...
Been a while since I've watched "Death Note".
Alright, I've spent the last few days on this. Soooo.....
Title: One Of These Days
Pairings: Gram Parsons/Keith Richards/Mick Jagger in various combination's.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Yeah, I don't own the Stones or Gram Parsons. If I did, I wouldn't be writing this.
A/N: I wrote this and I got it exactly 3000 words. I really love the 'Exile' recordings in '71. So much hate from Mic to Gram Parsons for no reason other then the fact that Mick hated it when Keith would be focused on Gram. Or any other person. But Mick was possessive over Keith.
Edit: I'm kind of intrigued with hate!sex between Mick and Gram. But anyways, Gram might have gotten possibly OOC.
--
He could feel it. They were on him again.
Those blue irises with nothing but ireful feelings for him. Gram is more aware of the surroundings than the other wants to believe. But Gram is more aware than Mick wants to believe. That cat thinks he’s got it. Not to Gram
Gram lets his cigarette hang loosely; his tongue ran over the filter of the cigarette. Gram’s eyes ran over the empty seat beside him; Keith was probably sleeping, knowing full well that it was nearly the afternoon. His eyes skimmed around a cup of coffee that was probably lukewarm.
Gram lit up a fresh bud. He leaned back in his chair, the squeaking hitting his ears. He couldn’t quite recall what he did. Why was Mick angry at him? What had he done to spark this hate from him? What Gram did know was that he didn’t like how Mick was running back and forth; when something good was going on, he’d just up and leave.
Gram didn’t have to look back to know the other was watching. Gram was becoming accustomed the others’ glares and actions. The other day, he’d asked Mick if he wanted to see a new tune he had been working on for the past few days; Mick just blankly looked at him and stood up.
Without even so much as a glance, Mick walked out. Gram was bewildered as to what had happened. He stood there with his guitar and just scoffed at even thinking of that idea. The man had given up on befriending Mick; it was just something that was never going to happen.
There was something about this situation that put Gram off. Thinking back, he did mention this to Keith about how Mick was. Keith had gotten a look on his face and told Gram that Mick was just lonely. It was enough to stop questions, but soon, they resurfaced again and Gram was pretty sure that it wasn’t entirely the case.
“Hey Mick,” a voice called out. “Telephone for ya.”
Mick looked up and quickly darted off to the phone. It wouldn’t be long before Mick flew off again. He mentally counted down how long he would be gone.
Mick came back in and quickly gathered a few things. Mick was setting off for his wife again. Gram little snorted.
“Che. Figures he would leave now.” It was light, obviously not meant for ears but his own, but it sounded loudly in the near empty inhabited room. Mick stopped with what he was doing, his cerulean eyes darting over to Gram. Mick had watched him, but he had resumed what he was doing.
Gram’s shoulders sagged, the heat starting to get to him; he slipped off his jacket and cast it onto the grimy floor. His eyes dully watched Mick as he packed up a few things. “Always leaving for that wife of his. Needs to pay attention to more than just her.”
Gram was thinking. Mick stopped. He turned towards Gram, but in a slower pace. “What was that?”
Perhaps Gram hadn’t been thinking. Maybe he was projecting loud thoughts that couldn’t stay inside his head. Either way, he shrugged his shoulders.
Mick’s eyes burned for an answer, but Gram stopped looking that direction. He slid the cigarette out of his mouth and ground it into the stony ash trey. Gram wouldn’t say anything; the situation would just hasten to an unpleasant confrontation.
“What would you know, country boy?” Mick muttered lowly as he stood up to head out the doorway.
“When you pull your head out of your a**, then you’d realize I know a lot more than you think.”
Again, maybe he had loud thoughts. Or Mick was somehow psychic and caught every word that entered Gram’s mind. Mick stopped and swiveled around quickly. His eyes were narrowed and he sucked in a quick, sharp breath. Heavy footsteps grew quickly ion Gram’s ears as he knew what would be coming sooner or later.
Mick stood in front of Gram. “Would you like to say something… Gram?” Mick emphasized Gram’s name, hoping to get the Floridian boy’s attention.
Gram blankly gazed at him. He knew the answer, but was Mick willing to really listen? Probably not if it was coming from Gram. He could talk, but it would come out in a retortful way, or at least to Mick’s ears. He was searching for a reason; any reason to just explode on Gram.
Gram just shook his head. “Nothin’,” he said, a country slur adorning his voice. “Just thinkin’.”
Gram prepared to leave by standing up and moving out of Mick’s way. As he walked by, something grasped at his arm.
“I said, ‘what did you say’?” Mick grated out, his voice obviously strained. Gram couldn’t take anymore of this prude attitude.
“I said,” Gram blurted out before he could catch himself. “******** you.”
In that moment, Gram wished he could have kept his mouth shut. Even if the heat had made it feel like cotton was on his tongue and a furnace in his mind, he spoke clearly. But now, Gram was tired. Tired of all the bullshit that Mick threw his way. Obviously, Mick had no reason to just cast out a childish behavior aimed for Gram’s direction.
Well, Mick wasn’t having any of it. “You stupid a** country boy, why don’t just ******** off somewhere else. Take your ******** junkie self and go bugger off.”
Gram’s eyes narrowed. The back of his mind screamed for him to just ignore him. Gram was generally a nice boy; e was a peaceful person, barely riled up by things. But this, Gram couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Aren’t you the wannabe saint. Y’ can’t tell me any different than what yer doin’.”
“I don’t have a habit like you do.”
“Man, you are just full of contradictions, aren‘t ya?”
Mick’s eyes narrowed. “******** you, you don’t know what your talking about.”
“Oh I don’t, do I?” Gram snorted bitterly. “I know a lot more than you do. Yer hardly ever around to know what goes on here, ya idiot. I know more than ya do. Your ********’ arrogant attitude is such a bore.”
“My attitude? You’re the one who’s taking it personally.”
“Oh really? You’re acting like a little kid; stomping off like a petulant little kid who doesn’t have their way.”
Mick snorted, obviously tense. “********’ country boy doesn’t know what he’s babbling about. Go back to that outback place you call a home. If you don’t like it, ******** move out. Or is it too hard to abandon your little junkie friends. Or is it just more than that, huh Gram? You want more than just smack, don’t you?”
“Leave Keith outta this. He ain’t got nothing to do with this.”
“Who says I was?” Mick snorted. He let a smirk coil onto his lips. “You feeling guilty there? Or are you just hiding it?”
Gram’s eyes briefly widened before settling on a firm, hard stare. “******** off Jagger. It’s not your business.”
Mick held a triumphant smirk as he mentally chided that he had won this little argument. “What’s the matter mate? Can’t admit it?”
Gram’s nostrils flared as his shoulders twitched. His teeth ground together and he could practically envision steam rolling out of his ears; the sharp sounds of a whistle blaring. Gram had flashed out his hands and grasped a hold on Mick’s shirt. Jagger let out a brief gasp before Gram snapped his arms backwards and jerked Mick with them.
“What the ******** do you know, huh? Your not even here to see anything,” Gram had acidly grated out. “You’re too ******** high on your high horse to even see, let alone think.”
Mick stared blankly at Gram. It was the same look; the same look that burned Gram in a way like no other. It told him that Mick didn’t even care.
Like Mick didn’t even recognize Gram as anything.
Gram couldn’t take it anymore. His hand clenched tightly and he shot out one of them.
He punched Mick directly in the face.
Mick stumbled backwards; shock evident in his eyes, Mick stood motionless.
Nothing happened. Everything was silent. Both men were too concentrated on this current situation to even think about anything. Mick and Gram stood frozen to their spots. Gram briefly looked at his clenched hand and Mick stared too. It felt like Earth had stopped rotating; the planets roaring to a stop.
Mick’s face curled in an acidic, vehement snarl. His body puffed up into what was to be called a fighting stance. “You ******** c**t.”
Gram knew what would happen, yet he tried to stave off this unfolding, hostile situation.
“Mick, I didn’t mean to do tha--”
Before Gram could react, Mick had quickly shot out his thin arms and grasped Gram’s shirt and pushed him back. Gram’s back collided with the wall in a loud, but dull thud. Mick’s eyes connected with Gram’s. Mick’s stare could have burned holes right through lead. Blue eyes had turned hard and icy.
“You don’t ******** know anything.” Mick said calmly, but had volatile undertones. “You just come in and act like everyone is supposed to like you? Don’t count on it.”
“That doesn’t mean to act like a goddamn child about it.”
“Because of you, I can’t get Keith to even pay attention to what the band does.” Mick stated. “Too busy in acting like your partner in crime and shooting up.”
A confused look plopped onto Gram’s face, but then, something collapsed upon Gram’s subconscious. Mick didn’t like him because of his music, who he was, what he did, it was because… Keith.
Mick liked Keith.
Then, it dawned on him. It was all there: angry looks when Gram got near Keith, the tense feelings that arose when Keith wasn’t focused on Mick.
But then, something else rose in Gram’s chest. A part of him wanted to exploit it; to get back at all those times that Mick looked down on him. The times when Mick just ignored him, fussed at him for no reason, glared him down. Gram, in his mind, hated it how Mick treated him; he thought he deserved better.
The little voice grew and soon, drowned out the voice that desperately wanted Gram to back off and go his own way out. Reasoning wouldn’t pass through his head; all Gram wanted to do, is to now get back at this fool talking cat.
“Oh, I see now,” Gram says.
“You see what?”
“You’re ******** in love with Keith.”
“Whatever gave you that ide--”
“How come I’ve never noticed before? Oh, because I was too off my head on dope?” Gram said sarcastically.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Mick taunted.
“No,” Gram said. “Why don’t I just tell the world then? Since you seem to be okay with it. But you aren’t.”
Mick looked up sharply.
“How many people know about it? Anita, some other people? What would they think?”
Mick curled his bottom look, suppressed rage building up.
“Do they know? Or are you just hiding in fear of what they will think? What would Keith think to know that his song buddy, no, his best friend were lusting after him, for, how many years?”
Mick couldn’t say anything.
“How would he react? Would he leave you? I bet you want somethin’ more, don’t you?”
His fingers tersely dug into the cloth of Gram’s shirt more.
Gram’s smirk turned into a devious smile. He knew he had Mick. This was something that was obviously as touchy subject with Mick. Often, he had wondered about this; how he found himself just thinking on it. He never pressed about, seeing that it was none of his business as to what Mick or Keith do. But now, he wanted to know why. To at least stop this sudden and undeserved anger Mick had directed towards Gram.
“I should tell him.” He noted Mick’s face has curled into a glare. “You’re fearless Mick. The Great Fearless Mick Jagger would let his own desires get in the way of his own band because he’s jealous of another man?”
Why does this resonate so heavily in Mick’s mind? He should have told Keith a longer time ago; but he was scared. Scared that Keith would be disgusted with him; that he would leave him. He let it slip with Marianne. He was so passionate that he couldn’t help himself. But she understood, because she had been in love with Keith. But now, he wasn’t so sure about this. Gram, knowing that boy, would let it slip.
“But what about you?”
Gram’s smile slipped. “What about me?”
“You like him too.”
“Don’t try to pin this on me now--”
“You already know. I’ve seen you and your little moves.”
“You’re just paranoid Mick.”
Mick smirked. “Am I? Are you?”
Gram’s eyes knotted in confusion. “I see it all Gram,” Mick said. “You gaze at Keith in a tender way, you brush with him, you look at him so much. I know it. I watch it and see it.”
Gram looked at Mick blankly. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, show any signs emotion, or else, Mick would take them as signs.
“You’re just as guilty Gram. I know.”
“You don’t know nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.”
“Trying to push me off, are you? Well, too bad Gram. He‘ll never love you. He‘s with Anita.”
Gram’s fists clenched. Maybe. Just maybe he had something for Keith.
Keith was something of a gentleman to Gram. He was easy going ad a very down to earth man. He admired Keith for his skills, attitude, generosity. Gram had found someone like himself; a gentleman who had been like himself.
But then, it happened. Keith was bound to another; . Keith was with another, a name of Mick. Gram would later find himself the scornful wrath of this fellow. It was, to say the least, unnerving.
Gram just didn’t want to deal with this anymore. It was too ireful and it just wasn’t worth it. He finally listened to the voice who wanted peace. It wasn’t something that Gram wanted anymore.
“Do what you want Mick, I don’t care anymore.”
He broke Mick’s slackened fists from his collar and had started to turn away.
“That’s it Gram, run away from it. It’ll always be there.”
“Really? And you? You‘re the hypocrite, why don‘t you explain to me what happens then?”
Mick didn’t say anything. “You’re not worth it,” he said simply. Never worth it at all.”
Gram pressed his lips together in a thin line. His fists ached to hit him Any part would be good. To just wipe that look off of Mick’s face; to feel that satisfying urge to just watch it morph into a look of pain.
“Just go ******** off. Go upstairs and just shoot up some smack and die. You will anyways.”
Gram walked over and shoved Mick into the wall, pressing his knee in between Mick’s legs. “Well it’s better then having to look at you. To deal with your s**t? I’d rather be loaded and nodding out then listen to any day.”
The pressure disappeared from his back as Gram got off. Mick turned around. “Can’t even face me. Always runnin’ away.”
“It’s you whose running away from this.” Gram kept walking, but then he stopped and turned back to him. He hadn’t even been that far away from Mick, still in an arms reach, but yet, he was far away. Farther Gram ever wanted to go.
Mick’s fists clenched. He thought how beautiful it would be to just sink in punch after punch on that infuriating boy. Why was he letting some country boy run everything? He should just take his control back and dish out some authority.
Mick quickly darted out a hand to clasp around Gram’s shirt again. He pulled him close and brought his face up into Gram’s. “Tell me then, what am I running away from?”
“Your ******** self,” Gram snipped into Mick’s angry face.
Gram then pushed Mick away from him. Quickly, Mick’s reflexes kicked in and he quickly reached out a hand to grasp at any type of foundation. His fingers found Gram’s arm and he drug Gram with him. They both hit the ground, a stream of curses exploded from the each others mouth. Gram had landed on top of Mick. He had pushed Gram off and Gram mistaken it for a swing at him. His hand found Mick’s long, wavy brown hair and pulled on it.
Mick gasped out as he felt the violent pulls and struggled to hit Gram in the mouth. He landed a blow and then quickly turned Gram over on his back as he struggled to climb on top, trying to by pass the flailing arms and kicking feet. Both used their tongues to shoot off unintelligible grunts and cut off insults. Short gasps and quick breaths filled the air as both fought for a lead.
Insults hastened around the atmosphere like dreaded pollen on a warm spring day. Mick’s teeth buried themselves into the flesh of Gram’s forearms. Gram’s hand flew like wind to seize the wild strands of Mick’s hair. Mick did have a good fist on him, but… s**t, that was Mick’s head crashing against the floor. Gram’s trying to push him off (“Damn, he’s such a strong mother ********.”) He lumbers and maneuvers himself on top of him.
Before clumsy punches could be lain upon fragile skin, or even before clouded minds took hold of this peculiar standpoint, snarling mouths catch each other in a deadlock hold. There’s no passion, amour, or even prurience. None of it matters; only the bitter emotions of two hateful, angry, and quite lustful men furiously battling each other for a better advantage.
Just two thick headed, jealous men who couldn’t solve their differences.
But somewhere in this predicament, there could be song that’s waiting to be discovered.
--
Currently listening to "Over My Head (Cable Car)" by The Fray.
