Love Potion #1921 (Chapter Two)
Title: Love Potion #1921 (Chapter Two)
Chapter: Dos
Rating: R/NC17 (overall, probably not this part though) (Yeah deff not this part haha)
Pairings: Jeith and Poger mainly, but also Koger (aaaaah you'll see)
Time period: Tommy recording sessions and the Who Tour 1969
Warnings: Some (just a few) swear words, mentions of adult content, but no explicit material (that'll be a bit later)
Disclaimer: I do not own The Who. This is a work of fiction and was not intended to be taken seriously. But if this ever actually happened, I take full credit.
Summary: Keith is always up to all kinds of shenanigans, including the discovery of a powerful love potion. But if the powerful substance gets into the wrong hands, who knows what could happen?
A/N: Wholigans and Jeith, Koger, and Poger shippers alike, be prepared; there's a lot in store for this story. *grins evily* Thank you to my beta Emily, who shares this wonderful Livejournal account with me :3 Also this chapter kind of changes POVs all throughout, but it's always pretty evident who's POV it is.
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Chapter Two
1971 (Three years later)
Keith Moon never knew so many people could be packed in one hotel room.
But of course, there was nothing at all he could object to about the closely-packed bodies meandering in the smoky air. After all, it was his party -- or rather, thrown in honour of The Who -- and he couldn't think of a better way to celebrate the success of their first concert at New York City.
Well, actually, he could. But Keith doubted those particular dreams would ever be a reality.
He took another shot of whiskey. Earlier he had danced with some fab American groupies, and had entertained the guests with a contest to see who could stuff the most marshmallows in their mouth, but eventually he grew bored and now lacked the usual luster he seemed to maintain during tour parties.
At every party, even the best of ones, there's always some point where it seems like you had already done that, it was old news, almost tedious. And that was always where Keith Moon would come into play. But today, the little drummer had no ideas left.
His last ciggie ran out. Sighing, he considered asking the guy next to him for one, but a brighter idea came into mind, and he smirked, sneaking off into one of the bedrooms where he kept his suitcase.
He was just pulling out a bag of marijuana when a voice at the door from behind startled him. "FREEZE." It was only John, and Keith laughed in relief, standing up.
"You scared the shit out of me."
John Entwistle was Keith's best friend. They did everything together; from going out for drinks, to pranking the rest of the band, to staying up all night talking about just about anything. Watching his deep-set blue eyes, Keith wondered if John thought the same as he did about him. Lately something had grown between them, more long-lasting eye contact, more physical touch, more mystery... And then that one time a few weeks ago when they both were pissed out of their minds and John just leaned in and kissed Keith. The drummer loved John. He wanted more. But did John?
The Ox just raised his eyebrows and gave a rare, toothy smile before walking out past him into the party. "By the way, you're gonna have to share some of that tonight," he said as he walked off, referring to the weed.
Keith grinned to himself and bent to pick up the bag again, but instead his fingers came into contact with something else; a little glass vial with deep purple liquid labeled "#1921".
He froze. The love potion. He hadn't touched it in years...Hell, he'd forgotten about it! The last time he'd used it was the first night he'd acquired it, and it was just on a blonde-haired fan he'd gone out with that night. How did it even get in my suitcase? He didn't remember packing it --
Suddenly Keith looked up, watching the last of John walking out the door into the party, and the best -- and the worst -- idea he'd ever thought of grew in his mind, blossoming by the second like a rose in fast motion.
He was going to use the love potion on John.
A hysterical laugh -- partially from the high of the idea, partially from being drunk -- escaped the boy's lips as he sprung up, concealing the bottle in his hand as he maneuvered through the people back into the kitchen. From what he last remembered, one drop of the solution was strong for the girl, but it only lasted that one night. She was normal the next morning. Keith didn't want a one-night-stand with John, he wanted more than that. Preparing a plastic cup with Coca-Cola and ice, he tipped the vial so a few drops fell into the drink.
But was that enough? What if it wore off too quickly? He added a few more drops, frowning. What if it wore off and he never felt the same again? Keith couldn't let that happen. He tipped the whole bottle upside down and let it come out until it was completely empty.
There. He smiled almost spitefully. There's no way it'll wear off of John now.
He carried the drink out the kitchen, looking for a tall, dark-haired figure. Where did he run off to? Maybe he's over in the --
"Oh perfect, some Coke! Bloody hell, I'm thirsty." Golden curls came into view, and Roger's bouncy disposition and smile blocked Keith's search for John. And before anything could be done, the cup was gone from his hand and into Roger's, and the lead singer drained it empty of any liquid. "Ahh... Thanks Keith! Dancing around can really wear a lad out." And with that, Roger put a hand on Keith's shoulder in gratitude and walked off.
Oh no.
Roger just drank the potion. He just touched Keith.
One touch is all it takes to fall in love...
The next series of events seemed to happen in slow motion. Not two seconds after Roger left and walked away leaving Keith with his jaw hanging open, Roger's figure stiffened, and he froze in spot. Keith watched as Roger's expression grew apprehensive, or stunned, and he looked down at his abdomen and stomach in shock. Something drew the blonde's blue eyes up to meet Keith's, and they stared at the other, dumbfounded.
Nothing changed inside the drummer, but he could only imagine how Roger must have felt. Right then, he realized what a stupid as fuck idea it had been to use the whole potion in one sitting.
Roger's eyes were wide. He stared before darting suddenly, running to his and Pete's bedroom, and he was gone.
Well, fuck, Keith thought as he went back into the kitchen for another shot of whiskey.
- ~ -
Roger was hyperventilating. Calm down, calm down, he told himself over and over, but nothing was changing. Adrenaline surged through his bloodstream, lifting him like a hot-air balloon, and his head whirled. He felt sick, but not sick enough to throw up. And deep in the pit of his stomach sat a certain, tingling feeling he had never felt before, couldn't comprehend, couldn't understand.
What's happening to me?
The feeling in his stomach was the worst, the strongest. It almost felt like...like the building, twisted sensation right before an orgasm, but it was his stomach now, not his groin. It was the slightest prickle of a feeling that would have made him laugh right out loud like a tickle if he wasn't so confused. Sinking down against the bathroom door, he held his spinning head, trying but failing to get over the sensation.
A name came to his lips. "Keith," he whispered, not really knowing why. The name resonated and echoed throughout the tiny bathroom, sending a heavy chill down his spine. Why? Why Keith? What was happening?
He felt something to the drummer, drawn to him. He wanted to get up right now and find him...and then what? But Roger stayed on the floor, panting, terrified. A jolt of the same tingle in his stomach ran through his body, and he crawled to the toilet, wanting so bad to just puke up whatever bad food he had swallowed, but he didn't, couldn't.
He could no longer hear the heavy bass of the music outside. Voices of people had died down. The party was coming to an end. People must be wondering where he was, but he didn't want to move. The feeling never let up from his stomach, and it was growing, growing, spreading to his lungs and his arms, all the way down to his fingertips, down his thighs and his legs and tickled his toes, and clouded his mind and his vision and he couldn't hear a thing anymore. He blacked out.
This was how he was when Pete found him ten minutes later.
- ~ -
"A fucking cold??"
Pete was pacing back and forth, treading across empty plastic cups and other remnants of the party. Keith could practically see the worry dripping from him.
"I found him curled up in the bloody bathroom holding his head! About to pass out!!" the guitarist spat at Keith. "How could you take that as a measly fucking cold???"
"Pete! Come off it!" John growled from the couch in Keith's defense.
Keith held up his hands, trying not to lose his balance with the effort. "'S just a guess, mate," he slurred. "Dunno wha' happen'd to 'im..."
Pete pivoted on his feet to John, holding his hands up at the mess that was Keith Moon. "See what I mean? Useless," he grouched.
"Hush it," the bassist snarled back. "Maybe it's just a migrane."
"Just a --" Pete started, but stopped when he thought about what John said. "You're probably right. Rog used to get horrible migraines. He had medicine for it though...and it's never been this bad. He's never passed out before."
John nodded, frowning, scratching his head. Keith watched the floor sway.
"We should call an ambulance," Pete stressed, pacing again. "Something bad might have happened --"
"That wouldn't be such a great idea," interrupted John. "Do you know how much of an uproar that would cause? Kit would go absolutely bonkers. It would be mass pandemonium if this got out to the press. Just...let Rog sleep it off."
"What if he doesn't wake up? What if --"
John gave Pete a knowing look. "He will wake up." Pete nodded. "Where is he now?"
"I put him on the bed. He's asleep. He calmed down a lot, thank God."
"See? I told you there's no reason to get the hospital involved."
Keith shook his head, trying to get rid of the sleepy haze clouding his thoughts like cobwebs. "I 'ope he's okay," he said. He couldn't tell the others what he'd done...
John turned to the drummer, watching him try to keep himself up straight. "Keith, go to bed, right now," he said to Keith like he was a small child.
"But 'm not tired." He hiccuped.
"Just go, okay? You're too bloody pissed for your own good."
Keith hated seeing the others in such bad moods, so he sulked off to the bed, pulling off his clothes and climbing in. As drunk as he was, though, sleep wasn't going to come easily. The thought of what he'd done to Roger haunted his mind. What was going to happen? Did the potion hurt Roger? Would it ever wear off?
Apparently the shock of the concoction had hit him harder than Keith had thought. According to Pete, he'd been "nearly dead" in the bathroom. Now he was fast asleep in the next room over... But he can't be okay all of the sudden. The potion had to have done something...
Keith suddenly remembered the first time he used #1921, on a young fan one Saturday night back in '68. She was wild that night, crazy for him; and it had only been a drop or two. And he'd given Rog the whole bottle...
At that moment it really sunk in what was going to happen, like a low oath. Roger was going to fall in love with Keith. There was no other way, no other fate. And it was Keith's fault.
He heard John come in and prepare for bed. "Moonie?" he said quietly, and Keith feigned sleep. The bassist crawled off into bed. Keith waited until his mate's low snores sounded through the room before he got up, fighting fatigue, and went into Pete and Roger's room.
Sneaking past Pete's sleeping form, he came to Roger, who was tucked carefully away in the covers. Even through his motionless features in sleep, he looked different, in a way Keith couldn't put his finger on. Keith didn't know what to expect when Rog would woke up the next morning. All he knew was that something dark and extraordinary had happened to the band's lead singer, and it wasn't about to go away anytime soon.
With that thought, the drummer didn't go to sleep very well that night.
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