I still bring life!
Title: The Inspector
Rating: PG
Pairings: Mick/Keith, slight Keith/Gram
Word Count: 250 (a fabble)
Disclaimer: I don't own the Stones or Gram Parsons.
--
Mick sat back, his lips wrapped around a glass of bourbon; he dully noted the burn of alcohol down his throat. He sat it own on the cluttered table. He was sure that the surface was not even visible.
Bottles, food, guitar pics, bottles and other assorted items lay scattered across the surface. He looked up, blue eyes narrowing. He was sure that he could taste his own jealousy.
They were doing it again. Those two: Keith and Gram.
Keith’s back was pressed to a chair, turned away from him. Gram was there, staring intently at the guitar Keith was strumming. His face was soft, a cherub. Keith smiled when Gram whispered something. His hand tightened around the bottleneck.
Damn. Keith was supposed to be with him, not that country boy at the end of the table. He pulled his lips back into that pout he was so used to creating. He wondered why he could persuade anyone with it, except Keith. He slumped in his chair, watching the liquid in his glass.
He felt like a loner; someone who faced a formidable beast. Only this was the beast of jealousy.
Why didn’t Keith look at him? Mick was there for Keith, but Keith abandoned him, all for a new comer. Mick had plans with Keith, writing songs, eating together, and generally hanging out. However, he ditched him for Gram. Just the thought of Keith and Gram made him want to vomit.
This is going to be a long summer.
--
Rating: PG
Pairings: Mick/Keith, slight Keith/Gram
Word Count: 250 (a fabble)
Disclaimer: I don't own the Stones or Gram Parsons.
--
Mick sat back, his lips wrapped around a glass of bourbon; he dully noted the burn of alcohol down his throat. He sat it own on the cluttered table. He was sure that the surface was not even visible.
Bottles, food, guitar pics, bottles and other assorted items lay scattered across the surface. He looked up, blue eyes narrowing. He was sure that he could taste his own jealousy.
They were doing it again. Those two: Keith and Gram.
Keith’s back was pressed to a chair, turned away from him. Gram was there, staring intently at the guitar Keith was strumming. His face was soft, a cherub. Keith smiled when Gram whispered something. His hand tightened around the bottleneck.
Damn. Keith was supposed to be with him, not that country boy at the end of the table. He pulled his lips back into that pout he was so used to creating. He wondered why he could persuade anyone with it, except Keith. He slumped in his chair, watching the liquid in his glass.
He felt like a loner; someone who faced a formidable beast. Only this was the beast of jealousy.
Why didn’t Keith look at him? Mick was there for Keith, but Keith abandoned him, all for a new comer. Mick had plans with Keith, writing songs, eating together, and generally hanging out. However, he ditched him for Gram. Just the thought of Keith and Gram made him want to vomit.
This is going to be a long summer.
--