(no subject)
Mick would never go out for drinks without the assurance of someone else coming to drink with him: Mick Jagger alone in the corner of a bar would be a sad sight. He was enough assured of Loony's coming to venture out for the evening, and did so in fine Jagger style, wrapped up in a thin velvet scarf and wearing sunglasses at night. He met Loony coming down the road. Loony was silhouetted in streetlights and his face couldn't be seen, but the moment the man lifted up his arms, threatening a hug from thirty paces, Mick knew who it was. He let himself be kissed and lifted up, moving to straighten his hair before remembering that it might be to his advantage to let it sit in boyish tousle.
"Alright, alright," he said after being accosted for the third time, "let's get a drink, eh, Loony?"
Loony's expression was reluctant for a moment, his affection not entirely spent in embrace, but he quickly recovered, brightened, and linked his arm through Mick's. They cut a fine pair into the club; Mick slender, firm and small, and Keith slightly overweight but in perfect proportion. Keith had always been proud of his even distibution of weight; nobody could deny that he carried extra pounds well, which simply encouraged him to eat and drink even more fearlessly.
Mick had some trouble ordering the drinks. The exchange went something like:
"What do you want, Loony?"
"Oh, anything, dear boy! Anything!" Keith was already looking about with bright eyes, delighted to be in a crowd, and didn't care what he drank was long as it was strong.
"Yeah, but what do you want? Just choose something mate."
"I don't mind. You choose for me."
"I don't know what sort of thing you want."
"Anything! Anything!"
"Beer then?"
"No, not beer! Anything but that. Not strong enough. I want something stronger."
"Wine?" A half-joke. Loony laughed.
"Alright, scotch on the rocks?"
"Yes yes! That sounds lovely."
"Alright, alright," he said after being accosted for the third time, "let's get a drink, eh, Loony?"
Loony's expression was reluctant for a moment, his affection not entirely spent in embrace, but he quickly recovered, brightened, and linked his arm through Mick's. They cut a fine pair into the club; Mick slender, firm and small, and Keith slightly overweight but in perfect proportion. Keith had always been proud of his even distibution of weight; nobody could deny that he carried extra pounds well, which simply encouraged him to eat and drink even more fearlessly.
Mick had some trouble ordering the drinks. The exchange went something like:
"What do you want, Loony?"
"Oh, anything, dear boy! Anything!" Keith was already looking about with bright eyes, delighted to be in a crowd, and didn't care what he drank was long as it was strong.
"Yeah, but what do you want? Just choose something mate."
"I don't mind. You choose for me."
"I don't know what sort of thing you want."
"Anything! Anything!"
"Beer then?"
"No, not beer! Anything but that. Not strong enough. I want something stronger."
"Wine?" A half-joke. Loony laughed.
"Alright, scotch on the rocks?"
"Yes yes! That sounds lovely."