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Hey, after many days of lazing around, I finally got off my a** and typed up the rest of my slash story. I wrote it a long time ago (Feb. 2) and I have just decided to put it up. So, here it is.
Edit: I really have to finish up the other stories, but I have some I have to get up.
Edit 2: This was actually inspired by one of friends' book. Her "Rolling with the Stones" book by Bill Wyman. He briefly mentioned that Marc Bolan came and visited one of the '71 sessions (I think before they headed off to France). Marc had caused a gig stir by kissing Mick full on the lips. I thought I would write about that.
Title: Not Like That
Pairings: Keith Richards/Mick Jagger, brief Marc Bolan/Mick Jagger
Rating: PG 13
Disclaimer: Yeah, I don't actually on the Stones or Marc. If I did... *thinks of gutter thoughts*.
--
Keith sat in the back of the plane. He was slumped in his chair. He wouldn't call it sulking or brooding, he thought he was above that. It was more as thinking in what he liked to call. His eyes were narrowed and were occasionally drifting around the plane. His eyes locked onto random objects and people. Keith just happened to try and glare it into a spontaneous combustion. He flexed his fingers on the arm rest for the millionth time.
He would shift his gaze around and they happened to fall upon the window. The ground was steadily vanishing from his line of vision; as the plane ascended higher into the sky, so did his temper.
He was so ******** pissed. His mind would not stop replaying the past few days in his mind, as though he was stuck on repeat. Keith bit his lip and narrowed his eyes. It wasn't his fault that it happened. It was all that c**t Mi-...
Why the ******** was he acting like this? He didn't really have a good reason to be like this. He couldn't quite justify his behavior. Whatever his band mate did, it wasn't much of his business. Keith couldn't really give a s**t about what Mick did... but why was it that deep down inside, he didn't believe that?
The day had sailed by without any incident and it wasn’t rushed. They made the most of their time as the clock had ticked away seconds. Keith wasn’t worried about anything; not even the taxes that were looming around them. He laid out some melodies that he had been kicking around and Mick had told him he liked it. With a pen and pad in hand, Mick worked out a few words to go with it.
As Mick and Keith started to piece together a suitable base for the soon-to-be song, the studio door swung open. Keith wasn’t sure who it was, but he remembered the clothing: the bright colors, the fluorescent clothing style; it was so flaunting. Keith remembered a sparkling red jacket and a blue scarf. A large head of bed hair (or what Keith assumed it to be) was placed on top of mischievous eyes and a large toothy grin that could have been the size of all London.
He said his name was Marc. Marc Bolan of T.Rex. Keith hadn’t really known of him, probably heard his name on a passing whim. T.Rex was a new band. A wave of this ‘glitter rock’ was happening and Keith wasn’t too fond of it. He didn’t really like it.
Mick adjusted his light pink jacket he had taken to wearing. He greeted Marc and was obviously interested. This new wave of glam bands had interested Mick. Knowing him, he’d try to integrate it into their music (more than there already was). From a different spot in the room, Keith watched with detached interest and was more focused on his guitar.
Keith didn’t really care, as long as he stayed out of their recording. Much to his dismay, he kept asking Mick about a few things.
“What’s this chord progression? I’ve never heard it used that way.”
Keith wasn’t sure, but Marc watched with a grin. Keith questioned himself as to why he let this cat be in here. Without him in here, he could get a lot more work done. After about an hour, Marc bid a farewell and started to leave. Keith thanked whatever force had caused that annoying man to leave.
“Hold up,” Keith turned his head towards Marc. “I almost forgot.”
Keith’s eyes watched Marc stride back over to Mick. He watched as Marc firmly planted himself in front of Mick. He smiled wildly and Mick still watched him. Then what he did next happened before Keith could yell at him to leave.
Marc flung his hands up to Mick’s forearms and pulled him in swiftly and pressed his lips to Mick’s. Keith nearly dropped his guitar when he watched Marc lick Mick’s lips. A wretched feeling rose up into Keith’s chest as he watched Marc swiftly pull away and call out a cheery goodbye.
“Call me if ya want anymore,” Marc called out behind his back.
The room was silent. It leaked out an awkward silence as Keith’s eyes were still firmly locked onto Mick’s figure. Mick laughed sheepishly, which came out as a nervous chuckle. As the session concluded, Keith’s refused to even give Mick a glance. His eyes still seeped in fury. Mick only rolled his eyes and told him to get over it.
So now, Keith was slumped in his chair, glaring daggers at anyone who cared to give him a glance. His eyes were narrowed and he willed anything he looked at to combust into flames. There wasn’t much he could do; he was naturally possessive, but not to an extreme amount. He never let it show much, only letting it come out when it dealt with his guitars.
Keith regarded himself as a sort of protector of Mick. He preferred to think he was protective rather than jealous. He did like to think that he gave a certain shelter to Mick’s feelings; he liked to think he was protecting Mick from getting hurt.
Keith might not have sought out attention like Mick did, but when Mick wasn’t focused on him, it did unnerve him a little. When Mick flaunted over someone, a feeling would well up inside his chest. He didn’t let it show, but he felt it was there.
A certain person that Keith refused to even say their name, was currently being flaunted over by Mick. He hated that woman and thought that Mick didn’t need her.
“Stop fuming like a little child Keith,” a voice had entered through his ears. “No need to get angry when it was really nothing.”
Keith flicked his chocolate gaze to Mick who was standing beside his chair. He gazed at Mick with a lethal glare. Mick chortled as he bemusedly stared at the younger man.
His arms were crossed over his thin but broad chest. The large red ‘3’ that was painted across Mick’s thin and light pink shirt. It glaringly stood out and Keith looked at Mick’s smirking form. He scoffed at him and slightly wrinkled his nose in disgust.
“Keith,” Mick shook his head. “You don’t need to get ruffled. Besides, it’s not like there’s anything going on.”
Keith snorted, doubt still present in his movements. “Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered childishly.
He kept his eyes pressed forewords, but he couldn’t help but watch Mick from the corner of his sight. He saw as Mick narrowed his blue eyes and sigh. Before Keith could react, Mick flung his arms out to grasp Keith’s shirt. He grasped Keith’s collar and jerked him toward him so that Keith was straining over the seat arm.
A warm pair of moist lips were pressed against his thin lips. Mick’s tongue lazily traced over Keith’s bottom lip. Mick pulled back, the corner of his lips quirking up.
“Keith,” he spoke. “Why are you always doubting me?”
“Because you’re always ********’ around with people.”
“Believe what you want Keith, I can’t make you.”
With a quick chaste kiss, Mick had let go of Keith balled up shirt. Keith turned around and watched as Mick walked back up to the front of the plane, his brown eyes tracing every step that the older one took..
Keith scrunched his face up, a scowl and a partial smile competing on his face. He slowly turned back around and saw his powdery white new friend lying on the trey beside him. He sat up fully and leaned on his hand, feeling the growth on his face that he should probably shave off. He eyed the trey, not in the mood for the few times in his life.
He turned away from it and put his gaze upwards. He began to ponder if Marc had actually meant it or he was really just messing around. He decided that Marc did it to upset him.
Or so his mind wanted to believe.
--
Currently listening to "Song Bird" BY Kenny g. Totally love that song.
