring for a little while. Jimmy was suddenly shaped into the blob of color.
Mick looked up at Jimmy. How did he end up on top of him? It did not matter because Jimmy seemed so strange at this angle. His wavy hair was falling down over his shoulders, partially brushing against Mick’s body. It was like an explosion took place from Jimmy’s head. It was almost as if it were a curtain of darkness that Jimmy could hide in. Their eyes locked, one in a drunken haze combined with curious prodding and the other in an undecided emotion.
Jimmy was suddenly leaning forwards and Mick noticed he was too close. If he had a better amount of control on his body, then he could swat Jimmy away. This time he was too intrigued to see what Jimmy would do next. Jimmy stopped short of coming into contact with Mick. A grin appeared on his lips.
“Y’know,” Jimmy says in a low voice, “I’ve never done this often with another man. It’s very scarce that I don’t indulge in whatever groupie isn’t hanging around the band.”
“… where are you going with this, Page?”
Jimmy grinned. “I’m proposing this as a way to let loose. You’ve got your problems and I’ve got mine. Let’s set aside all that and have a night together, shall we?”
“That’s a bold move of you, James.”
“It is, Michael.”
It almost seemed as if they were willing to challenge each other, but both knew who the victor would be. Jimmy stared and Mick did the same.
“So what you’re saying is we shag each other, that it, Page?”
“For one drunk as yourself, you catch on fast.”
“I know my ways.”
Jimmy titled his head. “Y’know, for someone who is hailed as such a womanizer as yourself, you aren’t acting shocked.”
Mick grinned and a bit of drunkenness was implied in its almost daffy contours. “It’s the stuff that you don’t hear,” Mick said casually. “You’d be surprised at how many blokes want to sleep with me. Marianne thinks I’m mostly responsible for most of her and my guy friends because most of them have already asked to shag me many times.”
Jimmy laughed. “Well, you’re in a predicament, I’m in a predicament. We’ll just have this night together. Only you ‘n’ me will know about this. Whatta y’ say?
Before Jimmy could say anything else, a pair of large lips were on his own. He was efficaciously silenced as Mick pulled away.
“That took a lot of effort to raise my head. I dunno if I could do that agai--”
It was Mick’s turn to be silenced as Jimmy’s mouth crashed down onto his own. A part of Mick did not know how to react, thinking Jimmy wasn’t serious, substantiating to see if he was joking or not. It wasn’t until a warm muscle was wriggling at his lower lip. Out of instinct-- and to the fact that the alcohol was still making it harder to decipher the situation--- Mick opened his mouth, allowing Jimmy’s tongue to gain access.
This was different, Jimmy noted. It wasn’t like some random woman who had never done anything sexual. There wasn’t the perplexed fumbling and the questions of, ‘am I doing this right?’ This was certain experience, though a little sloppy from liquor, but Mick knew what he was doing. He expertly met Jimmy’s tongue, swirling and dancing with Jimmy’s. Jimmy’s arms found themselves moving for a more kindling contact. His hands found Mick’s sides, traveling, slowly at first, up and down the lissome body.
Mick found some control in his arms and the limbs found themselves gripping the guitarist’s shoulders, squeezing them until Mick felt like this wasn’t some charade his brain decided to conjure. Maybe he did hit his head hard enough to knock him unconscious while they were on the stairs that he was hurled into a dream land-- because certainly Jimmy, Jimmy Page, Jimmy Page the fucking guitar legend was certainly not here, kissing him on the floor of a rented hotel room, getting ready to do things that were not family friendly.
Jimmy was doing everything possible to forget his worries, slowly swiveling his hips and grinding himself experimentally with Mick’s hips. Jimmy felt an urge coming onto him, the same ones that always dominated him when it came to sexual encounters. Jimmy wouldn’t say that he was a controlling person; just that he liked to be the one to see the other person react to his touches, advances, and know what to do next. He could be pushy, but he believed it was all for sexual feelings.
Jimmy felt his arms strain in keeping him suspended over the body on the floor, lowering himself onto his elbows as his arms lay on the ground. His arms would find a home in Mick’s hair that was poured all over the floor, using his fingers to weave and interlock through the strands before settling on a firm hold. The sensations that were sparking through his body were very much welcomed and Jimmy needed more of it.
Jimmy began to break away from the inveigling lips, his mouth seeking out more land to cover. Old habits that Jimmy had not indulged in over a long period of time were bubbling to the surface. The guitarist’s hands were not contempt to stay in one place and sought out the rest of the body he was wrapped in. Mick had a feeling deep in his gut that he would not have much control over his body. He had random moments of gaining back independence and then quickly losing it as it just came. It was frustrating. His lack of control was starting to create enough vexation that it was starting to clash with the pleasant feelings that were surging through his body.
Jimmy briefly thought that they needed to get off the floor. Who knows what kind of dirt and other things that have been on this floor, or whenever the hotel last did a thorough cleansing of the floor. A bed was poised a few feet in front of them and Jimmy took the initiative to get themselves off the floor. Mick made a whine in the back of his throat when Jimmy disappeared but found hands back on him again, pulling him from the floor and he suddenly kept his legs solid with a stance. A bed was then at his back, ushering him into the softness of the blankets that held a small trace of its detergent. The bed sagged under the new weight as the guitarist moved to climb back on top of Mick.
“Sorry that took so long,” Jimmy said, his voice lower, “but I also had to retrieve something also.”
Mick wanted to say something, open his mouth and reciprocate any word that came inside his mind, but he couldn’t. Jimmy was back on his body-- one that Mick currently had almost no control over, and thought he shouldn’t get wasted like this again for the millionth time that night-- and hands were on him again. The appendages were seeking towards Mick’s shoulders, down his stick-like arms, and finally to the wrists. Something solid was then clamped onto them and the force of what this mystery object was had pulled his arms above his head.
Mick tried to find his wrists with his sight, seeing a long black streak in his eyesight. It was connected to the headboard of the bed, wrapped securely around the post.
“If you’re wondering what I did,” Jimmy spoke knowingly, “you’ll know.”
Mick was about to say something-- what it was, he didn’t have a clue-- but Jimmy interrupted him.
“I’ll give you a hint. I’ve decided that since I’m going to shag you into the bed, I’ll treat you like every girl who meets me and wants to know what I do in the bedroom-- though you’re a bit more then the average woman.”
Mick lightly tugged on his arms, his brain not yet concocting what Jimmy was up to. He still cursed himself for drinking this much. He felt like it was almost too illuminatingly bright to miss this, yet he did miss what Jimmy was doing. Jimmy came back down on his neck, leaving a trail of saliva on his neck. Jimmy’s fingernails trailed down Mick’s sides, scraping the skin beneath the material of Mick’s shirt. Mick let out a light groan, feeling the heat left over, cultivating red marks under his shirt that were surely developing right now.
The guitarist was popping the buttons of Mick’s shirt open-- and Jimmy envisaged that since he had bound the older man’s wrists together, he would not be able to relieve the singer of his shirt, so he left the shirt on. Jimmy had moved a hand to his own pants, trying to remove his pants in the most efficient and easiest way. He slid his face in the valley between Mick’s neck and shoulder, his mouth hovering over the pale skin before clamping his teeth down on the flesh.
Mick jumped, the sudden burst of pain on his neck jarring him from enjoying the pleasurable feelings that were racing through his body. It almost felt like he could feel every single tooth in Jimmy’s mouth, pressing harder into his skin. Jimmy pulled back before repeating the process.
Mick had no conviction as to what Jimmy was doing anymore. The boy was being unexpected. One moment he was running his hands over him salaciously, then the next moment was spent biting the fuck out of his neck. “Jimmy,” Mick groaned in pain and pleasure, “you’re gonna leave fucking marks there.”
Jimmy smiled and pulled his mouth away and peered at the red teeth marks marring the pearly-toned skin. The guitarist needed Mick to focus on what he was doing and surged his hips forwards, avulsing a hiss from the body below him, tensing and arching lightly off the bed.
“Never knew you were such a sadist,” Mick groaned out.
“You could say that,” Jimmy said absently.
Jimmy positioned himself between Mick’s legs, forcing them to move farther apart. Jimmy’s hair was leaking over onto Mick’s stomach; the ticklishness caused by the guitarist’s tenuously brushing against him caused him to squirm. Jimmy noticed this and moved down farther, his mouth pressing small kisses to the feverish surface. Mick stifled the sounds in the back of his throat but he did not have such a strong hold on his throat. The sounds almost freely tumbled from his mouth.
“I want to hear you,” Jimmy said abruptly.
“Wha--”
“I want to hear you speak in French.”
Mick tried to stare down at Jimmy as best as he could. “… why?”
“Because I enjoy it.”
After Jimmy spoke, his hand shot inside of Mick’s open jeans, grasping the part of Mick that did not need too much convincing to come alive. Mick’s breath seized up in his throat, almost chokingly fast and he stuttered. His mind was spiraling downwards into a land of sensibilities that breezed through him, rattling his core. The hand began an almost torturous movement, eating at him until it was becoming annoying.
“Christ, Jimmy,” Mick uttered. “Go faste--”
“Speak.”
Mick couldn’t believe this. Speaking French to have Jimmy go on was the most stupi-- all thoughts poured from his ears to escape as Jimmy clenched his hand and slowed his movement. Mick gave in.
“Vas te faire encule, Jimmy,” Mick hissed.
Jimmy grinned, knowing in his gut that Mick was most likely insulting him in French, but to Jimmy, it didn’t matter. “Keep talking and I’ll keep going.”
“Si vous ne faisiez pas cela, je vous aurais déjà percé.”
Jimmy liked this. He always had a special place for women who could speak more then just English. It showed they were very intelligent-- taking the time to learn another language showed at least devotion to something. There was something indescribably fascinating about hearing another speaking another language and Jimmy intended to take full advantage of it.
Jimmy desired to hear more of this and decided he needed to get Mick ready for the main part. He wanted to hear Mick’s voice spew this language to its fullest.
Mick’s body was tensing, and Jimmy’s hand was providing him everything that he needed. He wanted that climax so bad and-- there was nothing. Jimmy’s hands were gone and Mick opened his eyes. He gave himself time to adjust, as the room was still vaporous and spinning a bit. He first saw Jimmy, standing on his knees on top of the bed, removing his own pants, tearing the belt to his pants away, pushing his pants down, his boxers, and finally tore himself from his shirt.
Mick absently noted that his arms were going numb from being held above his head for so long. The singer started tugging at the fabric, his arms still weak. He severely wished for the liquor to completely leave him. He felt to so off since he had such little compromise.
Jimmy had finally realized how much he had been aching for this. He was so convened on hearing those languages coming from Mick’s mouth that he had lost sight off his own need. He was pulsing and shaking from it. He moved up the bed to Mick’s body and spat on his fingers. He was mostly going off the knowledge he had experienced with Jeff.
Mick was undeviatingly breathing, ready to insult Jimmy for stopping when he felt something warm and balmy press against him. His eyes were going wide as he felt fingers press inside his body. His lungs wanted to seize up, wait for the moment to pass in order to breathe again. Then there were more, moving around, and Mick almost felt the need to scream, to jump, to sing out, do whatever it takes to have his mind off of the intruding fingers.
Then everything was gone. Nothing was there anymore as the bed shifted. Jimmy must have retracted his fingers because now he was looming over Mick, viridian eyes staring into cesious eyes. The guitarist kept his eyes placed in the same spot, not missing a moment. The older boy broke the contact as Jimmy started to press against him, his chest filling pointedly with air, and he could feel it barreling through his mouth and throat. Jimmy pressed again and Mick bit his bottom lip and resisted the urgent need to arch his back, fingers digging into his palms.
The younger male had finally enclosed himself within Mick’s body, and he groaned. He felt the surging of luminosity coiling through his body and it was heavenly to him. His hands landed on the jutting hipbones Mick’s body had to offer, steadying himself as he tried to gain his mind in the right path, trying to focus in not giving under the waves of ecstasy that threatened to unravel his mind. Jimmy breathed and began his pace.
Mick wasn’t off to a start like Jimmy was. He had to deal with the intrusion of another person in his body, the pain of being stretched. It didn’t matter how many times a person went through this; it would always hurt like hell. No amount of providence could decrease the awkwardness and pain. Mick didn’t know if he was being split from the inside out or whether or not he wanted to Jimmy to speed up. He wasn’t even sure if he could feel his arms anymore.
Jimmy seemingly could read his mind and reached for Mick’s bound wrists and dexterously untied Mick’s wrists, both arms falling back to the bed to immediately grip the bed sheets. Mick was hitting the transitional period of this: the moment when everything melts away and becomes manageable and very desired. Jimmy’s rhythm was giving him everything to set him free of the pain. His breathing became labored as Jimmy snapped his hips faster.
Jimmy was drowning in the other’s body, the heat and tightness causing him friction like no other woman had for him. The tenseness in Mick’s body was empyrean. Mick wanted something to grip onto and his legs answered that question, wrapping securely around the guitarist’s waist. Mick’s hands still gripped the sheets as Jimmy increased his frequency, guttural moans and grunts coming out of Jimmy’s mouth faster and more urgently. Mick’s bony chest rose faster, breathing laboriously.
Jimmy felt like he was being swallowed, sucked into the body below him, as if he was being imbibed by an all-surrounding heat. Mick was pulling him in, and Jimmy was almost trying to resist, but found himself lured in. Mick needed to grab something, anything to keep him from falling into white-hot oblivion. His fingers reached in front of him, gripping the first thing his hands encountered with-- which were Jimmy’s shoulders. His nails dug into Jimmy’s skin, and Jimmy winced, but embraced this feeling.
“Mick,” Jimmy almost gasped, his hips rocking faster. “Say anything, just-- oh gods, anything.”
Mick did not know where to start. “Fu-- Jimmy, vous-- je ne sais pas.”
“Just keep talking like that,” Jimmy groaned. “I don’t c-care if you insult me, just say anything.”:
“I don’t-- je ne sais pas où-- pour commencer.”
It didn’t matter anymore. Jimmy was losing himself, trying to access the height of this so desperately. Jimmy could feel his body tensing, clenching and feeling his muscles nearly obstructing. Mick was uttering broken French and English, not sure what he was doing anymore.
Jimmy was thrusting his hips so fast and ludicrously that the bed began to squeak to life, slowly, but surely, moving in time with the bodies on top of it. Jimmy knew that moment was nearing him and his vision was going gauzy as his eyes slipped back and he almost arched his back. Mick felt the moment descending, his body tensing and in a moment of desperation, shot his arms upwards, seized Jimmy by his hair and pulled him down, colliding his and Jimmy’s mouths together as Jimmy made harder thrusts into his body, grinding the singer’s back into the sweat-soaked blankets.
Jimmy would pull away, wanting to do his finale. He backslided his mouth back to Mick’s neck and bit down again on the perspiring skin. This time it didn’t hurt so much, and Mick welcomed the feeling. Mick arched his back as he felt the intense ecstasy wash over him and Jimmy tightening his hold on his thin hips. Both stayed in that position for a moment, waiting for the waves to ebb away. The bed had creaked to a halt and both of their breathing could be heard coming to a steady pace. Jimmy finally regained his senses and he pushed himself off of the singer’s body, panting as he collapsed into the bed sheets.
Both lied there in a sweaty heap of after-sex, sweat and other fluids that happened to make it into the open. Mick took the first initiative, turning his head to see Jimmy beside him, his eyes still closed in a moment of amity. Jimmy finally moved his head and watched him.
Now there was only silence. Both welcomed the silence, in their own ways. The type of silence that comes after hard work and the noises that took so much of the space around them that it was relaxing. Both wanted to speak, anything to keep the silence from becoming awkward and congested with other thoughts.
“Que faisons-- I mean, what do we do now?”
Jimmy shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I thought we’d lay here and think of something.”
“Now when we see each other, it might get awkward,” Mick grinned.
Jimmy closed his eyes and chuckled. “If you think about it too much, then it will. But you’re almost like a sexual fiend, so you’d probably would think about it a lot.”
“Aw,” Mick cooed, “does Jimmy think I like him a little more then normal?””
“It wouldn’t surprise me.”
Mick laughed, patting Jimmy on the shoulder. “This’ll certainly be a night to remember for a while.”
“And with the added bonus,” Jimmy said amusedly, “is that since many of my groupies says that they’ve slept with you, I can say it too now. Imagine their faces when I do say it.”