The Who: Summer Rain (3/4)
Title: Summer Rain (3/4)
Pairing: John/Keith
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Just Keith and John doing the usual: going out, getting smashed... gardening. ;)
Warnings: -
Author's notes: Sorry, this took quite a while (stupid RL was interfering). And also sorry for the abrupt ending,I'll try to make amends with the next and last chapter. Thanks to
sittinonthedock for her opinion when I couldn't judge. ;)
Disclaimer: Neither did this happen nor do I own anything.
His first conscious breath brought the smell of summer rain with it.
The kind of rain that would fall warm on your skin on a hot day and bring just a tiny bit of relief, a short pause from the pungent city smells and the thick air. It was an enjoyable smell to wake up to, but Keith wasn’t very responsive to it due to an unpleasant dryness in his mouth and a pounding headache behind his eyes.
Reluctantly he opened one of his eyes to take in the surroundings, already anticipating the pain that would shoot through his head when the light fell on his irritated retina. As quick as he could he scanned the room and closed his eye again - definitely John’s place.
He had spent enough nights in the little guest room across from the master bedroom to be able to conjure it up now without taking a second look at it.
John called it his room. “You can stay in your room tonight,” he had heard it so often he had lost count.
Not once had he been allowed to stay in the bed John shared with Alison, it was a no-go area. He understood, but deep down inside he was jealous nevertheless. Jealous, not because he disliked her - jealous because she could spend her life with John, day by day, year by year, openly and married.
Keith opened his eyes again, both of them this time. He didn’t want to think about this now.
When his eyes had moderately adjusted to the light he disentangled himself from the sheets and got to his feet. He found his clothes piled up and neatly folded on a chair next to the bed.
When did I?
Realisation hit him like a fist in the stomach and he dropped back onto the bed.
He had done it again.
A blur of vague impressions of a crowded club, sweaty glasses and grey asphalt and the smell of leather closed in on him. Once again he had gone and ruined it all.
He rubbed his face almost violently, as if to punish himself. His lethargic sleepiness was gone all of a sudden, replaced by a blind activism. He got up again, an overwhelming feeling of guilt sitting at the back of his neck.
He had to find John to apologise at once.
The master bedroom was abandoned when he peered into it, so he made his way down the stairs, searching for his friend, finding Hamish and Jason instead, John’s big Irish Wolfhounds that eyed him friendly, but just as reserved as their owner. He gently patted Jason’s head at the height of his own hip. “Where’s your master, huh?”
The dog looked at him out of his slightly sad brown eyes slowly wagging his tail. Keith remembered fleetingly how one day John had claimed that he had just the same expression in his eyes at times.
It was a soft string of curses that raised him from his thoughts. He didn’t need to see the reaction of the dogs to know that it could only be John.
Keith looked in the direction the sounds came from and found the French window that led into the garden open, rain - he hadn’t noticed it before - fell down on the terrace on the other side of it. It wasn’t long before the frame was filled by John’s silhouette. The dogs began to move forward in direction of their master, while Keith stayed behind.
He couldn’t suppress a smile despite his bad conscience. No one else would dress like that to work in the garden - pin-striped trousers, a black buttoned shirt and dark green Wellington boots to complete the look. John’s usually carefully groomed hair however seemed to have a mind of its own, strands of it stuck out at the back of his head.
John wouldn’t be amused. Why was it that they called Roger the ‘Duchess’ again?
The smile faded quickly when he saw the disgruntled expression on John’s face. And the guilty feelings returned with full force when he recalled in which kind of situations John usually resorted to gardening.
Hesitatingly he stepped closer to John who was lovingly petting his dogs whispering words to them that Keith couldn’t make out.
He cleared his throat to announce his presence. John looked up.
“Oh, you’re awake already,” his voice didn’t betray what he thought. It was maddening that after all these years he still wasn’t able to read his friend’s expressions as well as John could read his.
“Listen,” Keith decided to be brave and just go through with it, „I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for the night to end like this.“ He lowered his gaze to the floor.
Not that I remember exactly how it ended.
Tears filled his eyes and the words got stuck in his throat.
Pairing: John/Keith
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Just Keith and John doing the usual: going out, getting smashed... gardening. ;)
Warnings: -
Author's notes: Sorry, this took quite a while (stupid RL was interfering). And also sorry for the abrupt ending,I'll try to make amends with the next and last chapter. Thanks to
sittinonthedock for her opinion when I couldn't judge. ;)
Disclaimer: Neither did this happen nor do I own anything.
His first conscious breath brought the smell of summer rain with it.
The kind of rain that would fall warm on your skin on a hot day and bring just a tiny bit of relief, a short pause from the pungent city smells and the thick air. It was an enjoyable smell to wake up to, but Keith wasn’t very responsive to it due to an unpleasant dryness in his mouth and a pounding headache behind his eyes.
Reluctantly he opened one of his eyes to take in the surroundings, already anticipating the pain that would shoot through his head when the light fell on his irritated retina. As quick as he could he scanned the room and closed his eye again - definitely John’s place.
He had spent enough nights in the little guest room across from the master bedroom to be able to conjure it up now without taking a second look at it.
John called it his room. “You can stay in your room tonight,” he had heard it so often he had lost count.
Not once had he been allowed to stay in the bed John shared with Alison, it was a no-go area. He understood, but deep down inside he was jealous nevertheless. Jealous, not because he disliked her - jealous because she could spend her life with John, day by day, year by year, openly and married.
Keith opened his eyes again, both of them this time. He didn’t want to think about this now.
When his eyes had moderately adjusted to the light he disentangled himself from the sheets and got to his feet. He found his clothes piled up and neatly folded on a chair next to the bed.
When did I?
Realisation hit him like a fist in the stomach and he dropped back onto the bed.
He had done it again.
A blur of vague impressions of a crowded club, sweaty glasses and grey asphalt and the smell of leather closed in on him. Once again he had gone and ruined it all.
He rubbed his face almost violently, as if to punish himself. His lethargic sleepiness was gone all of a sudden, replaced by a blind activism. He got up again, an overwhelming feeling of guilt sitting at the back of his neck.
He had to find John to apologise at once.
The master bedroom was abandoned when he peered into it, so he made his way down the stairs, searching for his friend, finding Hamish and Jason instead, John’s big Irish Wolfhounds that eyed him friendly, but just as reserved as their owner. He gently patted Jason’s head at the height of his own hip. “Where’s your master, huh?”
The dog looked at him out of his slightly sad brown eyes slowly wagging his tail. Keith remembered fleetingly how one day John had claimed that he had just the same expression in his eyes at times.
It was a soft string of curses that raised him from his thoughts. He didn’t need to see the reaction of the dogs to know that it could only be John.
Keith looked in the direction the sounds came from and found the French window that led into the garden open, rain - he hadn’t noticed it before - fell down on the terrace on the other side of it. It wasn’t long before the frame was filled by John’s silhouette. The dogs began to move forward in direction of their master, while Keith stayed behind.
He couldn’t suppress a smile despite his bad conscience. No one else would dress like that to work in the garden - pin-striped trousers, a black buttoned shirt and dark green Wellington boots to complete the look. John’s usually carefully groomed hair however seemed to have a mind of its own, strands of it stuck out at the back of his head.
John wouldn’t be amused. Why was it that they called Roger the ‘Duchess’ again?
The smile faded quickly when he saw the disgruntled expression on John’s face. And the guilty feelings returned with full force when he recalled in which kind of situations John usually resorted to gardening.
Hesitatingly he stepped closer to John who was lovingly petting his dogs whispering words to them that Keith couldn’t make out.
He cleared his throat to announce his presence. John looked up.
“Oh, you’re awake already,” his voice didn’t betray what he thought. It was maddening that after all these years he still wasn’t able to read his friend’s expressions as well as John could read his.
“Listen,” Keith decided to be brave and just go through with it, „I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for the night to end like this.“ He lowered his gaze to the floor.
Not that I remember exactly how it ended.
Tears filled his eyes and the words got stuck in his throat.