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Title: An Ideal Partner
Rating: PG
Pairings: Keith/Ronnie
Word Count: 395
Disclaimer: Pure fiction, for my own enjoyment.
A/N: I wasn't really sure about this story, but I thought I could give it a go.
Keith has his back to the chair, strung loosely in his chair. That strap to the guitar just hangs loosely- his fingers just dancing. An empty bottle-- Jack left him high and dry-- poised in the light; the gentleman was perched on his knee, not helping him at all. A cigarette on his lips-- it's a bore to be back here. No liquor, just a cigarette.
Chapped lips in a normal frown; black leather sitting on his legs, a white shirt perched on his spotted arms. Woody is on the chair, he grins. Fingers work furious, taming those chords. He smiles-- then frowns, difficult notes just out of reach. Quickly must he work to get them notes.
Eyes find Ronnie, glazed as a cloudy sky. From time to time, he looks more. Keith liked him: he was such a loose, happy guy. Better than Taylor, he thought. Keith liked this attitude that Woody gave 'em.
Fingers are stilled, not for long though. Jack, that not so gentleman, is next to Ronnie. All he has is a needle. That Spanish Tony wasn't coming. Damn him and thank god; he's not sure which one is more fitting.
Glazed eyes dance around a frame. He watched Ronnie, a detached interest looming in his depths. Something about that lad caught him. Everything from his rooster hair, wide smile, bubbly personality, or just his infectious attitude. He could be smitten-- then again, maybe he was just interested.
Everything was cool, a little hazy but cool. His eyelashes felt light. A cigarette -- used and wilting -- hung between his lips. He did get it from Ronnie earlier; he just didn’t want to let it go.
He felt… different. Around that Ronnie lad. Another shoulder to lean on, someone like himself. Ronnie filled him with excitement, a feeling he relished. Something about him was fitting.
Ronnie looked up; a smile formed perched on focused lips. There was that look: the reassurance that he was getting it better. Keith loved it. He loved the look of that boy. Ronnie then morphed into determination for that guitar. Notes spilled, strings plucked, tunings visible.
Ronnie was his ideal partner. Ronnie was like his soul brother -- other then Mick, he quickly added -- and it drew Keith in. He played, and Ronnie delivered. His partner in crime.
He could surely get used to it.
Rating: PG
Pairings: Keith/Ronnie
Word Count: 395
Disclaimer: Pure fiction, for my own enjoyment.
A/N: I wasn't really sure about this story, but I thought I could give it a go.
Keith has his back to the chair, strung loosely in his chair. That strap to the guitar just hangs loosely- his fingers just dancing. An empty bottle-- Jack left him high and dry-- poised in the light; the gentleman was perched on his knee, not helping him at all. A cigarette on his lips-- it's a bore to be back here. No liquor, just a cigarette.
Chapped lips in a normal frown; black leather sitting on his legs, a white shirt perched on his spotted arms. Woody is on the chair, he grins. Fingers work furious, taming those chords. He smiles-- then frowns, difficult notes just out of reach. Quickly must he work to get them notes.
Eyes find Ronnie, glazed as a cloudy sky. From time to time, he looks more. Keith liked him: he was such a loose, happy guy. Better than Taylor, he thought. Keith liked this attitude that Woody gave 'em.
Fingers are stilled, not for long though. Jack, that not so gentleman, is next to Ronnie. All he has is a needle. That Spanish Tony wasn't coming. Damn him and thank god; he's not sure which one is more fitting.
Glazed eyes dance around a frame. He watched Ronnie, a detached interest looming in his depths. Something about that lad caught him. Everything from his rooster hair, wide smile, bubbly personality, or just his infectious attitude. He could be smitten-- then again, maybe he was just interested.
Everything was cool, a little hazy but cool. His eyelashes felt light. A cigarette -- used and wilting -- hung between his lips. He did get it from Ronnie earlier; he just didn’t want to let it go.
He felt… different. Around that Ronnie lad. Another shoulder to lean on, someone like himself. Ronnie filled him with excitement, a feeling he relished. Something about him was fitting.
Ronnie looked up; a smile formed perched on focused lips. There was that look: the reassurance that he was getting it better. Keith loved it. He loved the look of that boy. Ronnie then morphed into determination for that guitar. Notes spilled, strings plucked, tunings visible.
Ronnie was his ideal partner. Ronnie was like his soul brother -- other then Mick, he quickly added -- and it drew Keith in. He played, and Ronnie delivered. His partner in crime.
He could surely get used to it.