I've still got a half-bowl of oat meal in front of me.
Title: Happy
Rating: R
Pairings: Keith/Mick
Word Count: 4,073
Disclaimer: The Stones would never forgive me if I owned them.
It took forever to write this because I had lost this when I almost finished it when the computer crashed and to some procrastination. And what makes me sad is that my mum put up some parental controls in order to block a few things-- so I can't read the new entry below this and it makes me sad.
Anyways, I was inspired to write this by listening to the song 'Happy' and wondering why Keith's voice starts off gentle then by the end, growling and grunting a lot.
It was official.
Keith was completely and utterly bored.
It was those moments of time, the ones that Keith did not apprize. Those times when his body could practically feel the frenetic life pouring into his soul when a tour was just nearing them. His fingers itched to get on that stage, sling his guitar, and feel the strings dig into his fingers, as he would play all that the guitar was worth. The piquancy of sweat that would drip from his skin, percolating him with adrenaline, endorphins flushing through his body.
Thus was not the case. The life he was living now was too indolent for his tastes-- too slow of maintenance. He could barely keep himself in an irenic state-- the only time he felt peaceful when indulging in this time was at Nellcote a few months ago. He enjoyed ambulating around the villa, his trusty guitar in hand, while he was in pleasant company. He would accost anyone who came by, seeing them as a brother or sister. It was something Keith liked-- it was all he could ask for. He espoused the lifestyle.
Keith eased back in his chair, the sonance lightly dusting into the air. Keith glimed down at his instrument, took his fingers and clenched fastidiously over the fret board, picking up his pic to pluck at a note. Keith just did not understand why he was not tantalized in his guitar. It was always one of the most enjoyable things he knew how to do. Now it was not as commoving.
Keith was sitting until he heard footsteps connecting with the floor off in the distance. With no tangible reason to stay hooked in the chair, Keith disclosed himself away from his guitar, setting it down with the softness of a mother, and he strides out of the room while acclimatizing his long-sleeved shirt. For a brief moment, Keith peered down at his shirt, seeing the large logo inscribed on it-- it had been almost a complete year since that tongue logo had come out and it was already becoming well diagnosticated-- easily recognized over the world. He came into the hallway and saw a familiar figure walking back and forth, muttering words that were sprawled on the surface in granite.
Mick seemed to be livid. With longer hair flowing past his face, it was harder to construe just what he was thinking form a distance. He striddled up to Mick and looked over his shoulder. He saw the paper with lyrics written over it. Some crossed out and others hooked on in. It was the song Keith was to sing lead vocals on. Keith thought about how he always sung back up, hardly ever doing anything that was lead. Mick glanced back to see Keith and he lowered the sheet.
Keith walked with Mick, seemingly no path constituted. Keith thought back to the many times of being nervous about doing backing vocals, the sudden fear that he might somehow mess-up, and he was scared this time. Trepidation was smearing his stomach. He was so used to the guitar being his voice, spewing out whatever he had to say, just without the words.
Mick finally halted his movements, his face turning to face Keith’s own. “Have you got’ny ideas?”
“Not really. I’m not doin’ anything right now.”
“I’m just looking over these lyrics, seeing if anything needs to be added or taken out.”
Keith lightly nodded and continued to follow. Keith bit his lip as he came into the sight of a studio door. His chest expanded as he saw Mick reach for the doorknob. Mick was confused at to why Keith just cut off his speech. His beryl eyes sought pout Keith’s face, seeing the partial nervousness mar his features.
“Hey,” Mick said airily, “it’ll be alright. Just think of something that isn’t too nervous. I do it a lot.”
“Yeah, well this my first complete lead vocal performance. It’s easy for you to say.”
“I did it in back in ‘61 for the first time. I felt nervous actually.”
Keith just let out a rough sigh. The guitarist was poised in the room, seeing the studio dials in another room, separated by blank television glass. There was still light nervousness playing at the ends of his subconscious, trying to fray his determination. The guitarist viewed the room-- what there was to view. It was almost desolate of items, just bare and no amount of dauntlessness could keep his eyes on it. Keith looked in the corners and spotted one prone couch lying on the side. It was when Keith remembered something.
Warm breath sending waves rippling through his skin, charring him slowly and almost painstakingly scarce. Hands upon his legs, solid heat traveling. The cool air that him and sent him reeling.
“Sing for me, Keith!”
Keith blinked for a moment before a canny smile played out onto his lips. Mick raised an eyebrow as Keith turned to him and looked at the microphone hovering menacingly in front of them. Mick had set the lyrics down on the podium standing below the mic.
“I’ve got an idea.”
Keith turned around and ventured into the side of the room, his body verging to grasp at a bare table. Keith pushed himself back and pulled the table, his arm muscles flexing and pulling. He brought over the table and acclimatized it, the ends of the burnished surface poking at Mick‘s legs, signaling the singer to move. He stepped back and watched as it replaced his standing body. Keith stood up and inquired it, nodding silently to himself. The guitarist then strode over the couch, pulling off a lonely blanket and spread it all over the table, covering it with a soft material.
“That’ll do for now,” Keith said quietly.
Keith then moved to Mick’s direction and placed both hands on his shoulders, closing in around them and created a languid movement. Keith then contrived Mick to the table, and before Mick could think, Keith leaned him back on the table. He placed his hands on either side of the tawny body.
“Keith, what is th--”
“This is what I was thinking: I want to record this song while fucking you on this table.”
Mick goggled up at Keith, all conscious thought seeping out his brain and barreling out his ears, soundlessly splattering on the floor. His eyebrows knit together. He blinked several times and tried to wrap his mind around this concept.
“You can’t be serious,” he deadpanned.
“I’m as serious as I can get.”
Mick looked fixedly straight into Keith’s eyes and Keith could see them glazing over with a protective defense. Keith couldn’t have any of that. He needed to disengage and diffuse any resistance expeditiously before it was given a chance to solidify.
“No, Mick,” Keith quickly said, a light excited tone drizzling into his words. “I’ve already thought it out and everything. It’ll be such a great experience. Besides, you can’t say ‘no’ to something you’ve never done.”
As Keith was explaining his reasoning for this situation, he had absently started to rub at Mick’s thigh, languidly dragging his hand up the denim-clad legs, giving an airy pressure to make sure Mick was paying attention, occasionally tweaking his sides. Keith knew Mick had an almost extremely active salacious side and he used that side of his singer to his advantage. If Mick ever needed a push in the right direction of persuasion, he would make good use of this and help push Mick along.
Mick felt the hand traveling through his clothes, feeling the heat it brought that naturally was produced by Keith’s body. Sometimes Mick execrated having such an active libido. He knew Keith knew that he would get it up for many things, and even the most feathery of touches in the right place could set him off. Whenever Keith wanted to do something that was particularly not-so family oriented, Keith would use this method. Sometimes Keith would really push the barrier by opting to push into public places, possibly getting them thrown in prison for probable indecent exposure.
Sometimes Mick hated Keith’s adventurous attitude.
Nevertheless, even though Mick denied that he wanted to do this, the hand on his thigh was working really well in pushing him to Keith’s side. How he hated this. He was so dearly going to get Keith back after this whole ordeal.
“Besides, it’s not like you’ve sung out while getting shagged into the bed,” Keith said in a low whisper, his face leaning in to brush it across Mick’s ear.
Mick would have looked up punctiliously at Keith and glared at him had it not been for both hands coming onto his thighs and rubbed mercurially then the original set pace. Instead, a breath of cool air rushed into his lungs as he inhaled sharply, the pressure in his groin starting to lightly build up.
“Fuck you.” It was not the most primo comeback, but dammit, that was the best he could manage at the moment.
Keith deviously grinned. “Gladly.”
Keith continued this movement, while one hand was inching its way up to the hem of the singer’s pants, inching inside slowly as to not set Mick off too quickly. He knew he was wining, but intended to maneuver this for a little while longer. His hands stopped when Mick finally raised his head a few inches to glare at Keith, but Keith could see that he had gotten Mick exactly where he wanted just by looking into the pair of blue eyes across from him.
“… fine, we’ll do--”
Before Mick could push out the rest of the sentence, Keith’s mouth crashed on top of Mick’s, flourishingly cutting any sound that was in Mick’s throat, welling up until it came out as a mix between a moan and a groan. Mick broke the kiss and panted flippantly, not expecting Keith to immediately react.
“But,” Mick declared, “if you mess this up, it’ll be your fault.”
Keith grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “But you’ll remember exactly why I messed up no matter how many retakes we have.”
Mick pursed his lips, annoyance obviously playing out on his face.
“Don’t be such a prude. Besides,” Keith said knowingly, “I’ve got to get us both warmed up for this first.”
Before Mick could retort with a prudent reply, Keith dove back down, smothering his mouth on top of Mick’s. Keith wasted no opportunity in delivering what he had proposed. His fingers darted up Mick’s sides, his back arching forwards to loom over Mick’s body below him. Keith licked along the bottom of Mick’s lips, hoping to gain a quick access. The body below him responded almost instantaneously and Keith’s tongue invaded the older boy’s mouth.
Hands were upon Keith’s back, nails pressing through the material of the long-sleeved shirt that Keith was wearing, apperceiving the heat made from nails digging half-crescent moons into his skin. Hot breath flowed from each of their mouths, calescent and desperate as both were trying to feel more of the other. Mick raised one of his legs, hooking it around Keith’s waist, while Mick’s arms latched around Keith’s back and neck, pulling him down for more.
Keith broke away, using the moment to slide down the singer’s face, his mouth pressing small kisses to the feverish skin, moving to the valley between Mick’s shoulders and neck. Mick could feel the light stubble of Keith’s face scratch at him, making him wriggle. Keith bit at Mick’s neck-- and Keith wasn‘t paying attention to how hard he bit Mick, and the unexpected force of the bite sent a light jolt of pain that made Mick jump. Keith stopped for a brief moment, using that time to glance up at Mick with his eyes. Mick shook his head and Keith recapitulated his activities.
Keith’s fingers trailed to Mick’s denim jacket, fingers fiddling with the buttons. For whatever reason, the buttons were being stubborn and would not come free. Keith grunted in annoyance, and though Mick couldn’t see it, Keith’s eyes narrowed. He stopped to glare at the buttons before he started yanking and pulling on them, his patience already lost. Mick raised his head and saw Keith struggle with the buttons. Keith only got the denim material open, brandishing the pearly-colored skin of Mick’s abdomen.
“Someone’s impatient,” Mick said lightly.
Keith paid no attention to the words that slipped from Mick’s throat, his head lowering to the new exposed skin on Mick’s chest. Keith paused for a moment to admire how soft the skin was-- and he also wondered just why Mick had little hair on his body to begin with. It was almost a sharp variance from his own chest-- but Mick was almost prepubescent when it came to this part of the anatomy.
Mick’s hands were at Keith’s waist, clenching the material of Keith’s long-sleeved shirt, raising it above his stomach. Keith tore himself away from the singer’s chest, forcing Mick’s hands to drop, in order to rid Mick of his pants. Fingers slinking forward, Keith inched his way under the waistband of the denim jeans, popping open the button to the singer’s pants and using a spright pull, he had finally pulled the pants from Mick’s waist.
Keith would keep his distance as he raised his arms over his head, pulling the material off, hair ruffling in waves as it fell back to Keith’s neck. The guitarist cast it to the floor without another thought. Keith quickly hurried to open his own pants, and the guitarist would note that he had very little endeavor as his fingers craved to be touching another-- preferably the writhing body below him. Before Keith could push them down any farther, he envisaged something.
Mick raised his head, wondering what the hell Keith was doing. His cerulean eyes caught sight of Keith retreating to the backroom where the studio dials and switches were. Keith’s body covered them, bending to lean over them, fingers working around the buttons and switches. Mick noticed a sound that signaled Keith was rewinding the track that he would sing for. The singer bit his lip, hoping Richards would move in celerity. Keith stood back up, surveying the work that he had done and nodded to himself.
Keith was back in an instant and both combined again. Mick grasped Keith’s hair, an arm convoluted around Keith’s neck, and Mick pulled him down, hoping to get back t where they both left off. Keith chuckled lightly at this this and nipped at Mick’s lips. Keith broke away, bringing his hands up to peel Mick’s arms from his hair and neck.
“I’ve delayed the track to start in about a minute. That should give me enough time.”
As these words were leaving Keith’s mouth, Keith had pressed his fingers into Mick’s body. Mick hissed at the sudden breach and arched his back, sucking in sharp but expeditive breaths of air. Keith would spend the next few moments teasing the singer, and in response, Mick would utter obscenities, usually broken-off or cut short. Keith felt that he was ready, as he was using his free hand to push his open pants to his thighs. Keith then used his spit to slick his fingers, then coating himself as best as he could. Keith then advanced forward, pushing fully into the body below, feeling a tight heat around him and spreading through his entire body.
Keith inhaled deeply and quickly, feeling the familiar perceptions racing through his body, slamming into him, enough to liquefy his mind and let it collect inside his skull. Mick exhaled a groan, being acquainted with the feelings of being perforated again. If there was, a part about shagging that Mick absolutely did not like was when Keith would-- for a lack of better wording-- impale him on his arousal. It could fucking hurt if he wasn‘t in the right mind. It was something Mick could live without-- but he knew he would be rewarded once the feeling was gone and faded-- and if Keith would ever move and get this started.
Keith heard a scuzzy guitar come barreling into the nearly empty studio, the guitar’s intonations echoing into his ears. The drums were pounding and Keith lifted his head and opened his mouth to let out those lyrics.
Well I never kept a dollar past sunset,
It always burned a hole in my pants.
Keith began his cadency, slowly moving to let Mick get used to the movement. The drums helped Keith to establish a pattern, as he felt Mick’s body clench around him, giving him a desired friction.
Never made a school mama happy,
Never blew a second chance, oh no
Mick took a sharp breath and chimed in with Keith for the chorus, trying to not let his voice waver in frequencies.
I need a love to keep me happy,
I need a love to keep me happy.
Baby, baby keep me happy.
Baby, baby keep me happy.
It was almost hedonic at how Mick called out those lyrics. Keith noticed that he was uttering words throatily a little, as his hips began to get faster. The guitarist needed to slow down and maintain some type of control or else he’ll spiral down faster then expected.
Always took candy from strangers,
Didn't wanna get me no trade.
Without knowing, Keith snapped his faster, causing Mick’s lungs to almost seize up, nearly moaning out Keith’s name.
Never want to be like papa,
Working for the boss ev'ry night and day.
Situations that could end really badly or unsatisfactory never register to Keith until he’s in the middle of the deed. It finally rolled into Keith’s subconscious that it could be a bad idea. Over time, the dark-haired boy began to growl more lyrics, coming out almost impetuously. The heat and tightness of the body below him was drawing him in, a moth to a flame, and Keith could barely resist. His hands were upon Mick’s hips, grasping harder as he found himself speeding up, moving until the table began to rock.
I need a love to keep me happy,
I need a love, baby won't ya keep me happy.
It was almost too close of a call. Mick’s name was on Keith’s lips, and it took almost everything to stop himself from calling Mick’s name. Keith exonerated some of his tension that pent up inside his body by yelling the lyric. It was better then letting a groan of pleasure slipping through his lips.
Baby, won't ya keep me happy.
Baby, please keep me
When Keith uttered the last line, he had leaned down and stared at Mick in the eyes, almost taunting him and requesting him. Keith couldn’t keep out a sultry quality in his voice, and when the indication provided itself, Keith connected his lips with Mick’s, his tongue seeking a swift entry. Mick immediately responded, opening his mouth to allow Keith to meet with his own tongue. Keith could not fully settle into this position as he knew he had to pull away in order to sing again.
He finally jerked his lips away and Mick’s legs constricted around Keith’s waist even more, pulling him closer.
I need a love to keep me happy,
I need a love to keep me happy.
Keith growled and caught himself before he could scream out, and he was spurred by the drums to drive faster into Mick’s body, Mick responding with fluctuant moan, his fingers digging into the cloth that cover the table.
Baby, baby keep me happy.
Baby, baby keep me happy.
The singer was close to breaking. Mick had a very loose hold on his own voice, barreling from his mouth as a moan every moment that passed. Every micro-fiber of his being was blazing in heat, pleasure, and the sweat that happened to drip from their bodies. The iron hold Keith had on his hips reminded every time that he shouldn’t let himself drown in this.
Never got a flash out of cocktails,
When I got some flesh off the bone.
The guttural growls and moans came forth more prominently then Keith hoped. He was moving faster, drilling into the body below. He was desperate, looking for that one moment that would exculpate him.
Never got a lift out of Lear jets,
When I can fly way back home.
It was as if Keith had almost given up in concealing his voice, protecting it as best as he could from the pleasure that tried to push and leak into his voice. The guitarist was ready to relinquish his hold, but he couldn’t-- at least not yet.
I need a love to keep me happy,
I need a love to keep me happy.
Just as the drums had quickened for a moment, Keith did the same. He smirked briefly when Mick seized up again, muttering out broken words.
Baby, baby keep me happy.
Baby, baby keep me happy, baby
Keith was ready. He was grunting and he needed to hit his peak desperately. He was pounding into Mick’s body with an intense rhythm. Keith had reached his hands down, extracting them from Mick’s waist and wedging them under Mick’s back. With what effort he had left, he pulled Mick up, wrapping an arm around Mick’s back and the other under Mick’s shoulders and pressed Mick into his body. Mick’s first aptitude was to coil his own arms around Keith and tighten his grip on Keith’s waist.
Happy, baby, won’t you keep me happy?
Baby, won’t you keep me happy?
Baby, won’t you keep me happy?
Keith didn’t care anymore. He let himself groan out.
Baby, won’t you keep me happy?
Baby, won’t you keep me happy?
Mick started to just say words-- any garble of words he could think of. Keith was appeased enough to repeat the lyrics until both were tired and abandon all restraint. But Mick started to scat sing.
The words tumbled from Mick’s mouth, throwing out random strung together words no matter if they made sense or not, while resting his head on Keith’s shoulder, arms moving down to the guitarist’s mid-section. The younger boy was losing himself, and even though he still sang with Mick, he let himself go. They stopped singing intelligible words, melting into a stream of moans. Keith was on the brink of collapse and he needed Mick to be there with him. He reached between both of them, and grasped Mick, moving his hand in time with his thrusts.
In an almost indefectible moment, both of the twins went under the waves of ecstasy and in the process had called each other’s names out, then crushing their lips together to the point of almost being painful. It was a few moments before either one returned to their conscious mind. Keith finally pulled away, Mick’s arms falling like sacks of lead. Keith goggled at Mick as Mick lifted his head. Keith smirked and Mick knew what Keith was getting at.
“Didn’t I tell y’ it would be a good idea?”
Mick rolled his eyes, but was too overcome with a sleepy feeling to retort back. Keith pulled his pants back up to his waist, though he was clumsy in the process. After a moment, Mick began to move in order to locate his pants but Keith stopped him, putting a hand on his disported chest and shook his head. Taking a moment to look around, Keith picked up Mick’s discarded pants and helped him to shuffle back into them. Keith’s eyes landed on a lone studio couch on the side of the room, and he helped Mick off and help him circuit from the table over to the couch. Keith could feel Mick’s body walk with a gimp and he smiled to himself.
Keith had grabbed the blanket from the table and brought it over with them. He helped Mick to sit down and he followed suit. After sitting down he would wrap his arms around Mick, sliding him into his lap more, and spread the blanket across both of them. They would slip under the conjuration of sleep and stay there, not worrying if anyone came into the studio. It‘s not like anyone could suspect them of doing anything-- they had all of their clothes on. Though the smell that hung in the air might make a small amount of difference-- of it was still there in the morning.
Rating: R
Pairings: Keith/Mick
Word Count: 4,073
Disclaimer: The Stones would never forgive me if I owned them.
It took forever to write this because I had lost this when I almost finished it when the computer crashed and to some procrastination. And what makes me sad is that my mum put up some parental controls in order to block a few things-- so I can't read the new entry below this and it makes me sad.
Anyways, I was inspired to write this by listening to the song 'Happy' and wondering why Keith's voice starts off gentle then by the end, growling and grunting a lot.
It was official.
Keith was completely and utterly bored.
It was those moments of time, the ones that Keith did not apprize. Those times when his body could practically feel the frenetic life pouring into his soul when a tour was just nearing them. His fingers itched to get on that stage, sling his guitar, and feel the strings dig into his fingers, as he would play all that the guitar was worth. The piquancy of sweat that would drip from his skin, percolating him with adrenaline, endorphins flushing through his body.
Thus was not the case. The life he was living now was too indolent for his tastes-- too slow of maintenance. He could barely keep himself in an irenic state-- the only time he felt peaceful when indulging in this time was at Nellcote a few months ago. He enjoyed ambulating around the villa, his trusty guitar in hand, while he was in pleasant company. He would accost anyone who came by, seeing them as a brother or sister. It was something Keith liked-- it was all he could ask for. He espoused the lifestyle.
Keith eased back in his chair, the sonance lightly dusting into the air. Keith glimed down at his instrument, took his fingers and clenched fastidiously over the fret board, picking up his pic to pluck at a note. Keith just did not understand why he was not tantalized in his guitar. It was always one of the most enjoyable things he knew how to do. Now it was not as commoving.
Keith was sitting until he heard footsteps connecting with the floor off in the distance. With no tangible reason to stay hooked in the chair, Keith disclosed himself away from his guitar, setting it down with the softness of a mother, and he strides out of the room while acclimatizing his long-sleeved shirt. For a brief moment, Keith peered down at his shirt, seeing the large logo inscribed on it-- it had been almost a complete year since that tongue logo had come out and it was already becoming well diagnosticated-- easily recognized over the world. He came into the hallway and saw a familiar figure walking back and forth, muttering words that were sprawled on the surface in granite.
Mick seemed to be livid. With longer hair flowing past his face, it was harder to construe just what he was thinking form a distance. He striddled up to Mick and looked over his shoulder. He saw the paper with lyrics written over it. Some crossed out and others hooked on in. It was the song Keith was to sing lead vocals on. Keith thought about how he always sung back up, hardly ever doing anything that was lead. Mick glanced back to see Keith and he lowered the sheet.
Keith walked with Mick, seemingly no path constituted. Keith thought back to the many times of being nervous about doing backing vocals, the sudden fear that he might somehow mess-up, and he was scared this time. Trepidation was smearing his stomach. He was so used to the guitar being his voice, spewing out whatever he had to say, just without the words.
Mick finally halted his movements, his face turning to face Keith’s own. “Have you got’ny ideas?”
“Not really. I’m not doin’ anything right now.”
“I’m just looking over these lyrics, seeing if anything needs to be added or taken out.”
Keith lightly nodded and continued to follow. Keith bit his lip as he came into the sight of a studio door. His chest expanded as he saw Mick reach for the doorknob. Mick was confused at to why Keith just cut off his speech. His beryl eyes sought pout Keith’s face, seeing the partial nervousness mar his features.
“Hey,” Mick said airily, “it’ll be alright. Just think of something that isn’t too nervous. I do it a lot.”
“Yeah, well this my first complete lead vocal performance. It’s easy for you to say.”
“I did it in back in ‘61 for the first time. I felt nervous actually.”
Keith just let out a rough sigh. The guitarist was poised in the room, seeing the studio dials in another room, separated by blank television glass. There was still light nervousness playing at the ends of his subconscious, trying to fray his determination. The guitarist viewed the room-- what there was to view. It was almost desolate of items, just bare and no amount of dauntlessness could keep his eyes on it. Keith looked in the corners and spotted one prone couch lying on the side. It was when Keith remembered something.
Warm breath sending waves rippling through his skin, charring him slowly and almost painstakingly scarce. Hands upon his legs, solid heat traveling. The cool air that him and sent him reeling.
“Sing for me, Keith!”
Keith blinked for a moment before a canny smile played out onto his lips. Mick raised an eyebrow as Keith turned to him and looked at the microphone hovering menacingly in front of them. Mick had set the lyrics down on the podium standing below the mic.
“I’ve got an idea.”
Keith turned around and ventured into the side of the room, his body verging to grasp at a bare table. Keith pushed himself back and pulled the table, his arm muscles flexing and pulling. He brought over the table and acclimatized it, the ends of the burnished surface poking at Mick‘s legs, signaling the singer to move. He stepped back and watched as it replaced his standing body. Keith stood up and inquired it, nodding silently to himself. The guitarist then strode over the couch, pulling off a lonely blanket and spread it all over the table, covering it with a soft material.
“That’ll do for now,” Keith said quietly.
Keith then moved to Mick’s direction and placed both hands on his shoulders, closing in around them and created a languid movement. Keith then contrived Mick to the table, and before Mick could think, Keith leaned him back on the table. He placed his hands on either side of the tawny body.
“Keith, what is th--”
“This is what I was thinking: I want to record this song while fucking you on this table.”
Mick goggled up at Keith, all conscious thought seeping out his brain and barreling out his ears, soundlessly splattering on the floor. His eyebrows knit together. He blinked several times and tried to wrap his mind around this concept.
“You can’t be serious,” he deadpanned.
“I’m as serious as I can get.”
Mick looked fixedly straight into Keith’s eyes and Keith could see them glazing over with a protective defense. Keith couldn’t have any of that. He needed to disengage and diffuse any resistance expeditiously before it was given a chance to solidify.
“No, Mick,” Keith quickly said, a light excited tone drizzling into his words. “I’ve already thought it out and everything. It’ll be such a great experience. Besides, you can’t say ‘no’ to something you’ve never done.”
As Keith was explaining his reasoning for this situation, he had absently started to rub at Mick’s thigh, languidly dragging his hand up the denim-clad legs, giving an airy pressure to make sure Mick was paying attention, occasionally tweaking his sides. Keith knew Mick had an almost extremely active salacious side and he used that side of his singer to his advantage. If Mick ever needed a push in the right direction of persuasion, he would make good use of this and help push Mick along.
Mick felt the hand traveling through his clothes, feeling the heat it brought that naturally was produced by Keith’s body. Sometimes Mick execrated having such an active libido. He knew Keith knew that he would get it up for many things, and even the most feathery of touches in the right place could set him off. Whenever Keith wanted to do something that was particularly not-so family oriented, Keith would use this method. Sometimes Keith would really push the barrier by opting to push into public places, possibly getting them thrown in prison for probable indecent exposure.
Sometimes Mick hated Keith’s adventurous attitude.
Nevertheless, even though Mick denied that he wanted to do this, the hand on his thigh was working really well in pushing him to Keith’s side. How he hated this. He was so dearly going to get Keith back after this whole ordeal.
“Besides, it’s not like you’ve sung out while getting shagged into the bed,” Keith said in a low whisper, his face leaning in to brush it across Mick’s ear.
Mick would have looked up punctiliously at Keith and glared at him had it not been for both hands coming onto his thighs and rubbed mercurially then the original set pace. Instead, a breath of cool air rushed into his lungs as he inhaled sharply, the pressure in his groin starting to lightly build up.
“Fuck you.” It was not the most primo comeback, but dammit, that was the best he could manage at the moment.
Keith deviously grinned. “Gladly.”
Keith continued this movement, while one hand was inching its way up to the hem of the singer’s pants, inching inside slowly as to not set Mick off too quickly. He knew he was wining, but intended to maneuver this for a little while longer. His hands stopped when Mick finally raised his head a few inches to glare at Keith, but Keith could see that he had gotten Mick exactly where he wanted just by looking into the pair of blue eyes across from him.
“… fine, we’ll do--”
Before Mick could push out the rest of the sentence, Keith’s mouth crashed on top of Mick’s, flourishingly cutting any sound that was in Mick’s throat, welling up until it came out as a mix between a moan and a groan. Mick broke the kiss and panted flippantly, not expecting Keith to immediately react.
“But,” Mick declared, “if you mess this up, it’ll be your fault.”
Keith grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “But you’ll remember exactly why I messed up no matter how many retakes we have.”
Mick pursed his lips, annoyance obviously playing out on his face.
“Don’t be such a prude. Besides,” Keith said knowingly, “I’ve got to get us both warmed up for this first.”
Before Mick could retort with a prudent reply, Keith dove back down, smothering his mouth on top of Mick’s. Keith wasted no opportunity in delivering what he had proposed. His fingers darted up Mick’s sides, his back arching forwards to loom over Mick’s body below him. Keith licked along the bottom of Mick’s lips, hoping to gain a quick access. The body below him responded almost instantaneously and Keith’s tongue invaded the older boy’s mouth.
Hands were upon Keith’s back, nails pressing through the material of the long-sleeved shirt that Keith was wearing, apperceiving the heat made from nails digging half-crescent moons into his skin. Hot breath flowed from each of their mouths, calescent and desperate as both were trying to feel more of the other. Mick raised one of his legs, hooking it around Keith’s waist, while Mick’s arms latched around Keith’s back and neck, pulling him down for more.
Keith broke away, using the moment to slide down the singer’s face, his mouth pressing small kisses to the feverish skin, moving to the valley between Mick’s shoulders and neck. Mick could feel the light stubble of Keith’s face scratch at him, making him wriggle. Keith bit at Mick’s neck-- and Keith wasn‘t paying attention to how hard he bit Mick, and the unexpected force of the bite sent a light jolt of pain that made Mick jump. Keith stopped for a brief moment, using that time to glance up at Mick with his eyes. Mick shook his head and Keith recapitulated his activities.
Keith’s fingers trailed to Mick’s denim jacket, fingers fiddling with the buttons. For whatever reason, the buttons were being stubborn and would not come free. Keith grunted in annoyance, and though Mick couldn’t see it, Keith’s eyes narrowed. He stopped to glare at the buttons before he started yanking and pulling on them, his patience already lost. Mick raised his head and saw Keith struggle with the buttons. Keith only got the denim material open, brandishing the pearly-colored skin of Mick’s abdomen.
“Someone’s impatient,” Mick said lightly.
Keith paid no attention to the words that slipped from Mick’s throat, his head lowering to the new exposed skin on Mick’s chest. Keith paused for a moment to admire how soft the skin was-- and he also wondered just why Mick had little hair on his body to begin with. It was almost a sharp variance from his own chest-- but Mick was almost prepubescent when it came to this part of the anatomy.
Mick’s hands were at Keith’s waist, clenching the material of Keith’s long-sleeved shirt, raising it above his stomach. Keith tore himself away from the singer’s chest, forcing Mick’s hands to drop, in order to rid Mick of his pants. Fingers slinking forward, Keith inched his way under the waistband of the denim jeans, popping open the button to the singer’s pants and using a spright pull, he had finally pulled the pants from Mick’s waist.
Keith would keep his distance as he raised his arms over his head, pulling the material off, hair ruffling in waves as it fell back to Keith’s neck. The guitarist cast it to the floor without another thought. Keith quickly hurried to open his own pants, and the guitarist would note that he had very little endeavor as his fingers craved to be touching another-- preferably the writhing body below him. Before Keith could push them down any farther, he envisaged something.
Mick raised his head, wondering what the hell Keith was doing. His cerulean eyes caught sight of Keith retreating to the backroom where the studio dials and switches were. Keith’s body covered them, bending to lean over them, fingers working around the buttons and switches. Mick noticed a sound that signaled Keith was rewinding the track that he would sing for. The singer bit his lip, hoping Richards would move in celerity. Keith stood back up, surveying the work that he had done and nodded to himself.
Keith was back in an instant and both combined again. Mick grasped Keith’s hair, an arm convoluted around Keith’s neck, and Mick pulled him down, hoping to get back t where they both left off. Keith chuckled lightly at this this and nipped at Mick’s lips. Keith broke away, bringing his hands up to peel Mick’s arms from his hair and neck.
“I’ve delayed the track to start in about a minute. That should give me enough time.”
As these words were leaving Keith’s mouth, Keith had pressed his fingers into Mick’s body. Mick hissed at the sudden breach and arched his back, sucking in sharp but expeditive breaths of air. Keith would spend the next few moments teasing the singer, and in response, Mick would utter obscenities, usually broken-off or cut short. Keith felt that he was ready, as he was using his free hand to push his open pants to his thighs. Keith then used his spit to slick his fingers, then coating himself as best as he could. Keith then advanced forward, pushing fully into the body below, feeling a tight heat around him and spreading through his entire body.
Keith inhaled deeply and quickly, feeling the familiar perceptions racing through his body, slamming into him, enough to liquefy his mind and let it collect inside his skull. Mick exhaled a groan, being acquainted with the feelings of being perforated again. If there was, a part about shagging that Mick absolutely did not like was when Keith would-- for a lack of better wording-- impale him on his arousal. It could fucking hurt if he wasn‘t in the right mind. It was something Mick could live without-- but he knew he would be rewarded once the feeling was gone and faded-- and if Keith would ever move and get this started.
Keith heard a scuzzy guitar come barreling into the nearly empty studio, the guitar’s intonations echoing into his ears. The drums were pounding and Keith lifted his head and opened his mouth to let out those lyrics.
Well I never kept a dollar past sunset,
It always burned a hole in my pants.
Keith began his cadency, slowly moving to let Mick get used to the movement. The drums helped Keith to establish a pattern, as he felt Mick’s body clench around him, giving him a desired friction.
Never made a school mama happy,
Never blew a second chance, oh no
Mick took a sharp breath and chimed in with Keith for the chorus, trying to not let his voice waver in frequencies.
I need a love to keep me happy,
I need a love to keep me happy.
Baby, baby keep me happy.
Baby, baby keep me happy.
It was almost hedonic at how Mick called out those lyrics. Keith noticed that he was uttering words throatily a little, as his hips began to get faster. The guitarist needed to slow down and maintain some type of control or else he’ll spiral down faster then expected.
Always took candy from strangers,
Didn't wanna get me no trade.
Without knowing, Keith snapped his faster, causing Mick’s lungs to almost seize up, nearly moaning out Keith’s name.
Never want to be like papa,
Working for the boss ev'ry night and day.
Situations that could end really badly or unsatisfactory never register to Keith until he’s in the middle of the deed. It finally rolled into Keith’s subconscious that it could be a bad idea. Over time, the dark-haired boy began to growl more lyrics, coming out almost impetuously. The heat and tightness of the body below him was drawing him in, a moth to a flame, and Keith could barely resist. His hands were upon Mick’s hips, grasping harder as he found himself speeding up, moving until the table began to rock.
I need a love to keep me happy,
I need a love, baby won't ya keep me happy.
It was almost too close of a call. Mick’s name was on Keith’s lips, and it took almost everything to stop himself from calling Mick’s name. Keith exonerated some of his tension that pent up inside his body by yelling the lyric. It was better then letting a groan of pleasure slipping through his lips.
Baby, won't ya keep me happy.
Baby, please keep me
When Keith uttered the last line, he had leaned down and stared at Mick in the eyes, almost taunting him and requesting him. Keith couldn’t keep out a sultry quality in his voice, and when the indication provided itself, Keith connected his lips with Mick’s, his tongue seeking a swift entry. Mick immediately responded, opening his mouth to allow Keith to meet with his own tongue. Keith could not fully settle into this position as he knew he had to pull away in order to sing again.
He finally jerked his lips away and Mick’s legs constricted around Keith’s waist even more, pulling him closer.
I need a love to keep me happy,
I need a love to keep me happy.
Keith growled and caught himself before he could scream out, and he was spurred by the drums to drive faster into Mick’s body, Mick responding with fluctuant moan, his fingers digging into the cloth that cover the table.
Baby, baby keep me happy.
Baby, baby keep me happy.
The singer was close to breaking. Mick had a very loose hold on his own voice, barreling from his mouth as a moan every moment that passed. Every micro-fiber of his being was blazing in heat, pleasure, and the sweat that happened to drip from their bodies. The iron hold Keith had on his hips reminded every time that he shouldn’t let himself drown in this.
Never got a flash out of cocktails,
When I got some flesh off the bone.
The guttural growls and moans came forth more prominently then Keith hoped. He was moving faster, drilling into the body below. He was desperate, looking for that one moment that would exculpate him.
Never got a lift out of Lear jets,
When I can fly way back home.
It was as if Keith had almost given up in concealing his voice, protecting it as best as he could from the pleasure that tried to push and leak into his voice. The guitarist was ready to relinquish his hold, but he couldn’t-- at least not yet.
I need a love to keep me happy,
I need a love to keep me happy.
Just as the drums had quickened for a moment, Keith did the same. He smirked briefly when Mick seized up again, muttering out broken words.
Baby, baby keep me happy.
Baby, baby keep me happy, baby
Keith was ready. He was grunting and he needed to hit his peak desperately. He was pounding into Mick’s body with an intense rhythm. Keith had reached his hands down, extracting them from Mick’s waist and wedging them under Mick’s back. With what effort he had left, he pulled Mick up, wrapping an arm around Mick’s back and the other under Mick’s shoulders and pressed Mick into his body. Mick’s first aptitude was to coil his own arms around Keith and tighten his grip on Keith’s waist.
Happy, baby, won’t you keep me happy?
Baby, won’t you keep me happy?
Baby, won’t you keep me happy?
Keith didn’t care anymore. He let himself groan out.
Baby, won’t you keep me happy?
Baby, won’t you keep me happy?
Mick started to just say words-- any garble of words he could think of. Keith was appeased enough to repeat the lyrics until both were tired and abandon all restraint. But Mick started to scat sing.
The words tumbled from Mick’s mouth, throwing out random strung together words no matter if they made sense or not, while resting his head on Keith’s shoulder, arms moving down to the guitarist’s mid-section. The younger boy was losing himself, and even though he still sang with Mick, he let himself go. They stopped singing intelligible words, melting into a stream of moans. Keith was on the brink of collapse and he needed Mick to be there with him. He reached between both of them, and grasped Mick, moving his hand in time with his thrusts.
In an almost indefectible moment, both of the twins went under the waves of ecstasy and in the process had called each other’s names out, then crushing their lips together to the point of almost being painful. It was a few moments before either one returned to their conscious mind. Keith finally pulled away, Mick’s arms falling like sacks of lead. Keith goggled at Mick as Mick lifted his head. Keith smirked and Mick knew what Keith was getting at.
“Didn’t I tell y’ it would be a good idea?”
Mick rolled his eyes, but was too overcome with a sleepy feeling to retort back. Keith pulled his pants back up to his waist, though he was clumsy in the process. After a moment, Mick began to move in order to locate his pants but Keith stopped him, putting a hand on his disported chest and shook his head. Taking a moment to look around, Keith picked up Mick’s discarded pants and helped him to shuffle back into them. Keith’s eyes landed on a lone studio couch on the side of the room, and he helped Mick off and help him circuit from the table over to the couch. Keith could feel Mick’s body walk with a gimp and he smiled to himself.
Keith had grabbed the blanket from the table and brought it over with them. He helped Mick to sit down and he followed suit. After sitting down he would wrap his arms around Mick, sliding him into his lap more, and spread the blanket across both of them. They would slip under the conjuration of sleep and stay there, not worrying if anyone came into the studio. It‘s not like anyone could suspect them of doing anything-- they had all of their clothes on. Though the smell that hung in the air might make a small amount of difference-- of it was still there in the morning.