A Solitude That Asks for Nothing in Return - 3
John icon for a change!!!!
Title: A Solitude That Asks for Nothing in Return - 3
Year/Era: Who's Next recording sessions.
Pairing: None. Pete Townshend. John x Keith if you look hard enough.
Written by: LetsSeeAction/Dren. [me!]
Comments: No longer a vent fic!
Summary: I can't give one without ruining this chapter. So read it!
Rating: PG - 13 for swearing. -Slightest- flash of nudity. You'll miss it if you blink.
Warnings: ANGST! Probably OOC boys, but whatever. Never tried to write Keith before. You've been warned. =/ I wrote the -first- things that came to mind as an -experiment-. I don't give a damn if it sounds silly, or not. You guys wanted activity, now you has it. =p WOOO! Don't like it? Don't read. lolz
Disclaimer: Don't own The Who, mean no harm, ect. No cashes made. Never happened. =( SAD!
Again...So...Yeah...As it says in the warning section, I wrote the -first- things that came to mind, for an experiment. I've always planned out my other fics, and normally I get stuck with them at -some- point. By doing it this way, I've had -no- trouble getting this far!
Crit is -very- much so appreciated. IF there's still interest, I'll finish it.
For how long he'd been there, Keith was clueless. The figure had wrapped it's self up, shivering while shoulders heaved. Due to the distinct melody of water against pavement, metal, and well...Just about everything else, he couldn't tell if the other person was crying or not, but he'd been pretty damn sure that they were. Without even approaching any further than the driveway, he could tell it was Pete...Roger must have kicked him out. Well, unless it were some other crazy man dressed like his friend.
Sighing, Keith advanced up the walkway, and to the front steps. “What's the matter?” He asked, tilting his head sideways ever so slightly. Due to the water in his hair, the tresses seemed nearly black. Looking up, Pete wiped one eye with the back of his hand. Before he had a chance to reply, Keith continued. “Kicked you out?” A slight nod. “Meh...Figured so.” Extending one hand, the slightly tipsy drummer helped his friend up. Digging his keys from his pocket with the free hand, he nodded to the man who had escorted him home. An old friend he'd run into at the bar. Better to have been driven back to his residence, than to walk.
Turning his sights back on the multi talented musician, Keith groaned slightly. “You walked here, didn't you?” Well, obviously if he was -soaked-. What a fucking -stupid- question. “Nevermind...” as if sensing Pete's unspoken question of 'Where's John?', the loon continued, yet again. “He's either asleep, upstairs reading, or taking a shower. He didn't want to go back out, so whatever.” A shrug.
Once the pair were inside, Keith called out to his partner. “John! Get down here! Bring some towels, and some of your dry clothes.” They obviously wouldn't fit correctly. With Pete being thinner. At least the pair were -nearly- the same height.
Keith took his guitar player's thin, pathetic excuse for a jacket, and beckoned him into the kitchen, which wasn't far off. Having no choice but to follow, Pete did so sheepishly. Head down, a deep scarlet covering his cheeks. How pathetic he must have looked, bringing in water and mud on the pristine, white carpet. But Keith didn't seem to mind, or care. John on the other hand, would have...But given the circumstances, would probably turn a blind eye.
Standing over the sink, Keith wrung out the article of clothing. “Follow suit.” He spoke quickly. “John should be down soon.”
Removing his shirt, Pete followed Keith's actions. Wringing out as much water as possible. Once he was finished, the youngest member of the band snatched it away. Unknowing of where his clothes were going, Pete had one guess. The laundry room, and dryer. Or washer? Just as he was reaching for the button and zipper on his jeans, John appeared in the doorway. The older male growled out some sort of greeting, handed over the towels, clothing, then disappeared into the living room.
Rather than reply or thank his friend, Pete excused himself into the nearest bathroom. Once there, he pulled off his shoes, the clingy denim, and boxers. Rather than being given the same to wear, John had provided him with flannel pajama bottoms and a matching top. It amused him, picturing John wearing them. Both were black with spider webs, soft, and no doubt they were warm. Once he'd dried the condensation from his body, Pete slipped into the clothing. Both were too big for him. The shirt hung on his skinny frame -just barely-. It had slid down, exposing his collar bone, a bit of his chest, and shoulder. The bottoms fell down just a bit, resting on the fullest part of his hips. If it weren't for his ass, they wouldn't have stayed up at all. Running a hand through his tousled, drenched strands, Pete let out a soft groan. One hand fetched the soaked blue denim. The other was added, both worked together to wring it out over the bath. After, his held them with one hand, the same opening the door. The other took hold of his dirty, disgusting shoes.
“I'll take those.” Keith grinned, forcing the items from his friend's hands, and scampering off. Eyes wide, Pete had -not- expected that. Well, for Keith to be there outside the door. Part of him wondered how long the creepy little drummer had been waiting. Shuddering slightly, the taller, older brunette brushed the thought off. Reaching behind him, the light was switched off. Stepping out fully, he made his way into the kitchen, were both of his friends sat.
Just as he'd imagined on his way over, John sat with a cup of cocoa, and a plate of toast, knife and butter off to the side. The tall, dark bassist had one elbow on the table's surface, hand bent back at the wrist, his head resting on it. He looked tired, dark circles around his half lidded eyes, hair unkempt. It was probably well past his normal bedtime. Keith on the other hand, seemed to still be a little ball of energy. Not surprising.
“Gonna tell us what happened?” The oldest questioned in his deep voice, followed by a yawn.
“Uh...Yeah...” Pete pulled out a chair, set himself in it, and fixed the shoulder part of his top. ...Only for it to fall again. Choosing to ignore it, he gratefully took the still warm toast. “Thanks for this, by the way...” He nodded toward the table. “And...Everything, really.”
“Mmhm...” John replied, exhaustion clear in the sound.
“Well...After I got home, Roger started in on me. Not even ten seconds after I'd gotten in through the fucking door! He'd been sitting there, in the dark. Only the kitchen light on, It was like in some some movie, where the cheating husband gets caught.” With a groan, he pulled the coca closer. “He's jealous. That's all there is to it. We had an 'insult fight'. Was fucking -sure- it was gonna get physical. Nope...He told me to get out, so...I did. Walked over here.” Pete left out the part where he'd frightened himself. No doubt in his mind that Keith would laugh. Of course, John would give him the death glare, and the hyper little man would apologize...
“Hmm...Maybe he has a right to be?” John suggested. “I mean...You -have- been spending a lot of time with us lately. And on the other hand, Roger -is- a bit clingy...Demanding, as well.” Azure orbs closed. A slow intake of breath, then quick exhale. Not quite a sigh, but close. “I dunno...Too fucking -tired- to play your god damned mediator right now, Pete...” John changed his position slightly, so the heel of his palm rubbed against his forehead. Right above the bridge of his nose. A fist was made, save for his index and thumb. Both which rubbed just below where his palm had been. “Listen...I love you, alright? As a friend, a brother, whatever. Same for Roger. But god damn! You two fight like cats and dogs. This shit is -bound- to happen. You're two clashing personalities. On the other hand, you're both kinda the same.” A slight shrug as the oldest continued to rub the sensitive spot. “Either you two get along, or not. There's no -median- at all. One of you does somethin' that gets you a -bit- out of line, the other -explodes-, and I'm left to clean up the shit storm.”
...Pete was stunned. A lecture from John? Damn. Well, he -did- have a point. Fuck him for being so quiet and observant! “Yeah, but--”
“Nah!” The Ox raised his head. Hand was removed, and held up as well. Eyes still closed for a moment, the lecture continued. “You two need to work this out on -your own-. I can't be here every damn time you have a problem. 'Kay?” Optics open once more, and bloodshot, John stared at his friend. “...Okay?”
Pete nodded. “Okay...” He looked down at the cooling toast and cocoa.
“Pete...I'm sorry for sounding like a dick. But, come on! Enough is enough, alright?” A nod from the guitarist. “-Thank you-.” Sliding out his chair, John stood. “Fuck recording today. It's already past five. I'm spent...Argue and I'll kick you out on your ass.” John warned.
“I'm not tired...” Keith whined.
“You never are.” The darker haired one groaned. “Come to bed.”
Keith shook his head. “Gonna stay with Pete.” John shrugged as if to say 'suit yourself. Disappearing from the kitchen, he made the short trip upstairs, and into the master bedroom. “So!” Keith grinned. “What should we do? Play cards? Watch tv? Listen to records? Smoke pot? Snort a line? Eat? All six?!”
Suddenly, Pete was regretting coming to John and Keith's residence.
Title: A Solitude That Asks for Nothing in Return - 3
Year/Era: Who's Next recording sessions.
Pairing: None. Pete Townshend. John x Keith if you look hard enough.
Written by: LetsSeeAction/Dren. [me!]
Comments: No longer a vent fic!
Summary: I can't give one without ruining this chapter. So read it!
Rating: PG - 13 for swearing. -Slightest- flash of nudity. You'll miss it if you blink.
Warnings: ANGST! Probably OOC boys, but whatever. Never tried to write Keith before. You've been warned. =/ I wrote the -first- things that came to mind as an -experiment-. I don't give a damn if it sounds silly, or not. You guys wanted activity, now you has it. =p WOOO! Don't like it? Don't read. lolz
Disclaimer: Don't own The Who, mean no harm, ect. No cashes made. Never happened. =( SAD!
Again...So...Yeah...As it says in the warning section, I wrote the -first- things that came to mind, for an experiment. I've always planned out my other fics, and normally I get stuck with them at -some- point. By doing it this way, I've had -no- trouble getting this far!
Crit is -very- much so appreciated. IF there's still interest, I'll finish it.
For how long he'd been there, Keith was clueless. The figure had wrapped it's self up, shivering while shoulders heaved. Due to the distinct melody of water against pavement, metal, and well...Just about everything else, he couldn't tell if the other person was crying or not, but he'd been pretty damn sure that they were. Without even approaching any further than the driveway, he could tell it was Pete...Roger must have kicked him out. Well, unless it were some other crazy man dressed like his friend.
Sighing, Keith advanced up the walkway, and to the front steps. “What's the matter?” He asked, tilting his head sideways ever so slightly. Due to the water in his hair, the tresses seemed nearly black. Looking up, Pete wiped one eye with the back of his hand. Before he had a chance to reply, Keith continued. “Kicked you out?” A slight nod. “Meh...Figured so.” Extending one hand, the slightly tipsy drummer helped his friend up. Digging his keys from his pocket with the free hand, he nodded to the man who had escorted him home. An old friend he'd run into at the bar. Better to have been driven back to his residence, than to walk.
Turning his sights back on the multi talented musician, Keith groaned slightly. “You walked here, didn't you?” Well, obviously if he was -soaked-. What a fucking -stupid- question. “Nevermind...” as if sensing Pete's unspoken question of 'Where's John?', the loon continued, yet again. “He's either asleep, upstairs reading, or taking a shower. He didn't want to go back out, so whatever.” A shrug.
Once the pair were inside, Keith called out to his partner. “John! Get down here! Bring some towels, and some of your dry clothes.” They obviously wouldn't fit correctly. With Pete being thinner. At least the pair were -nearly- the same height.
Keith took his guitar player's thin, pathetic excuse for a jacket, and beckoned him into the kitchen, which wasn't far off. Having no choice but to follow, Pete did so sheepishly. Head down, a deep scarlet covering his cheeks. How pathetic he must have looked, bringing in water and mud on the pristine, white carpet. But Keith didn't seem to mind, or care. John on the other hand, would have...But given the circumstances, would probably turn a blind eye.
Standing over the sink, Keith wrung out the article of clothing. “Follow suit.” He spoke quickly. “John should be down soon.”
Removing his shirt, Pete followed Keith's actions. Wringing out as much water as possible. Once he was finished, the youngest member of the band snatched it away. Unknowing of where his clothes were going, Pete had one guess. The laundry room, and dryer. Or washer? Just as he was reaching for the button and zipper on his jeans, John appeared in the doorway. The older male growled out some sort of greeting, handed over the towels, clothing, then disappeared into the living room.
Rather than reply or thank his friend, Pete excused himself into the nearest bathroom. Once there, he pulled off his shoes, the clingy denim, and boxers. Rather than being given the same to wear, John had provided him with flannel pajama bottoms and a matching top. It amused him, picturing John wearing them. Both were black with spider webs, soft, and no doubt they were warm. Once he'd dried the condensation from his body, Pete slipped into the clothing. Both were too big for him. The shirt hung on his skinny frame -just barely-. It had slid down, exposing his collar bone, a bit of his chest, and shoulder. The bottoms fell down just a bit, resting on the fullest part of his hips. If it weren't for his ass, they wouldn't have stayed up at all. Running a hand through his tousled, drenched strands, Pete let out a soft groan. One hand fetched the soaked blue denim. The other was added, both worked together to wring it out over the bath. After, his held them with one hand, the same opening the door. The other took hold of his dirty, disgusting shoes.
“I'll take those.” Keith grinned, forcing the items from his friend's hands, and scampering off. Eyes wide, Pete had -not- expected that. Well, for Keith to be there outside the door. Part of him wondered how long the creepy little drummer had been waiting. Shuddering slightly, the taller, older brunette brushed the thought off. Reaching behind him, the light was switched off. Stepping out fully, he made his way into the kitchen, were both of his friends sat.
Just as he'd imagined on his way over, John sat with a cup of cocoa, and a plate of toast, knife and butter off to the side. The tall, dark bassist had one elbow on the table's surface, hand bent back at the wrist, his head resting on it. He looked tired, dark circles around his half lidded eyes, hair unkempt. It was probably well past his normal bedtime. Keith on the other hand, seemed to still be a little ball of energy. Not surprising.
“Gonna tell us what happened?” The oldest questioned in his deep voice, followed by a yawn.
“Uh...Yeah...” Pete pulled out a chair, set himself in it, and fixed the shoulder part of his top. ...Only for it to fall again. Choosing to ignore it, he gratefully took the still warm toast. “Thanks for this, by the way...” He nodded toward the table. “And...Everything, really.”
“Mmhm...” John replied, exhaustion clear in the sound.
“Well...After I got home, Roger started in on me. Not even ten seconds after I'd gotten in through the fucking door! He'd been sitting there, in the dark. Only the kitchen light on, It was like in some some movie, where the cheating husband gets caught.” With a groan, he pulled the coca closer. “He's jealous. That's all there is to it. We had an 'insult fight'. Was fucking -sure- it was gonna get physical. Nope...He told me to get out, so...I did. Walked over here.” Pete left out the part where he'd frightened himself. No doubt in his mind that Keith would laugh. Of course, John would give him the death glare, and the hyper little man would apologize...
“Hmm...Maybe he has a right to be?” John suggested. “I mean...You -have- been spending a lot of time with us lately. And on the other hand, Roger -is- a bit clingy...Demanding, as well.” Azure orbs closed. A slow intake of breath, then quick exhale. Not quite a sigh, but close. “I dunno...Too fucking -tired- to play your god damned mediator right now, Pete...” John changed his position slightly, so the heel of his palm rubbed against his forehead. Right above the bridge of his nose. A fist was made, save for his index and thumb. Both which rubbed just below where his palm had been. “Listen...I love you, alright? As a friend, a brother, whatever. Same for Roger. But god damn! You two fight like cats and dogs. This shit is -bound- to happen. You're two clashing personalities. On the other hand, you're both kinda the same.” A slight shrug as the oldest continued to rub the sensitive spot. “Either you two get along, or not. There's no -median- at all. One of you does somethin' that gets you a -bit- out of line, the other -explodes-, and I'm left to clean up the shit storm.”
...Pete was stunned. A lecture from John? Damn. Well, he -did- have a point. Fuck him for being so quiet and observant! “Yeah, but--”
“Nah!” The Ox raised his head. Hand was removed, and held up as well. Eyes still closed for a moment, the lecture continued. “You two need to work this out on -your own-. I can't be here every damn time you have a problem. 'Kay?” Optics open once more, and bloodshot, John stared at his friend. “...Okay?”
Pete nodded. “Okay...” He looked down at the cooling toast and cocoa.
“Pete...I'm sorry for sounding like a dick. But, come on! Enough is enough, alright?” A nod from the guitarist. “-Thank you-.” Sliding out his chair, John stood. “Fuck recording today. It's already past five. I'm spent...Argue and I'll kick you out on your ass.” John warned.
“I'm not tired...” Keith whined.
“You never are.” The darker haired one groaned. “Come to bed.”
Keith shook his head. “Gonna stay with Pete.” John shrugged as if to say 'suit yourself. Disappearing from the kitchen, he made the short trip upstairs, and into the master bedroom. “So!” Keith grinned. “What should we do? Play cards? Watch tv? Listen to records? Smoke pot? Snort a line? Eat? All six?!”
Suddenly, Pete was regretting coming to John and Keith's residence.