Moar drabbles
I’ll do some Jeith for balance this time. I don’t write this couple very often, so forgive me if I mess them up a bit. And if anyone cares, I’d be open to requests of some form. I need to re-stimulate my slash juices with something.
The second drabble is short, sorry.
Rating: R.
Pairing: Jeith.
Warnings: Inferred sex, some bad words. Larlarlar
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
048 Comfort (1971)
Show ended. Groupies came, groupies went. Arrived at hotel. Drank. Went to bed. That had been John’s schedule for the past week of the Europe shows, and it was boring the hell out of him. Recently however, there’d been a small shift. As always the band was short on money and decided to shove the members into shared rooms. He’d been paired up with Keith, Roger with Pete. There would d be hell to pay for whoever made that decision, John had thought. While the notion that the perennial fuck with whatever foreign girl was waiting in the wings would be cancelled for a night miffed the bassist slightly, he was excited to be sharing a sleeping quarters with Keith.
And so the band went through their motions of playing the show and partying the rest of the late hours away. John found his way back to his room around one or two, Keith trailing along and babbling about the quality wine they served here. The drummer threw himself over his bed and was immediately snoring away. John surveyed this with an amused smile and found a mirror to survey the party’s damage on his appearance. His hair had been re-dyed recently, so no roots were showing. No holes in his clothing, no need for a sha-
John paused his self-evaluation at the sounds of whimpering behind him. He turned to see Keith’s form shivering on top of his mattress, creating the noise that had attracted John’s attention. The bassist hesitated a minute before approaching the bedside and resting a hand on the drummer’s shoulder.
“Keith? Mate, wake up,” John gently pushed against Keith’s body until it stilled and he stirred, sitting up and looking at the bassist tiredly and gratefully.
“No worries, dear boy, just a bad dream,” the percussionist assured, sliding back to sit against the headboard.
“Do you want me to get anything? Brandy, cigarette, wa-”
“Thanks, but nah. I’m fine,” Keith attempted a grin that quickly evolved into a frown and he buried himself under the blankets.
John sat on the edge of the bed. “Was it about Neil again?” A movement beneath the blankets matched one of a nod and elicited a sympathetic sigh from the bassist. John cleared his throat and proposed another question, “Do you want me to sleep with you again?”
Another nod. John removed his shoes and pulled the covers back, revealing the uncharacteristically vulnerable tear-stained face that had invited him in. He laid down next to him and tentatively petted his hair before the drummer himself simply threw himself into the brunette’s chest. John continued to stroke his head and smile, listening to the percussionist next to him slowly drift to sleep.
050 Rough (Sometime when Keith was alive)
Keith liked it rough.
John quickly discovered this at the beginning of their relationship, but every night it still managed to shock him at how much it took to satisfy him. Frequent requests for harder bites, faster thrusts. The sheer amount of energy Keith produced and demanded was a work-out in and of itself. The locations could be ridiculous; backs of cars, airplane bathrooms, even a carrying case on one occasion. All of it was worth it to hear the excitable little drummer scream.