...
I wrote this a long time ago and it did take forever to write and post. I wrote it for a certain person who does not like to be named. She knows who she is.
But anyways, I love John/Mick. It's so pretty and is very good. I just wish that everyone would write it. Okay, well, not everyone. Just write some up. Because obviously, this pairing needs more love.
Title: You're No Better Off Than We Are
Pairings: John Lennon/Mick Jagger, John Lennon/Paul McCartney, Keith Richards/Mick Jagger
Rating: R
I will put this after "Jumpin' Jack Flash". I know that I originally had it before "JJF", but I think it would work well around a month before the RnRC. I'd give it November '68.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Stones or the Beatles. It's sad because I would love to.
Again: If you are squicked, then it's not my fault. Don't go on if you hate slash.
--
"Should have just ******** spoke up."
That thought ran through the mind of a frustrated John Lennon. He let out an angry sigh, laced with frustration. He swirled the alcohol around in the glass, the mahogany color sporting a polished shine under the white lights. It gleamed happily but it didn't do much for his sour mood. He had absently pushed up his glasses with his hand.
His eyes were cast out in an unhappy mood. They projected out their own sight into the little crowd in the pub; it was just another nameless bar he had chosen to go to. It didn't really matter if he could get his liquor. John came out to try and get away from the studio; he couldn't even breathe without feeling the tense atmosphere wash onto his body and mind. It was becoming very bitter. John had stormed out, near fury seeping from his pores.
He retreated to the alcohol clutched loosely between his fingertips. John snorted as he brought the glass to his frowning lips and felt the alcohol slide down is throat. The burning sensation gripped at his throat and pooled temporary warmth into his stomach. The bitter feeling returned almost as soon as it left. John didn't feel like pissing the night away and that his problems weren't going to be solved by a few shots of whiskey.
He put the glass down, a silent gesture to show he needed a refill. His dull brown eyes gazed at the polished counter top and stayed there. He then looked up, scanning the small little section of bottles behind the counter. The scent of them mingled together to form a monotonous smell and quality.
"Well hello there John," a voice piped up behind him. "Didn't expect to find you here, of all places."
That familiar voice slid through his unprepared ears. He turned around, genuinely surprised at who was speaking to him.
"Mick," John had said off guard. "What are you doing here?"
"Why John," Mick said in mock hurt. "How could you say that? I like to get out every once in a while. Unlike you, who's now a permanent resident at the studio."
John broke his gaze from Mick, rolling his eyes. Mick's hair was certainly longer, probably to his shoulders. Mick gazed at him through amused blue eyes. John only just shook his head and turned back to his near forgotten glass of whiskey. He could hear Mick ordering himself up a glass of whatever drink he was fancying at the time.
“So John,” Mick turned to him, curiosity edging into his lyrical and dead panned voice. “Why the long look? Last thing I’ve heard was you being into your peace thing or producing an album. What’s changed?”
John’s face briefly slid on a sneer at the mention of the ‘studios’ but quickly hid it by sliding on a fake smile hoping Mick didn’t catch it.
“Just thought to get out, that’s all. Y’know, I don’t live in the studio.”
“And I know that’s one of the worst lies I’ve ever heard.” Mick took the glass into his lanky hand and swallowed the contents without so much as a glance over.
John let out a huff. He knew Mick would press the subject if he didn’t give at least a sufficient answer, knowing him.
“Alright fine, I came to get out of that bloody studio.” Mick briefly set his ocean blue eyes on John from the corner of his eyes then back to his drink. “Atmosphere is bloody strangling.
John knew he had Mick’s attention because Mick fully turned his head towards John, his long strands of chestnut hair falling into his face. Delicate fingers tucked them behind his ears to only fall defiantly out of place. Judging from Lennon’s body movements, even if scarce, they were tense and the atmosphere that was woven around him had thickened like fog and was bitter. Mick leaned on his palms, his chin gripped by his fingers.
“Oh really then? Thought you mates were enough of an agreement with each other. You all seemed on good terms with each other,” Mick remarked, as if he were studying into the subject.
“But that’s only what the public sees, Mick,” John relented his hold on the glass. “You’ve only seen select studio sessions. You weren’t always there for every single one.”
Tilting his head, Mick gave out curious vibes. He wanted to delve deeper, to dissect this situation but he knew that he shouldn’t. John clearly wasn’t on a good mood and if Mick pressed out, John would get angry; John did have a nasty temper and jarring, almost hurtful remarks if he felt threatened. Besides, they seemed like nice lads, and there wasn’t any visible riff in here from what his eyes witnessed.
John let out a strained sigh and placed his hand in his mid length hair. It was definitely getting longer and John just didn’t feel like getting it cut. It was shorter than Mick’s, seeing as his was shoulder length. Leaning on the other hand, John was trying to not vent. Mick gave John a look, one that wanted to know answers and the things John was keeping bottled up.
“Now then, what are you doing out here in a random pub huh, Mick?” John wanted to take the attention off of himself, not wanting to press into matters he had no control over. Ones that slid effortlessly through his hands like water. He directed the same look at Mick as he had done earlier to John.
Mick leaned off his palm and turned to the bar.
“I just,” he hesitated briefly. “Needed a break; I mean, I just want to be able to go somewhere without worrying about the cops.” He fingered the rim of the glass. “It kind of seems like their just waiting to swoop in, trying to bust us everywhere we go.”
'That does make sense,' John thought. Mick was referring to the previous year. It might have been a good year for the Beatles, but not particularly to the Stones. The apparent ‘Summer of Love’ wasn’t so loving to them that year. Involved in many types of scandals: drug busts, jail time, record company pressures, controversial headlines, the band possibly splitting. Even when they had hit singles, it might not have transferred into album sales.
He could tell about the drugs; how Brian was spiraling down into a state of induced paranoia and mental breakdown. Keith seemingly was following that path, but not deteriorating like Brian was.
“With all that’s happened, I’m not surprised were not behind bars.” Mick cringed a little at his own mention of jail.
He would never admit it, but he was actually terrified of going to jail. He had heard so many stories that go on inside the prisons that Mick thought he would have been tossed around like a prized possession. Becoming an unwilling target of their affection. A skinny, androgynous boy like himself wouldn’t last a week up against those brutes, let alone three months.
A chuckle barely breached John’s thin lips at the mention of that. He remembered the lengthy jury sessions and the headliners. The alcohol in his system was taking it’s desired affect, even if it was a little late. He felt buzzed, lighter than usual. He now didn’t really feel the need to stick around, preferring that if he got pissed that night, he’d like it if it didn’t show up in the next days papers. He could practically hear the details being typed up.
“Drunken Beatle John Lennon Goes on A Rampage! Reveals Shocking Details.”
“Well, I’m just going to move out here now. If you don’t mind Mick, would you like to come with me? Better to be with someone than be alone and say, get mobbed alone.” Mick looked up at Lennon’s ascending posture. “Besides, it’s going to be happy hour soon, so I think it would be nice to split before it becomes cramped.”
Briefly skimming his eyes out into the nameless crowd, Mick could see the increasing crowd growing with every few minutes that slid by; eyes were also on them, seeing that they were big pop idols and it was a wonder how they weren’t jumping them, hoping to get some type of reaction. It was a bit unnerving, to feel like they were prying their fingers into his mind and privacy.
Hearing John’s voice of thanking the bartender, Mick began to stand. He had a languid and slowed grace. He stepped forward and felt the world slip a little from his feet. He walked a little in front of John, eyes scanning for more private room and hoping to get one fast.
“No, Mick,” came John’s voice, a bit slowed and a small stumble staining his words. “Were gonna go back to my place, or rather a rented flat of mine.”
After catching a cab from outside, both were animatedly talking to each other. Topics from politics, taxes, early influences, literature, a few jokes, they arrived. John stepped out first, his steps a tad miscalculating as he struggled to get his legs to obey his commands. He thanked the driver for his time and bid him off. When arriving inside, both shed their overcoats and had settled down. They were still talking and some meaningless words flew around.
Mick noticed that whenever he reached a certain topic, for just a brief moment, John’s eyes would harden into a stern look before he slid on a fake grin to conceal up his frustration. Mick really wanted to press on and to lay his curiosity to rest.
John produced a bag of pot. He had been saving it for when he was alone with privacy and the demons of his ever so active mind. When only they were around to witness his insecurities and vulnerability. He said he had scored a good quality of pot and that it cost him more than a few pounds. Mick decided now that since the pot could calm John into a listenable mood, he decided to bring up the bar discussions.
“I was wondering John,” Mick said slowly at first.
“Really? About what?” Lazy plumes of smoke curled from the joint, dragging trails along through the air.
“Well, about you. You seemed to want to attack somebody. You were really tense and it doesn’t take a genius to know that you were obviously upset.”
John was taken back. He was a little surprised at how easy it was to be seen how frustrated he was. John thought he could hide things pretty well; instead of bubbling frustration, he was surprisingly calm with most of the influence form the herb. He sighed and leaned back, body slouching down into the seat.
“It’s just,” John leaned his head back. “Everything. The band, the record, Paul’s ******** stupid ideas.”
He shifted a little, facing Mick. He let the joint dangle from his lips, the joint wedged between his teeth for a firm, but loose hold.
“Things seem way out of text. It’s difficult to get on with them now. It’s more tense than it’s ever been before, say four years ago. The blokes are at each other, constantly gripping like birds.” He breathed out through his nose. “Then there’s bloody Paul. The boy’s starting to push it. The bugger is like a ******** dictator.”
Mick’s interest was on John. He titled his head a little.
“The lad’s pushin’ it. He’s like a ******** General. Always is trying to assert his control, his little dominance routine. Just about nearly blew up with George a bit ago over guitar arrangements. He’s trying to put his contr-” Mick reached over to swipe the joint from John’s lips. John gave him a look, but Mick’s features encouraged him to move on.
“Right then. So now he’s trying to assert control over everything. Ever since Eppy died, he’s been more a businessman than a musician. He’s trying to push us along like were pawns. Doesn’t want to hear anyone but himself. “John scoffed at his own statement. “******** scouser.”
Mick couldn’t quite recall if he ever heard John speak so vehemently of someone; he least expected it to be Paul. In fact, Paul was one of the last people Mick thought John would take a hit to. It sort of reminded him of his own situation..
“To tell you the truth, John,” Mick had interjected with his own opinion. “We’re not doing so hot right now.”
John stopped in mid thought as he heard those words sink into his mind and spread. “You mean, the band is coming undone?”
Mick sighed and passed the abused joint back to John.
“Yeah, it seems as though everything we do, there’s a set back. Something is riding high, then some ******** thing comes and shoots it down. This time, I’m concerned about Brian. The U.S won’t allow him in and the cops seemed to have targeted him. He’s very vulnerable right now and I’m not sure how long he’ll last.”
John watched Mick. His vision was blurred a little at the edges, his mind was dulled. It took some more time to register things. He was sort of curiously staring the contours that lined Mick’s body. He looked sort of paper thin in John’s eyes.
Mick ran an agitated hand through his hair, the strands flowing through. ”Just how did you do it John?”
Hearing his name, John looked up.
“About what?”
“Keeping it together.”
John snorted, the irony of that statement a little too true. “Well, for starters Michael,” he breathed out the smoke in his lungs, “We weren’t lookin’ for trouble. It seems as you all have looked for it, and found it.”
Mick was becoming frustrated. Snatching up another joint between his thin fingers, Mick lit it and took an aggressive drag off of it. He felt his anxieties once again subside for a while. He was starting to notice that John had some hazel brown eyes that was reflecting out his mood. The way John’s mouth moved, how his jaw unhinged to let out sounds created from his throat into the cool around him interested Mick’s curiosity.
‘’It’s just,” John hesitated, and quickly tried to play it off as soon as he did. “I don’t know what’s in store for us anymore, y’know? Things are just moving out in too many directions for a group to manage.”
John was becoming immersed in his rant. The pot seemed to have worked his desired effect and that it had now taken away some of his fears. Even if it was only temporary.
“It’s just now Paul. If he could, he’d probably name it to ‘Paul McCartney and The Beatles’, knowing that slag. Always wants control. This is defiantly something I didn’t have in mind when we both hooked up in Germany. He evens wants to dominate us, our relationship. He chooses when we have sex and it‘s so ******** frustr-”. John halted, his thoughts skidding into what could comically be described as skidding brakes into a crash.
He didn’t just… ********, he did. Oh god, he couldn’t believe that he let something so secretive slide out like it was nothing. John became so angry that he couldn’t repress his thoughts anymore.
Shocked hazel brown orbs slowly inched their path upwards to meet an equally shocked pair of blue eyes; Mick had sat up, his mind processing what he had just heard. Confusion then smothered those hues with questions.
‘Oh Christ,’ thought John. He wished he could take it back. He saw the fumes that rose out of the joint and wished he could disappear as easily as it could. To curl up and fade away.
“John…,” Mick said slowly, as if he were to answer a trick question. “did… you just…”
There was obviously no way around it. He couldn’t beat around the bushes or just laugh it off like he normally would. Mick was far too of an analytical person and would catch things that John did. Mick was far too smart to be fooled by John’s quick wit and sarcasm.
“Uh…” John hesitated. He thought that he might as well just spit it out and get it over with before it became blown out of proportion.
“Mick…,” John tried to speak, reaching his hand out to rest it on Jagger’s shoulders, hoping for some type of leverage. It was more like an assurance of the situation he was now in and that it wasn’t some well received illusion.
It was hard to try and get this out.
“Me ‘n Paul…” Goddamn this was difficult. “We’ve been like this for a bit…”
Mick didn’t know what was going on; combined with the pot and earlier alcohol consumption, it was hard to even believe this situation. But with the assurance and presence of John’s firm, yet hesitant hand, it soon became an all too real scenario.
After a few false starts, John worked up enough courage to talk. “It started a few years ago. Hamburg actually. It was a hot night and for once, there were no birds around. We were with each other and some things happened. We did have sex and it was mostly to relieve each other of the built up stress.”
He then cleared his throat, still gripping Mick’s shoulder.
“We worked out an agreement to deal with the fact that there could be no one to be there and we both made a deal. Soon, both of us found it to be very pleasant and often slept together even when birds were around. We somehow fell in love and it was the start of something we both were eager to try.”
Mick saw the reminiscent feeling in John’s depths. Like he was talking about good memories and was enjoying them. To bask in the happiness that it delighted at that moment in time..
“But then, things turned for the worst. We began fighting - what band doesn’t? He wanted some force, some control on things I didn’t think it would be a problem. Then Brian dies and he takes charge of everything. I did meet a girl named Yoko and I was interested. I thought Paul didn’t like is because she liked me also and he saw it as competition, or maybe he liked her too. All the fighting is taking a toll on us and it’s not heading anywhere good anytime soon.”
John moved his hand, still to assure himself that it was real.
“And to think, no more than five years ago, we were the perfect band. It’s amazing and terrifying what enlightenment can do for a soul, eh?”
It took a bit to sink in, feeling like this was a dream. It bordered on too much of reality to be some type of image that his mind so coyly played out for him. He finally got the courage to look at John. It was too much for him and felt that it was time to come clean.
“To tell you John, you’re not the only one guilty of that.”
John’s eyes darted to Mick, confusion, then shock-- Christ, how many moods would he have? Then it dawned on him as to what Mick was getting at.
“… then that would mean…”
“Yeah,” Mick admitted.
‘But with who?”
“Keith.”
Even though he had suspected something between those two, it still was rather shocking to actually hear it in person; it still threw him for a loop. After a while, he had dismissed it partially to the bullshit that the media decided to pin on it.
Mick had leaned back, falling back into the soft cushions. The break of his should and John’s hand had sort of disappointed John at the loss of contact.
Mick’s eyes remained on the ceiling. “It was back at Edith Grove and around that time, pretty much anything we did was for survival. Me ‘n him were sort of in the same bed and it was ******** cold as hell. Brian wasn’t there and we had no choice.”
John was listening intently.
“Really, we had actually met each other when I was around 4 or 5, very young. So, it did feel a little natural; yet weird to be physically close to him. On an emotional level, we were sort of equal. We just thought it was a good idea to do that at the time. I had really admired Keith and I was sort of, as you could say, crushing on him.”
Mick finally sat up in the chair he was in. He needed something to calm his nerves. They were crackling with the edge of discomfort. He heavily drew off the half burnt roll.
“We both ended up with each other. I had actually enjoyed it, but Keith was a little more cautious and we both agreed to never speak of it, no matter how much or often we were to be questioned about it. Many closet ******** later, we were some how a couple. I ended up involved with Brian-” John raised an eyebrow in response, “-and I think it had upset Keith and it had caused some type of thing between me ‘nd Brian.”
Mick finally looked at John. “Then the whole ‘scene’ thing came on. Drugs were everywhere and Keith and Brian were delving deep into it. To be honest, I was wary of acid, but Brian and Keith pressed on about how I should try it, that I wasn’t on their level unless I had taken it. It was quite a powerful experience. But then, heavier things came in. Heroin, cocaine, pretty much anything. Brian was falling deeper and when Keith stole Anita, that’s when he broke down.”
So much had happened and John couldn’t believe it. While they were running from obnoxious fans, the Stones seemed to have wrapped up in another whole fight.
“Then, Keith starts using. Keith became like, sort of a destructive person, like he was there, but wasn’t. I don’t know about Brian, but he’s becoming unreachable. I don’t want him to leave the group, but things are turning that way. Keith is becoming more volatile and I just have my mind loaded.”
John could feel sympathy edging into his subconscious. He now understood many things that were left out in the dark that he had always wondered; he certainly had more of an understanding. His eyes had drifted to his face, first sort of slowly making a way, a little curious at his body. Mick might have caught on, but he leaned back into the chair once more.
“We used to be darlings,” John interjected. “Me ‘n Paul.”
“Just imagine the press party if they found out,” Mick added.
“They would still be raving about it so many year later.”
Mick grinned at him, stoned blue eyes alight.
“Yeah, but ya’ll were such darlings for the press, so they probably would have forgiven you.” Mick slowly smirked. “It’s us that they wouldn’t have let off so easily.”
Mick leaned in to tap the joint free of it’s small tower of ash. John absently watched his pale hand move.
“Oh we were?” He playfully pushed Mick, “We just had the common sense not to go out into trouble.”
“Well y’know, we were the rough boys, to pillage yer mums house and round up all the young maidens,” Mick playfully joked.
“Oh Mick, are you implying that we never got any tail?” John feigned in mock hurt. “Why didn’t you know, I was the naughty one. ” He gave Mick a wink, a smirk spreading across his face.
“Oh, were you?”
“’Oh that Lennon,’ the mums would say. ‘Always makin’ the girls go in their knickers. Oh, how rude!’” John claimed in mock scolding.
Mick tilted his head towards John; his hair partially falling into his eyes, obscuring part of them.
“Really” You all seemed so… asexual on stage.”
John just laughed while he lightly shook his head. “Mick, you are sure naïve about that. Have you heard the reaction those birds give us? It’s quite out of this world. I could make you a man from the stories I could tell you alone.”
“Wouldn’t have guessed you were so sexual in your advances. Not in a hundred years.” Mick leaned forwards and his hair spilled over his thin shoulders.
John smirked, feeling some type of ego boost. “You’re not so bad y’self.”
John’s lips were pulled into a leer of a smile. He was feeling absolutely fantastic since he was able to get that bit off of his subconscious; he thought he might actually explode with that holed up into the confines of his mind that was already swirling with many pressing matters. Combined with the effects of the pot and alcohol, John could admit he was feeling more lax and laid back. He wasn’t actually thinking about his next moves.
John’s hand was still firmly placed on Mick’s shoulder and John didn’t really want to break contact. He was much too giddy to really think of what he was going to do and it was translating into moves he wasn’t used to doing. Mick didn’t really mind the attention that John’s hand was seemingly showering at his shoulder. He just smiled at John.
John was in a mood. What mood? He wasn’t sure anymore, just as long as he wasn’t dealing with a certain bassist, he could be like this all night. The leverage that anchored his palm to Mick’s shoulder was relenting and it started to drift downwards, more hesitant than a confident advancement. John watched it and apparently Mick was too. Eyes gazed out in a curious endearment.
Something was off. The atmosphere was bubbling with an unknown emotion, like it was filling; it was definitely different than the one of that a few minutes or say an hour ago. It had lightened considerably, but this time, it was thickly rimmed with another. A saturation. A silver lining in there somewhere. If it was playing out, then it was surely presenting itself now but at a low paced step.
John swallowed a knot in his throat, a feeling he wasn’t so keen on. Something was building and judging by the way Mick was gazing at his hand, he could admit that this taking a complete other direction than the one previously planned.
“So, are you enjoying your little journey there, Lennon?” Mick’s voice ever so examined.
“Oh, I wasn’t really paying attention.” John was lying, he knew he was aware of it, but didn’t want to lead into something of rather familiar, yet an unknown territory. His judgment wasn’t at it’s best, to say the least. Something was stirring and he slowly was realizing it.
He shifted closer to Mick and Mick apparently noticed it right away. He regarded John a rather amused and confused look. Mick leaned in closer to his touch, an invisibly sensation that was compelling him. Mick turned a little as he leaned to John. His hand fell from Jagger’s shoulder to grip his forearm and his own face began moving towards the other younger male’s. Mick had partially closed his eyes, knowing and sensing what was coming, but wasn’t ready to leap into this without the other side knowing.
John bit his lip, anxiety scraping against his insides as he fully turned towards Mick. His eyes rested on Mick’s long chestnut hair and how it framed just above those expressive blue eyes. His pale skin really did contrast with his hair; it gave off a masculine, yet with a complete feminine tone.
Before any knew what was going on, Mick lashed out first. He pressed his hands to John’s shoulders and pushed him back into the chair. He placed his lips over John’s and insistently pressed up against John. Eyes drew out into a large width, John watched Mick, his eyes partially obscured by the hair. He relented and allowed Mick access into his own mouth, surprised to find that he was so eager to meet with the intruding tongue.
They were on the couch for a while, just exploring as their hands shifted to another body part every few seconds. Sizing up each other in a way of friendly competition. Both could feel the desperation behind their motives, their clumsy, fumbling fingers had grasped in a needing way at each other. An anchor used for a reality grasp. Greedy hands and fingers were staking out body parts.
Both separated, the need for air severing their lips form each other. Gasping breaths filled the air, pouring into the silence. Mick was the first to look up and John met him with hazy eyes, his pupils dilated with the repressed urge.
Suddenly out of surprise, John lunged forwards and pinned Mick to the sofa. He was still wheezing, but not much. Mick gazed upwards, ocean hues prodding at him.
“Say, Mick,” John said as a matter of fact. “I have a deal I’m willing to make with you. Care to listen?”
A silent gesture from Mick’s eyes told John his desired answer.
“I have an idea. Since it seems that you and me are locked up in similar predicaments, I’m willing to share this with you. Nothing is working and it seems like a hopeless situation.”
Mick was about to interject with his own opinion, but John interrupted him.
“I was thinking we could have a snog. Just a meaningless shag between friends who are desperate. It seems that we can’t turn to anyone right now and I’ll just about get it up for anyone right now.”
John had spoken what Mick was about to say. His words had evaporated from his lips and he tilted his head at John.
“Just sex?” he said, still trying to make sure John wasn’t fooling around.
“Yeah, just sex.”
Already, Mick had pressed his large cupid lips to John’s. He caressed his tongue against the bottom of John’s lip; John’s lips quirked upwards appreciating the attention.
“But first, we have to take this to the bed, Mick. Think you can handle going that long without any?” he said with a smirk in his voice.
“I was going to ask you the same, John,” Mick said as a fatter of fact.
John pushed himself up and he began to trail to the bedroom and Mick began to follow. He briefly admired how soft the carpet was as it filtered through his toes. It was very plush.
Sauntering up to the lanky boy, John grabbed both of Mick’s hips and pulled him up until both John and Mick were pressed against each others chests. Mick drew closer, wrapping his sinewy arms around John’s torso. He purred in approval as John wrapped his own thin fingers into his hair. John gently ran his hand through Mick’s hair, the long strands weaving through.
John was successfully forgetting about a certain c**t faced bassist and Mick was doing the same for a certain gangly guitarist. (Or was it two certain guitarists?). John grinned down at his chocolate plaything with lust. He grabbed the back of Mick’s head and pulled him in closer for a rough kiss. Both men were struggling for dominance; needing it, wanting it as though they both felt like they deserved it.
Mick was giving just as good as he got, not wanting to fall into the submissive one. John was certainly giving it a good run, not wanting to fall into the clutches of an overtly feminine, hip swaying Michael. He leaned into Mick trying to gain an advantage. He slowly broke off as he trailed down Mick’s unmarked china doll skin. His fingers traveled down Mick’s sides and caressed those feminine, lithe hips. The stayed there, heating Mick’s sides with solid heat.
Mick was grinding his hips into John’s, swiveling them around as though he were a professional dancer. John inwardly laughed; Mick was dying to start things off and his movements were bordering frantic. John would lightly graze his tongue along the bottom of Mick’s supple lips. He loved to tease Mick. Obviously Mick was trying to gain some type of friction. He had mused for a brief moment that being subtle was not his specialty.
John was the first to break contact and pulled away from Mick. He slowly walked up to the posh, white bed that loitered in the middle of the room. He turned to find his eyes delightfully watching a disheveled Mick. He found it to be a turn on knowing that he had caused that reaction.
“Mick,” he said breathily into the sexually fueled air. “Come over and dance for me. I’ve heard so much about it.”
Mick smiled leeringly and wriggled his hips. Slowly, he shimmied them around and gently gyrated his arms. Mick began to peel away the layers of fabric that were encasing his waif like body. He wiggled is eyebrows suggestively.
“Come over here, Mick,” John said impatiently.
“Why?” His voice came out leeringly.
“Because I see a bloody beautiful pair of hips and legs that just begged to be ********.”
Mick laughed, coming out a little throaty. He crawled slowly towards John who in return made a throaty whine. Mick gazed down at John when he was fully over him and his hair cascading over his broad shoulders. Mick gazed down at him, his eyes soft and feeling a brief moment of calmness. He smiled softly; this was the smile he gave Keith when in secrecy. Those long days of nothing but being with him, his reserved smile. Mick didn’t think that it would do any harm showing John that same smile.
A hand was moving over his scalp, filtering and nimbly grasping the strands. John gazed upwards, a delicate feeling expressed in his eyes. He brought Mick’s head down with a gentle tug and pushed his and Mick’s lips together. Mick slipped his tongue into John’s mouth and swirled it around, meeting with John’s to dance. Mick’s hair was grazing his face and tickling his nose. John slowly broke contact to draw lazy paths down his neck, to only catch the flesh between his teeth.
Mick’s hands were tracing paths to John trousers. They furrowed around the seam and opted to push under the layer of denim. John’s fingers also fiddled with the tight pants. How can he breathe is these things, John had briefly wondered. He brushed over a prominent spot on Mick’s pants, feeling the muscles under his touch quiver like a rickety bridge.
Hands crept up Mick’s sides and John was slowly gripping at Mick’s thin sweatshirt. His fingers slowly enclosed on a clump of fabric and he had swiftly pushed Mick to the side. Not expecting the sudden pull, Mick had tumbled over to the side, hair swirling around his eyesight; the soft bed frame met his back in a mutual greeting. The next thing he knew was that John was now hovering over him with a triumphant smile.
Mick was about to protest this sudden change when John swiftly leaned foreword to shower Mick’s neck with affection. An appreciative sigh exited his large lips as he felt the sensations work magic. John had no intention of being the one who loses control. He hated not being able to have a grip on things and be the one who is vulnerable. He had no intention of submitting. His fingers soon latched onto the button and after a few useless tugs, the button had snapped. It was a delightful sound to John’s ears.
Peeling away the material was much harder than John expected. Briefly looking at Mick about the pants, Mick only gave a sheepish look about them. Grinning, John only shook his head. After finally removing the pants John had cast them aside to be forgotten in the next span of seconds. He dipped his digits inside of Mick’s underwear and started to message the flesh. Mick tipped his head back once John had grasped him and started moving.
Feelings simmered inside and built up with great furry and were threatening to explode his top. John winced a little as Mick gripped his forearms and dug into them with his nails. John’s eyes were trained on Mick’s expressive face, the simmering passion bubbling over out of his pores. His eyes rolled back and he snagged the lower bottom lip between his teeth. John’s eyes were delighted with this firm and wonderful image. With a heady and heavy gasp, Mick nearly cried out and John’s name was at the edge of his tongue, nearly coming out like a strangled whimper.
John took his finger from the constricting material that was clasped around his thin waist. A warm coating of a sticky, colorless fluid dripped from his digits. It ran down his hand and dripped down. John tilted his head as he trailed down Mick’s chin, smearing on a coating of Mick’s own fluids on his almost as equally pearly skin. He pushed past Mick’s lips to give him what it was like to taste one’s own self.
John busied his other hand at trailing down Mick’s flat abdomen and across his nearly hairless belly. It was a bit strange to see that Mick really had no trace of body hair. He did reach the destination of his plan and slowly plunged a finger into his body. Mick jerked a little at the unexpected intrusion and then felt the sensations spark through his body. Titling his head back, Mick let out an appreciative moan and allowed John to continue.
John decided it was enough and then crawled over Mick. His eyes gazed only at Mick, a silent gesture in his eyes to give Mick as to what would happen. Placing himself in between Mick’s splayed out legs, he gazed down at Mick.
“I’ll satisfy your every need.” John smirked at the irony of that songs lyric.
“And now I know you will satisfy me.” Mick grinned back.
John threw his head back as he felt the heat. Mick’s body quivered under him, suppressed desire leaking from every pore of his body. Movements from the two solid bodies rocked the bed, sounds filling the soft air. Moans became the foundation that fueled both of their passionate aura. Both locked eyes with each other, seeing that either would come to be pushed over their edges.
Rapid spots danced in their vision as John nearly screamed out and Mick encouraged them. Loosing his balance, John collapsed on top of Mick. With flexible arms, Mick enveloped John with a passionate embrace. John breathed out as he tried to calm himself and slowly opened his shut eyes. Sweat was molded over their bodies and glistened under the shine of the lights.
Rolling off of Mick, John sat up, the covers twisting under him. Is eyes slowly met Mick’s. He slowly ran a hand through Mick’s hair, feeling the moisture soaked strands.
“So,” Mick had began. “This do any good for you?” A smirk graced John’s thin lips.
“More than you can possibly imagine.”
--
That was long dude.
Currently listening to "If I Was A Dancer p. 2" by The Rolling Stones.
