My boredom today = fabolous results
Title: A Series of Fortunate Events
Rating: R
Pairings: Keith/Mick
Word Count: 5066
Disclaimer: Like said many times before, I don't own the Stones, and that is a pity.
Willie Dixon’s voice lightly glazed the air as he dripped from the speakers sensually that seemed to be forgotten by the crowd.
The large room held little commoners in it seeing that the sky had dusted into a light citrus-orange color, yellow filtering at the edges of the sky. The late afternoon light padded its way into the room and gave fluorescent highlights to the surface of the surroundings, giving a faint reminiscent look of an old, yet sophisticated building. A man sat at the table in a far left corner of the room, sporting an inattentive look, gazing out at the crowd. Fingernails rose to scratch at his slightly greasy hair. A huff left from his parched lips.
Keith sat at the table, his faithful buddy Jack Daniels on the table right beside him; the man had nearly given him all the advice he could offer, seeing that a thin strip of ale colored liquid was left at the bottom. His eyes stared out at the dance floor and the morphing shapes of the human beings jiving on the dance floor. It felt a little empty due to the lack of commotion. People asked to dance with other people, observing the fact that there were not many to choose from. Keith had watched as many people come up to him for a dance, only to be scorned with a glare and they backed off.
Keith vacantly studied the other people, rather few people; there was about roughly thirty-five, forty at the most. The music was not very interesting, although the occasional Muddy song, or Jimmy Reed song would catch his ears in surprise, but nothing that rang through the room fascinated his interest to go out and mingle with the room's inhabitants.
A warm scent crept into Keith’s nostrils, diverting his attention from mindless thoughts concerning others. A paper cup was sat down in his line of vision, the hazy trail of steam departing from the cup lazily. He gazed at the milky light green color as it sat motionless in the cup, seemingly sharing the same train of thought that was unfolding in his head. Keith revolved his head to cast an inquiring glance to that had just seated themselves beside him, and to find out who got him the tea.
His eyes settled on Charlie, their quiet and levelheaded drummer. An eyebrow rose briefly before knotting into confusion. First of all, it was Charlie-- the man rarely went out to have fun with them, usually opting to stay away from the women who pursued the band platonically and obsessively, usually he would have a drink or two, but that’s all the far that the man was willing to go. Secondly, he expected it was some woman who would approach Keith, not Charlie.
“Figured you could use some company,” Charlie spoke as he tipped his cup towards his mouth.
“What are you even doing here?” Keith asked bluntly, his mind jabbing him for answers. “I thought you said that you’d rather stay at the hotel. What changed?”
Charlie stopped drinking for a moment to put his cup down. “I do like to go out sometimes; I’m not always staying at home, or in the dressing room to avoid people.”
“You sure act that way,” Keith said lightly.
Charlie shrugged his shoulders.
“Why don’t you go out and have fun? Since you’re here, you might as well go pick up someone or two.”
Charlie did not spare him a glance. “Even though I came here, I don’t want to mingle with people. Besides, I only do that when Shirley’s around; other then that, I don’t really feel like dancing.”
“You need to get out more Charlie,” Keith stated it as though it were a fact. He turned in full view of the drummer. “It’s kind of depressing when you hang around in the background by yourself. That’s why there are such things as meeting new people.”
Charlie took a calm sip of his drink. “I’m not like that Keith. The point of marriage is not to go out and cheat on the one you love just because you are lonely; it does not work like that. And it shows that your vows aren‘t as important as you made them out to be”
Keith took it in for a moment, letting it simmer in his mind before he shrugged his shoulders. “Well it’s your life; you do what you want with it.”
Both men sat there, a mutual silence hanging around as they scanned out the crowd. Keith shifted, feeling the warmth of the heated paper cup in his fingers. Keith’s orbs then locked onto another person in the crowd, swaying to the beat of the music, legs moving in a fashion that complimented the crowd. His eyes watched as the figure came shimmying up to him. Mick was grinning and fluidly moving his hips towards Keith. Mick folded his arms onto the rail that separated the dance floor from Keith, leaning in to get a look at Keith. The other man just rolled his eyes.
Mick was very graceful out on the dance floor and that was not much of a shock. Mick, quite often, flaunted that ability to capture people’s attention and used it to his advantage. Just one turn and it you were under their magnetic attraction. In addition, if Mick found a way to show off, he would. Anything to be sexual he would do. He liked to strut with a swagger that definitely spoke ‘I’m open to anything you can throw at me’, definitely causing some very curious glances.
“C’mon Keith,” the singer tried to goad the younger male, “why don’t you come out and have some fun? Don’t be a sourpuss and glare at people all day.”
Keith snorted. “Not everyone wants to dance Mick.”
Mick leaned in closely, his brown hair falling over the bone-thin shoulders he possessed. “I see. Oh Keith, you could have just told me that you could not dance; I could teach you. Is that why you won’t?” Mick coaxed in a slightly sweet voice.
Keith scoffed. “And have you make a fool of me and you? I think I’ll pass on that.” At that point, Keith crossed his arms over his narrow chest.
“You wound me Keith, right here,” Mick said, feigning an over-dramatized hurt voice, placing a hand above his heart.
“Not my fault if you have overly sensitive feelings.” Keith played along with Mick’s show of hurt feelings.
Out of the corner of their eyes, Mick Taylor stumbled from the morphing shape of the crowd. He was their newest guitarist for about a few months and he was gelling along nicely within the ever-progressing sound that the Stones were changing and upgrading. He was a little ruffled and his face slightly dusted a ruby color.
“How’re you holdin’ up there Taylor? Any hard times?” Mick said brightly.
“Uh, not really sure.” Taylor sounded confused. “I don’t really dance a lot and people are asking me to; I just don’t know, really.
Suddenly like light spilling into a darkened room, a smile split Mick’s face and he turned his eyes to Keith and back to little Mick. It could have been a devious smile, bright flecks of another emotion flickering through Mick’s eyes, translating onto his face. He turned fully to Mick Taylor.
Before another movement could have been made, a voice boomed from the loudspeakers to catch the attention of the dancers. “All right ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for a slow dance; you all know what time it is, so grab a gal or a guy and head out to the dance floor, because now it’s ‘Couples Retreat.’ Let me play a nice, soothing one that will definitely get you in the mood for some loving.”
The lights lowered until they barely caressed the waxed hardwood floor as the bodies of eager people migrated into the center. Small lights littering the walls came to life, pouring dim pathways around the walls, hoping that these small orbs would give an implied romantic quality for the dancers eager for the challenge. Music began to sensually drip from the speakers, delicately prowling through the room to the end of the walls at their corners. Soft melodies launched, indicating that soon the room would be aglow with the light sensations.
A voice drips down the speakers, unwittingly singing about things that had gone out of fashion a long time ago; perhaps seen as unpopular with the young people. It is a favorite of the older generation, but it never seemed to hitch on the fast, bellowing train that rode into he hearts of the youth. Strangely, it seemed appropriate for this time, no one complained the lack of hipness to it, nor did they stop and stare at the choice of music that the song had acquired; they only cared about being near their designated partner, if only temporarily.
Keith’s eyes reflected these electric candlelight flames in his eyes. Mick on the other hand, looked around, and turned back to Taylor. “So Taylor, I heard you’re not sure how to dance right? I could teach you, since Keith wants to be a sourpuss about it.”
Keith made a grunt of acknowledgment over his mouthful of a tangy flavored tea. Mick T. looked at Mick, doubt forming in his mind over the situation if Mick could deliver what he was proposing. “Oh come on,” Mick said, nearly throwing his hands up, “don’t be like Keith over there. Just try it out; it could be fun.”
“About as fun as falling all over yourself,” Keith said off-hand, and Mick stuck his tongue out at Keith. Keith just rolled his eyes at the childish nature.
“So, what do you say Taylor? Wanna give it a go then, yeah?”
The younger man thought about it and finally agreed with a meager, ‘Okay’. Before Taylor had a chance to do anything more, Mick clasped a hand over the young guitarist’s wrist and quickly led them both to the dance floor. Mick nearly caused the other younger Mick to stumble over other things on the dance floor: his own shoes, other people he did not see, going up the mini flight of stair to get on the floor. Mick stopped inside the crowd, but close enough to be seen by his other bandmates.
Keith watched as Mick led their guitarist out onto the floor. Poor Mick T. looked like a lamb heading out into a wolf den with Mick as their fearless, but very much inexperienced leader. He absently watched them with little interest as the pair set up for their little dance. Keith’s fingers had closed in around his cup and remained there. His eyes followed the movements of them as they fell into place with the others. It seemed like Mick was teaching Taylor how to slow dance.
Keith’s mind became infested with one specific thought, slowly building up, slowly bulldozing over the other hanging on ideas. His eyes watched as Mick’s hand slid over to rest on little Mick’s waist and firmly made its resting place; his other hand had firmly sewn itself into Taylor’s other hand to raise it to a proper height.
Keith was not aware of his fingers slightly squeezing the cup that lay trapped between his palms was being slightly rumpled. His breathing had stirred and his heartbeat sped up a bit. With a focused gaze, Keith watched as Mick leaned in and became really close with the younger man, though he was whispering to Taylor about something; Keith’s mind flew down another separate avenue. Something about this image, the way it was playing out (at least in Keith’s mind) had sent an altogether different feeling through and up Keith’s spine, firmly wrapping a tight hold.
“Keith,” came the slightly amused voice, “you’re going to crush your cup if you don’t loosen up.”
Keith blinked, temporarily pulled from his stupor to gaze down at the cup: even though it was almost empty, his fingers had gained a tight embrace around the cup, causing wrinkles to mar its physical appearance. The remaining liquid had been pushed up to nearly the top, almost pouring out. Keith raised the cup and downed the rest in a swift gulp that came with years of practice. Keith set the cup down, his eyes following their path back to those two that he had been watching.
Again, Keith watched as they both moved in synchronicity, their legs mirroring every coordinated step. They gazed at each other, the occasional laugh coming from Mick, coupled with a look of determination from Taylor’s face. Keith was dubiously of his fingers taking the paper cup in both of his hands, his fingers clenching to only unwind around the cup, repeating the process in repetition. Mick leaned in farther to Taylor, and Taylor moved back, giving the impression that Mick was leaning in for a kiss and it jolted Keith to sit up straight, his back snapping up with not much of a thought. The paper cup was now clenched in his fingers, the afflicted movements of his fingers slowly and mercilessly crushing the cup.
There was little (from where Keith sat; he could not decipher how much exactly) room between the two males’ bodies, looking conjoined at the hip. In Keith’s mind, something about this was not sitting right or properly like oil and water. Absently, his fingers began tearing at the cup. Tense movements were in his guitar-skilled fingers washed over them as easily as light does darkness. The lights reflected off their beings in small, cut-off strips, highlighting the places that Keith could see so well. The guitarist’s stomach clenched tightly as a pure shot of envy gushed into his gut, forming thick, murky walls.
There was a flare-up in Keith’s stomach that spread through his body as he tensed when Mick leaned his head on Taylor’s, setting his fingers off under the spell of anger and viscously tore the cup in half, clenching the pieces in a possessive bind that Keith never thought he had; his fingers rolling over up and squeezing it. He bit his lip, the pressure building in his jaw. He sucked in a sharp breath and curled his toes.
Just then, his mind reeled back to reality. Why was he angry? Why was he jealous? Most of all, why was he getting upset of two people dancing? There wasn’t anything wrong about, just two friends having fun. In a dimly-lit room. On a floor. Nearly cuddling. Keith’s mind began to combine things and ideas together to form a conclusion, most of which had never really happened-- his mind was just going haywire at the sudden affection he had for getting jealous at this seemingly innocent display of fun.
Keith’s fingers itched to grab a cigarette and aggressively smoke it, to feel that desirable chemical called nicotine flooding through his blood, easing away the tense pressure that built up in his nerves, just dragging on it so aggressively that it was to become nothing more then a brittle, quivering tower of ash. His mind was like a radio tower that was snapped and bent, receiving no signal except worrying about its own problems. With a mind nothing more then an endless land of white-hot jealousy, Keith paid no mind to anything around him. Few people walked by, staring at the boy who was so despairingly gazing that it could melt lead; his scathing glare could strip the paint of a fresh, new car.
A chuckle softly entered into his ear as he snapped his neck to the source of the voice. Charlie was bemusedly gazing at him. “If you wanted to dance, then you should have said so,” the man said as if it were the most simplest thing in the world.
“I uh, I-- wasn’t sure if I should,” Keith hastily replied, hoping not to look suspicious.
“Well that cup says so otherwise.”
Keith looked down, just now noticing the paper material being erratically clenched between his fingers. The guitarist relaxed his grip on them, watching as it fell the ground softly. His mind slightly tugged at his attention, wanting it to go back to what he was viewing.
Both had disappeared as Keith went back to find them, seemingly like they were engulfed inside of the crowd. Keith’s mind was gradually winding up, but yet, it was clearing itself of previous thoughts. Two very distinctive voices came into Keith’s ears as he looked up; spotting the two Mick’s advancing back. A feeling of foreign activity was welling up in the pit of his gut.
Taylor had a small smile on his face, while Mick was talking animatedly. Mick T. went to sit down beside Charlie, the older gave a curt nod and Keith decided to still sit there.
“By the way,” Mick remarked, turning his head around, “where’s Bill? He was here with us when we came, wasn’t he?”
“Bill left with Astrid to go shopping. He didn’t feel like saying anything, but told me to relay the message.” Charlie spoke without even raising his head to give them a head-on stare. Mick shrugged his shoulders.
“That wraps up our ‘Couples Retreat’ set. Now grab a partner because it’s about to get down and dirty,” spoke the announcer, trying to incorporate a type of in-style slang. The music changed and a more danceable beat spiraled from the speakers at an instant.
Mick’s eyes lit up and he grinned back at Keith. “So, are you ready to ‘get down’ Keith? Or just sit back here like a lost child?”
Keith thought for a moment. He wordlessly stood up and approached Mick. “Fine then, I’ll do it.” The was a slight challenging sense wrapped in Keith’s words. Mick raised an eyebrow at this new fond bravery jutting from Keith’s words. Both soon advanced onto the dance floor as the music was bulging from the loudspeakers. As the music firmly set its place, Mick began to move as people crowded around them, their thoughts somewhere else, not focusing on the two rockstars. Mick began to sway his hips in rhythm to the song and Keith watched, slightly fascinated.
The song advanced as the two became lost in the sensual beats and only focusing on each other. Keith stepped forwards, his legs moving and Mick did the same, coming together. Their hands met together, and a bond was sewn into place. The noises had began to garrote around them, all sounds seemingly not as important as the other set of eyes and body. Their hips ground together, scrapping against each other in more then just a friendly way. Keith began to feel the need to pull the singer closer, to feel that skinny body moving against him, the set of fingers that would be at his own waist, hot breaths mingling into one finalized sequence.
This was nearly too much as they were drowning in each other, their lips nearly collided in spontaneously developed desire. Both dreadfully realized this and sharply separated before anything else could go farther. Pretty sure that the crowd would notice two people that were males-- no, they would notice Mick Jagger and Keith Richards sucking face on the dance floor. Wouldn’t that make a merry picture for Sunday’s paper when the conservatives were at home enjoying their morning coffee? Both were obviously flustered, but could not tell due to the slight cover of flashing lights echoing through the room, silently thanking this brief invisibility.
Both came back to their table, awkwardly seating themselves in the cushioned chairs. Taylor was chatting with Charlie, both obviously enjoying what knowledge they brought forth to each other. Through the rest of the night, both Mick and Keith could barely hang on to any thoughts-- whether vague of full, neither could keep their minds from wondering back to their brief, but heated, encounter on the dance floor.
The night advanced with little hitches: the occasional badgering female, the fans who wanted an autograph, or the heated gazes that both Mick and Keith gave each other. Both had known that the inevitable attraction would happen. There was that obvious, yet un-obvious force that united them. No matter how often others became close to them, they never were as important as Mick and Keith were to each other. It sometimes caused problems: Anita, Keith’s girlfriend and Brian’s ex, had gotten quite upset over it, causing her to find a way to get even-- driving what she referred as getting back: pushing a wedge between them. It never worked out successfully, even though she did try, Keith still loved her.
Marianne had even caught on to the tensions that were yet to be unnoticed by the boys themselves. She caught onto it especially with Mick: she had shared the same problems because she too was in love with Keith. They had bonded over it, but soon the main thing in her life became the destructive muse heroin. She fell apart and there was nothing Mick could do about, rather anyone for that matter. But like always, Mick came to Keith. Now, it was back to the same people: Mick and Keith forever entwined through happy and cynical times.
The cab ride home was, as one who was merely looking upon the situation, tense and a feeling of awkward silence-- at least between Mick and Keith who were in the back of the cab together. Charlie had opted to ride in another one with the other Mick, leaving no one there to help keep Mick and Keith’s minds away from their thoughts. A thick, murky atmosphere had homed in on them; it was a little chocking to someone who was not used to being in their vicinity. No words of anything passed between the two-- what more was there to say? Neither was willing to take the leap of conversing, afraid that an earlier situation would arise and head off into a much more different direction.
With a vacant reply of ‘thanks’ to the driver, both Mick and Keith went into their room. Earlier that day, both had felt the want to share a room together; now, they both regretted that decision in their own way. Now both sat on their separate bed, holding an invisible breath that threatened to burst them. If they were like a doll, it would be bursting their seems with frustration acting like too much stuffing for their cloth bodies to handle. The ice was too thick to crack with meager words that would be used to diffuse this already set ticking time bomb.
Mick sat on his side, his mind in a flurry of thoughts hammering his mind like a ruthless blizzard. His was filled with endless questions: should he? Would he regret advancing on his best friend? How would it affect them in the long run? An endless battlefield, neither gaining any advantage.
Keith was in another plight, very much different yet the same. He could not get the image of Mick grinding with him. He felt those slim hips gliding under his fingers, those firm muscles flexing; everything was just so intoxicating about that image. He only had to worry about jumping Mick in the middle of the night, a hungry, deep lusting urge that had built up inside him over the years. Most of it could have been from denial; being attracted to his best friend felt weird. It just never sat right with him. Then it would not matter when he flew up from his covers, startled and beads of cold sweat pooling around his skin as he had the after-thoughts of a particularly warm experience his dreams brought. Now it was a matter of can he keep himself off of Mick for the rest of the night.
The minutes ticked by painfully and slow. Keith was sure that his heartbeat could cause him a self-brought on nuclear explosion. Mick had turned around to look at Keith as the boy stared into space. At the moment Mick turned, so had Keith. They were not fast enough to look away as other had become locked eye to eye. Now, they were effortlessly drawn into each other, bound with an invisible chain. There was no way neither could back away
Mick was the first to move, effortlessly standing up from his own bed, never breaking eye contact with each other. Keith followed suit, taking the first steps towards the older male. Keith reached out a hand, first in hesitance, then in a much more confident matter. Calloused fingers made a soft contact with Mick’s nearly translucent skin. Chipped fingernails had lightly ghosted over Mick’s cheek, marveling at the softness, almost baby quality, texture of Mick’s skin. This maudlin touch is enough to spring Mick into life. He raised his own hand and placed it on Keith’s motionless arm, grazing at the cloth material currently shrouding Keith’s arm. The leaned into each other, enjoying the others’ touch. The previous atmosphere had nearly melted away, allowing for much more sentimental environment to blossom forth. Keith’s eyes settled lower, obviously on Mick’s lips and Mick caught onto it quickly.
Without a single warning, Mick shot a hand up to the back of Keith’s neck and pulled both in for an almost bruising kiss. In that moment, all frustrations and hesitance was pushed aside to make room form much more lustful feelings. Their tongues slid together, dancing with each other as they had earlier. They both extracted groans to which the other was eager to receive. Keith’s palms grasped at the clothing for a support balance, to really see if this were happening, not just some vivid dream that his mind was doing. Both were eager into getting things moving but wanted to enjoy the feelings of his first hand.
Keith began to fumble at the sweatshirt that was on Mick’s chest, the buttons feeling like they were oiled up for this occasion, slipping through his fingers. Finally, he extracted Mick from these restraints, his now curious fingers free to roam around the surface of that warm skin. Mick’s fingers inched towards Keith’s pants and had no problem in releasing him: he simply grasped the button and yanked on it, jerking Keith’s hips with the force.
“Don’t destroy my pants tonight,” Keith spoke the first words since their time at the club. “They’re a favorite…”
Mick hummed in acknowledgment and eased his grip on Keith’s pants. Keith brought his hands down to cover Mick’s jutting hips and gripped them tight. In an instant, Keith pushed Mick back, aiming for the bed. Mick, not expecting the sudden movement, cried out in surprise and grasped Keith’s nearly shed shirt. Both tumbled onto the soft bed, the air whooshing around their ears in a fast paste. As soon as Mick gained his bearings, a pair of chapped lips were on his own, hands, like calloused footed spiders, were creeping up and down his stomach. He reveled in the way that Keith was making him respond.
He felt like a puppet, Keith being the puppeteer. Keith was skilled in bringing out the right reactions, the perfect timing, the correct level of ecstasy that it was like Keith was a separated part of his soul that manifested into another human being; that human being his one, true piece of his missing self. Grunts and moans furnished the room, leaving no pace for any other sounds to occupy the area. With both set free from the restraints of clothes, both freely moved about each other, executing paths that would lead to the other claiming their territory. Keith began to line himself up to Mick, sliding their bodies into one path. He rustled with Mick’s backside, sliding his hands around the sharp shoulder blades.
Mick’s hands found a home resting on the small of Keith’s back, feeling muscles tense and flex with every coordinated movement. Keith raised his hand and spat on it, using it as a natural lubricant and rubbed it on himself. He felt those stick-thin legs form a firm hold his waist. It was then that h began to push himself inside the singer that was so willing to offer him his body. Keith was temporarily blinded by the onslaught of ecstasy as he was completely engulfed in the sensations from Mick’s body.
Mick could not speak; his mind was over washed by these vibes that fluttered through his body, over-powering the ability to form coherent sentences. Keith’s mouth was then there to stop these cut, short sentences. It was as though he was collecting payment. Their hips began to move together, unified into a single stroke. Keith would call with a quick snap of his hips and Mick would respond to it with a near musical vocal. A heat surged forth through their bodies as they sped up, the bed squeaking under the weight of the two males. Bright flashes had pirouetted over their vision as the heat suddenly exploded, sending crashing waves throughout each. They burned brightly, high in the sky, into the atmosphere before loosing that momentum and falling back to where they were now.
Keith then collapsed on top of Mick, his arms, like jelly, giving out from under him. They lay there like that, just in sweaty heaps calming down as the shockwaves finished off. With effort, Keith finally pushed himself off and rolled over on his side, his eyes gazing at Mick as the boy calmed down; Mick turned his head to where Keith laid. Keith reached out a hand to caress the sweat drenched bangs that clung to his forehead. No words flashed, only their eyes exchanged their feelings like they were reading into each other’s souls; in a way, they could. A deep connection had already forged between them, leaving them connected on nearly all levels of focus: sight, touch, taste, whatever it was, there definitely was an interlocked pact with them.
They both fell into a sleepy conscience and eventually, into a dreaming state. They would wake up like that only to find themselves entangled together; that was just how it was always be: both ending with each other, no way to separate themselves; they would always have a reason to come back, whether begrudgingly or happily.
There was no way to avoid this fact, and oddly, both of them enjoyed it to its fullest.
Rating: R
Pairings: Keith/Mick
Word Count: 5066
Disclaimer: Like said many times before, I don't own the Stones, and that is a pity.
Willie Dixon’s voice lightly glazed the air as he dripped from the speakers sensually that seemed to be forgotten by the crowd.
The large room held little commoners in it seeing that the sky had dusted into a light citrus-orange color, yellow filtering at the edges of the sky. The late afternoon light padded its way into the room and gave fluorescent highlights to the surface of the surroundings, giving a faint reminiscent look of an old, yet sophisticated building. A man sat at the table in a far left corner of the room, sporting an inattentive look, gazing out at the crowd. Fingernails rose to scratch at his slightly greasy hair. A huff left from his parched lips.
Keith sat at the table, his faithful buddy Jack Daniels on the table right beside him; the man had nearly given him all the advice he could offer, seeing that a thin strip of ale colored liquid was left at the bottom. His eyes stared out at the dance floor and the morphing shapes of the human beings jiving on the dance floor. It felt a little empty due to the lack of commotion. People asked to dance with other people, observing the fact that there were not many to choose from. Keith had watched as many people come up to him for a dance, only to be scorned with a glare and they backed off.
Keith vacantly studied the other people, rather few people; there was about roughly thirty-five, forty at the most. The music was not very interesting, although the occasional Muddy song, or Jimmy Reed song would catch his ears in surprise, but nothing that rang through the room fascinated his interest to go out and mingle with the room's inhabitants.
A warm scent crept into Keith’s nostrils, diverting his attention from mindless thoughts concerning others. A paper cup was sat down in his line of vision, the hazy trail of steam departing from the cup lazily. He gazed at the milky light green color as it sat motionless in the cup, seemingly sharing the same train of thought that was unfolding in his head. Keith revolved his head to cast an inquiring glance to that had just seated themselves beside him, and to find out who got him the tea.
His eyes settled on Charlie, their quiet and levelheaded drummer. An eyebrow rose briefly before knotting into confusion. First of all, it was Charlie-- the man rarely went out to have fun with them, usually opting to stay away from the women who pursued the band platonically and obsessively, usually he would have a drink or two, but that’s all the far that the man was willing to go. Secondly, he expected it was some woman who would approach Keith, not Charlie.
“Figured you could use some company,” Charlie spoke as he tipped his cup towards his mouth.
“What are you even doing here?” Keith asked bluntly, his mind jabbing him for answers. “I thought you said that you’d rather stay at the hotel. What changed?”
Charlie stopped drinking for a moment to put his cup down. “I do like to go out sometimes; I’m not always staying at home, or in the dressing room to avoid people.”
“You sure act that way,” Keith said lightly.
Charlie shrugged his shoulders.
“Why don’t you go out and have fun? Since you’re here, you might as well go pick up someone or two.”
Charlie did not spare him a glance. “Even though I came here, I don’t want to mingle with people. Besides, I only do that when Shirley’s around; other then that, I don’t really feel like dancing.”
“You need to get out more Charlie,” Keith stated it as though it were a fact. He turned in full view of the drummer. “It’s kind of depressing when you hang around in the background by yourself. That’s why there are such things as meeting new people.”
Charlie took a calm sip of his drink. “I’m not like that Keith. The point of marriage is not to go out and cheat on the one you love just because you are lonely; it does not work like that. And it shows that your vows aren‘t as important as you made them out to be”
Keith took it in for a moment, letting it simmer in his mind before he shrugged his shoulders. “Well it’s your life; you do what you want with it.”
Both men sat there, a mutual silence hanging around as they scanned out the crowd. Keith shifted, feeling the warmth of the heated paper cup in his fingers. Keith’s orbs then locked onto another person in the crowd, swaying to the beat of the music, legs moving in a fashion that complimented the crowd. His eyes watched as the figure came shimmying up to him. Mick was grinning and fluidly moving his hips towards Keith. Mick folded his arms onto the rail that separated the dance floor from Keith, leaning in to get a look at Keith. The other man just rolled his eyes.
Mick was very graceful out on the dance floor and that was not much of a shock. Mick, quite often, flaunted that ability to capture people’s attention and used it to his advantage. Just one turn and it you were under their magnetic attraction. In addition, if Mick found a way to show off, he would. Anything to be sexual he would do. He liked to strut with a swagger that definitely spoke ‘I’m open to anything you can throw at me’, definitely causing some very curious glances.
“C’mon Keith,” the singer tried to goad the younger male, “why don’t you come out and have some fun? Don’t be a sourpuss and glare at people all day.”
Keith snorted. “Not everyone wants to dance Mick.”
Mick leaned in closely, his brown hair falling over the bone-thin shoulders he possessed. “I see. Oh Keith, you could have just told me that you could not dance; I could teach you. Is that why you won’t?” Mick coaxed in a slightly sweet voice.
Keith scoffed. “And have you make a fool of me and you? I think I’ll pass on that.” At that point, Keith crossed his arms over his narrow chest.
“You wound me Keith, right here,” Mick said, feigning an over-dramatized hurt voice, placing a hand above his heart.
“Not my fault if you have overly sensitive feelings.” Keith played along with Mick’s show of hurt feelings.
Out of the corner of their eyes, Mick Taylor stumbled from the morphing shape of the crowd. He was their newest guitarist for about a few months and he was gelling along nicely within the ever-progressing sound that the Stones were changing and upgrading. He was a little ruffled and his face slightly dusted a ruby color.
“How’re you holdin’ up there Taylor? Any hard times?” Mick said brightly.
“Uh, not really sure.” Taylor sounded confused. “I don’t really dance a lot and people are asking me to; I just don’t know, really.
Suddenly like light spilling into a darkened room, a smile split Mick’s face and he turned his eyes to Keith and back to little Mick. It could have been a devious smile, bright flecks of another emotion flickering through Mick’s eyes, translating onto his face. He turned fully to Mick Taylor.
Before another movement could have been made, a voice boomed from the loudspeakers to catch the attention of the dancers. “All right ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for a slow dance; you all know what time it is, so grab a gal or a guy and head out to the dance floor, because now it’s ‘Couples Retreat.’ Let me play a nice, soothing one that will definitely get you in the mood for some loving.”
The lights lowered until they barely caressed the waxed hardwood floor as the bodies of eager people migrated into the center. Small lights littering the walls came to life, pouring dim pathways around the walls, hoping that these small orbs would give an implied romantic quality for the dancers eager for the challenge. Music began to sensually drip from the speakers, delicately prowling through the room to the end of the walls at their corners. Soft melodies launched, indicating that soon the room would be aglow with the light sensations.
A voice drips down the speakers, unwittingly singing about things that had gone out of fashion a long time ago; perhaps seen as unpopular with the young people. It is a favorite of the older generation, but it never seemed to hitch on the fast, bellowing train that rode into he hearts of the youth. Strangely, it seemed appropriate for this time, no one complained the lack of hipness to it, nor did they stop and stare at the choice of music that the song had acquired; they only cared about being near their designated partner, if only temporarily.
Keith’s eyes reflected these electric candlelight flames in his eyes. Mick on the other hand, looked around, and turned back to Taylor. “So Taylor, I heard you’re not sure how to dance right? I could teach you, since Keith wants to be a sourpuss about it.”
Keith made a grunt of acknowledgment over his mouthful of a tangy flavored tea. Mick T. looked at Mick, doubt forming in his mind over the situation if Mick could deliver what he was proposing. “Oh come on,” Mick said, nearly throwing his hands up, “don’t be like Keith over there. Just try it out; it could be fun.”
“About as fun as falling all over yourself,” Keith said off-hand, and Mick stuck his tongue out at Keith. Keith just rolled his eyes at the childish nature.
“So, what do you say Taylor? Wanna give it a go then, yeah?”
The younger man thought about it and finally agreed with a meager, ‘Okay’. Before Taylor had a chance to do anything more, Mick clasped a hand over the young guitarist’s wrist and quickly led them both to the dance floor. Mick nearly caused the other younger Mick to stumble over other things on the dance floor: his own shoes, other people he did not see, going up the mini flight of stair to get on the floor. Mick stopped inside the crowd, but close enough to be seen by his other bandmates.
Keith watched as Mick led their guitarist out onto the floor. Poor Mick T. looked like a lamb heading out into a wolf den with Mick as their fearless, but very much inexperienced leader. He absently watched them with little interest as the pair set up for their little dance. Keith’s fingers had closed in around his cup and remained there. His eyes followed the movements of them as they fell into place with the others. It seemed like Mick was teaching Taylor how to slow dance.
Keith’s mind became infested with one specific thought, slowly building up, slowly bulldozing over the other hanging on ideas. His eyes watched as Mick’s hand slid over to rest on little Mick’s waist and firmly made its resting place; his other hand had firmly sewn itself into Taylor’s other hand to raise it to a proper height.
Keith was not aware of his fingers slightly squeezing the cup that lay trapped between his palms was being slightly rumpled. His breathing had stirred and his heartbeat sped up a bit. With a focused gaze, Keith watched as Mick leaned in and became really close with the younger man, though he was whispering to Taylor about something; Keith’s mind flew down another separate avenue. Something about this image, the way it was playing out (at least in Keith’s mind) had sent an altogether different feeling through and up Keith’s spine, firmly wrapping a tight hold.
“Keith,” came the slightly amused voice, “you’re going to crush your cup if you don’t loosen up.”
Keith blinked, temporarily pulled from his stupor to gaze down at the cup: even though it was almost empty, his fingers had gained a tight embrace around the cup, causing wrinkles to mar its physical appearance. The remaining liquid had been pushed up to nearly the top, almost pouring out. Keith raised the cup and downed the rest in a swift gulp that came with years of practice. Keith set the cup down, his eyes following their path back to those two that he had been watching.
Again, Keith watched as they both moved in synchronicity, their legs mirroring every coordinated step. They gazed at each other, the occasional laugh coming from Mick, coupled with a look of determination from Taylor’s face. Keith was dubiously of his fingers taking the paper cup in both of his hands, his fingers clenching to only unwind around the cup, repeating the process in repetition. Mick leaned in farther to Taylor, and Taylor moved back, giving the impression that Mick was leaning in for a kiss and it jolted Keith to sit up straight, his back snapping up with not much of a thought. The paper cup was now clenched in his fingers, the afflicted movements of his fingers slowly and mercilessly crushing the cup.
There was little (from where Keith sat; he could not decipher how much exactly) room between the two males’ bodies, looking conjoined at the hip. In Keith’s mind, something about this was not sitting right or properly like oil and water. Absently, his fingers began tearing at the cup. Tense movements were in his guitar-skilled fingers washed over them as easily as light does darkness. The lights reflected off their beings in small, cut-off strips, highlighting the places that Keith could see so well. The guitarist’s stomach clenched tightly as a pure shot of envy gushed into his gut, forming thick, murky walls.
There was a flare-up in Keith’s stomach that spread through his body as he tensed when Mick leaned his head on Taylor’s, setting his fingers off under the spell of anger and viscously tore the cup in half, clenching the pieces in a possessive bind that Keith never thought he had; his fingers rolling over up and squeezing it. He bit his lip, the pressure building in his jaw. He sucked in a sharp breath and curled his toes.
Just then, his mind reeled back to reality. Why was he angry? Why was he jealous? Most of all, why was he getting upset of two people dancing? There wasn’t anything wrong about, just two friends having fun. In a dimly-lit room. On a floor. Nearly cuddling. Keith’s mind began to combine things and ideas together to form a conclusion, most of which had never really happened-- his mind was just going haywire at the sudden affection he had for getting jealous at this seemingly innocent display of fun.
Keith’s fingers itched to grab a cigarette and aggressively smoke it, to feel that desirable chemical called nicotine flooding through his blood, easing away the tense pressure that built up in his nerves, just dragging on it so aggressively that it was to become nothing more then a brittle, quivering tower of ash. His mind was like a radio tower that was snapped and bent, receiving no signal except worrying about its own problems. With a mind nothing more then an endless land of white-hot jealousy, Keith paid no mind to anything around him. Few people walked by, staring at the boy who was so despairingly gazing that it could melt lead; his scathing glare could strip the paint of a fresh, new car.
A chuckle softly entered into his ear as he snapped his neck to the source of the voice. Charlie was bemusedly gazing at him. “If you wanted to dance, then you should have said so,” the man said as if it were the most simplest thing in the world.
“I uh, I-- wasn’t sure if I should,” Keith hastily replied, hoping not to look suspicious.
“Well that cup says so otherwise.”
Keith looked down, just now noticing the paper material being erratically clenched between his fingers. The guitarist relaxed his grip on them, watching as it fell the ground softly. His mind slightly tugged at his attention, wanting it to go back to what he was viewing.
Both had disappeared as Keith went back to find them, seemingly like they were engulfed inside of the crowd. Keith’s mind was gradually winding up, but yet, it was clearing itself of previous thoughts. Two very distinctive voices came into Keith’s ears as he looked up; spotting the two Mick’s advancing back. A feeling of foreign activity was welling up in the pit of his gut.
Taylor had a small smile on his face, while Mick was talking animatedly. Mick T. went to sit down beside Charlie, the older gave a curt nod and Keith decided to still sit there.
“By the way,” Mick remarked, turning his head around, “where’s Bill? He was here with us when we came, wasn’t he?”
“Bill left with Astrid to go shopping. He didn’t feel like saying anything, but told me to relay the message.” Charlie spoke without even raising his head to give them a head-on stare. Mick shrugged his shoulders.
“That wraps up our ‘Couples Retreat’ set. Now grab a partner because it’s about to get down and dirty,” spoke the announcer, trying to incorporate a type of in-style slang. The music changed and a more danceable beat spiraled from the speakers at an instant.
Mick’s eyes lit up and he grinned back at Keith. “So, are you ready to ‘get down’ Keith? Or just sit back here like a lost child?”
Keith thought for a moment. He wordlessly stood up and approached Mick. “Fine then, I’ll do it.” The was a slight challenging sense wrapped in Keith’s words. Mick raised an eyebrow at this new fond bravery jutting from Keith’s words. Both soon advanced onto the dance floor as the music was bulging from the loudspeakers. As the music firmly set its place, Mick began to move as people crowded around them, their thoughts somewhere else, not focusing on the two rockstars. Mick began to sway his hips in rhythm to the song and Keith watched, slightly fascinated.
The song advanced as the two became lost in the sensual beats and only focusing on each other. Keith stepped forwards, his legs moving and Mick did the same, coming together. Their hands met together, and a bond was sewn into place. The noises had began to garrote around them, all sounds seemingly not as important as the other set of eyes and body. Their hips ground together, scrapping against each other in more then just a friendly way. Keith began to feel the need to pull the singer closer, to feel that skinny body moving against him, the set of fingers that would be at his own waist, hot breaths mingling into one finalized sequence.
This was nearly too much as they were drowning in each other, their lips nearly collided in spontaneously developed desire. Both dreadfully realized this and sharply separated before anything else could go farther. Pretty sure that the crowd would notice two people that were males-- no, they would notice Mick Jagger and Keith Richards sucking face on the dance floor. Wouldn’t that make a merry picture for Sunday’s paper when the conservatives were at home enjoying their morning coffee? Both were obviously flustered, but could not tell due to the slight cover of flashing lights echoing through the room, silently thanking this brief invisibility.
Both came back to their table, awkwardly seating themselves in the cushioned chairs. Taylor was chatting with Charlie, both obviously enjoying what knowledge they brought forth to each other. Through the rest of the night, both Mick and Keith could barely hang on to any thoughts-- whether vague of full, neither could keep their minds from wondering back to their brief, but heated, encounter on the dance floor.
The night advanced with little hitches: the occasional badgering female, the fans who wanted an autograph, or the heated gazes that both Mick and Keith gave each other. Both had known that the inevitable attraction would happen. There was that obvious, yet un-obvious force that united them. No matter how often others became close to them, they never were as important as Mick and Keith were to each other. It sometimes caused problems: Anita, Keith’s girlfriend and Brian’s ex, had gotten quite upset over it, causing her to find a way to get even-- driving what she referred as getting back: pushing a wedge between them. It never worked out successfully, even though she did try, Keith still loved her.
Marianne had even caught on to the tensions that were yet to be unnoticed by the boys themselves. She caught onto it especially with Mick: she had shared the same problems because she too was in love with Keith. They had bonded over it, but soon the main thing in her life became the destructive muse heroin. She fell apart and there was nothing Mick could do about, rather anyone for that matter. But like always, Mick came to Keith. Now, it was back to the same people: Mick and Keith forever entwined through happy and cynical times.
The cab ride home was, as one who was merely looking upon the situation, tense and a feeling of awkward silence-- at least between Mick and Keith who were in the back of the cab together. Charlie had opted to ride in another one with the other Mick, leaving no one there to help keep Mick and Keith’s minds away from their thoughts. A thick, murky atmosphere had homed in on them; it was a little chocking to someone who was not used to being in their vicinity. No words of anything passed between the two-- what more was there to say? Neither was willing to take the leap of conversing, afraid that an earlier situation would arise and head off into a much more different direction.
With a vacant reply of ‘thanks’ to the driver, both Mick and Keith went into their room. Earlier that day, both had felt the want to share a room together; now, they both regretted that decision in their own way. Now both sat on their separate bed, holding an invisible breath that threatened to burst them. If they were like a doll, it would be bursting their seems with frustration acting like too much stuffing for their cloth bodies to handle. The ice was too thick to crack with meager words that would be used to diffuse this already set ticking time bomb.
Mick sat on his side, his mind in a flurry of thoughts hammering his mind like a ruthless blizzard. His was filled with endless questions: should he? Would he regret advancing on his best friend? How would it affect them in the long run? An endless battlefield, neither gaining any advantage.
Keith was in another plight, very much different yet the same. He could not get the image of Mick grinding with him. He felt those slim hips gliding under his fingers, those firm muscles flexing; everything was just so intoxicating about that image. He only had to worry about jumping Mick in the middle of the night, a hungry, deep lusting urge that had built up inside him over the years. Most of it could have been from denial; being attracted to his best friend felt weird. It just never sat right with him. Then it would not matter when he flew up from his covers, startled and beads of cold sweat pooling around his skin as he had the after-thoughts of a particularly warm experience his dreams brought. Now it was a matter of can he keep himself off of Mick for the rest of the night.
The minutes ticked by painfully and slow. Keith was sure that his heartbeat could cause him a self-brought on nuclear explosion. Mick had turned around to look at Keith as the boy stared into space. At the moment Mick turned, so had Keith. They were not fast enough to look away as other had become locked eye to eye. Now, they were effortlessly drawn into each other, bound with an invisible chain. There was no way neither could back away
Mick was the first to move, effortlessly standing up from his own bed, never breaking eye contact with each other. Keith followed suit, taking the first steps towards the older male. Keith reached out a hand, first in hesitance, then in a much more confident matter. Calloused fingers made a soft contact with Mick’s nearly translucent skin. Chipped fingernails had lightly ghosted over Mick’s cheek, marveling at the softness, almost baby quality, texture of Mick’s skin. This maudlin touch is enough to spring Mick into life. He raised his own hand and placed it on Keith’s motionless arm, grazing at the cloth material currently shrouding Keith’s arm. The leaned into each other, enjoying the others’ touch. The previous atmosphere had nearly melted away, allowing for much more sentimental environment to blossom forth. Keith’s eyes settled lower, obviously on Mick’s lips and Mick caught onto it quickly.
Without a single warning, Mick shot a hand up to the back of Keith’s neck and pulled both in for an almost bruising kiss. In that moment, all frustrations and hesitance was pushed aside to make room form much more lustful feelings. Their tongues slid together, dancing with each other as they had earlier. They both extracted groans to which the other was eager to receive. Keith’s palms grasped at the clothing for a support balance, to really see if this were happening, not just some vivid dream that his mind was doing. Both were eager into getting things moving but wanted to enjoy the feelings of his first hand.
Keith began to fumble at the sweatshirt that was on Mick’s chest, the buttons feeling like they were oiled up for this occasion, slipping through his fingers. Finally, he extracted Mick from these restraints, his now curious fingers free to roam around the surface of that warm skin. Mick’s fingers inched towards Keith’s pants and had no problem in releasing him: he simply grasped the button and yanked on it, jerking Keith’s hips with the force.
“Don’t destroy my pants tonight,” Keith spoke the first words since their time at the club. “They’re a favorite…”
Mick hummed in acknowledgment and eased his grip on Keith’s pants. Keith brought his hands down to cover Mick’s jutting hips and gripped them tight. In an instant, Keith pushed Mick back, aiming for the bed. Mick, not expecting the sudden movement, cried out in surprise and grasped Keith’s nearly shed shirt. Both tumbled onto the soft bed, the air whooshing around their ears in a fast paste. As soon as Mick gained his bearings, a pair of chapped lips were on his own, hands, like calloused footed spiders, were creeping up and down his stomach. He reveled in the way that Keith was making him respond.
He felt like a puppet, Keith being the puppeteer. Keith was skilled in bringing out the right reactions, the perfect timing, the correct level of ecstasy that it was like Keith was a separated part of his soul that manifested into another human being; that human being his one, true piece of his missing self. Grunts and moans furnished the room, leaving no pace for any other sounds to occupy the area. With both set free from the restraints of clothes, both freely moved about each other, executing paths that would lead to the other claiming their territory. Keith began to line himself up to Mick, sliding their bodies into one path. He rustled with Mick’s backside, sliding his hands around the sharp shoulder blades.
Mick’s hands found a home resting on the small of Keith’s back, feeling muscles tense and flex with every coordinated movement. Keith raised his hand and spat on it, using it as a natural lubricant and rubbed it on himself. He felt those stick-thin legs form a firm hold his waist. It was then that h began to push himself inside the singer that was so willing to offer him his body. Keith was temporarily blinded by the onslaught of ecstasy as he was completely engulfed in the sensations from Mick’s body.
Mick could not speak; his mind was over washed by these vibes that fluttered through his body, over-powering the ability to form coherent sentences. Keith’s mouth was then there to stop these cut, short sentences. It was as though he was collecting payment. Their hips began to move together, unified into a single stroke. Keith would call with a quick snap of his hips and Mick would respond to it with a near musical vocal. A heat surged forth through their bodies as they sped up, the bed squeaking under the weight of the two males. Bright flashes had pirouetted over their vision as the heat suddenly exploded, sending crashing waves throughout each. They burned brightly, high in the sky, into the atmosphere before loosing that momentum and falling back to where they were now.
Keith then collapsed on top of Mick, his arms, like jelly, giving out from under him. They lay there like that, just in sweaty heaps calming down as the shockwaves finished off. With effort, Keith finally pushed himself off and rolled over on his side, his eyes gazing at Mick as the boy calmed down; Mick turned his head to where Keith laid. Keith reached out a hand to caress the sweat drenched bangs that clung to his forehead. No words flashed, only their eyes exchanged their feelings like they were reading into each other’s souls; in a way, they could. A deep connection had already forged between them, leaving them connected on nearly all levels of focus: sight, touch, taste, whatever it was, there definitely was an interlocked pact with them.
They both fell into a sleepy conscience and eventually, into a dreaming state. They would wake up like that only to find themselves entangled together; that was just how it was always be: both ending with each other, no way to separate themselves; they would always have a reason to come back, whether begrudgingly or happily.
There was no way to avoid this fact, and oddly, both of them enjoyed it to its fullest.