Uh huh.
Title: It's The Desire, Isn't It?
Rating: R?
Pairings: Keith/Mick
Word Count: 381
Disclaimer: I will never own the Rolling Stones
They were like Gods in their own right. An aura that many people could not help to be drawn to; it beckoned them with promises of fortune and endeared them. In a way, they were worshiped. They matched each other, sort of like a spin.
Pictures only caught what they wanted you to see, many things left implications, hints at the desired affect. What they never showed was the reality. People dreamed of it, what they did in them. But only to the originals, their eyes only knew the truth.
The guitarist. How he wove the notes to fuel his other half. The singer, emotive and offers his body as a musical sounds cape. He was like the translator, telling the tale that the notes had imagined; how he was like the vessel of notes for the instrument.
Over that time, that’s how they became. The Glimmer Twins. The supposed alter egos of the ones called Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. A rope had been sowed, only to be frayed as the years passed. Tonight would be no difference. Nobody could separate it, only himself or herself.
They would wind down, to only feel thrumming energy coursing, but somehow good. It’s the desire. It’s good as to how they would speed up and then slow, to almost a torturous like movement. They're filled with music, the brim not too tight, not too loose.
“It’s just right.” Mick is teasing. The desire just filtering in as he tears at Keith’s lip, warm breath as an anchor.
Keith only plays with him. What is he to do in a situation like this? He just plays the chords. Mick is his instrument, his personal one.
“It’s it, isn’t it?” Mick is torturous, drawing out Keith’s last note; a hand is poised on his thigh, just waiting for Keith to give his desire. He just plays.
Mick’s hand is warm, and now Richards trades with Jagger. He is now the singer, and Mick the chord conductor.
“Sing for me, Keith!” Ever so wanting, he does. His voice is the instrument as Mick paces his hands in the right spots.
He’s waiting. He let’s out the chords that his fingers are used for.
Oh bloody hell, this is good.
"It's the desire." Mick now smiles approvingly.
Rating: R?
Pairings: Keith/Mick
Word Count: 381
Disclaimer: I will never own the Rolling Stones
They were like Gods in their own right. An aura that many people could not help to be drawn to; it beckoned them with promises of fortune and endeared them. In a way, they were worshiped. They matched each other, sort of like a spin.
Pictures only caught what they wanted you to see, many things left implications, hints at the desired affect. What they never showed was the reality. People dreamed of it, what they did in them. But only to the originals, their eyes only knew the truth.
The guitarist. How he wove the notes to fuel his other half. The singer, emotive and offers his body as a musical sounds cape. He was like the translator, telling the tale that the notes had imagined; how he was like the vessel of notes for the instrument.
Over that time, that’s how they became. The Glimmer Twins. The supposed alter egos of the ones called Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. A rope had been sowed, only to be frayed as the years passed. Tonight would be no difference. Nobody could separate it, only himself or herself.
They would wind down, to only feel thrumming energy coursing, but somehow good. It’s the desire. It’s good as to how they would speed up and then slow, to almost a torturous like movement. They're filled with music, the brim not too tight, not too loose.
“It’s just right.” Mick is teasing. The desire just filtering in as he tears at Keith’s lip, warm breath as an anchor.
Keith only plays with him. What is he to do in a situation like this? He just plays the chords. Mick is his instrument, his personal one.
“It’s it, isn’t it?” Mick is torturous, drawing out Keith’s last note; a hand is poised on his thigh, just waiting for Keith to give his desire. He just plays.
Mick’s hand is warm, and now Richards trades with Jagger. He is now the singer, and Mick the chord conductor.
“Sing for me, Keith!” Ever so wanting, he does. His voice is the instrument as Mick paces his hands in the right spots.
He’s waiting. He let’s out the chords that his fingers are used for.
Oh bloody hell, this is good.
"It's the desire." Mick now smiles approvingly.