I've always wanted to write something involving drag.
Title: A Not So Done Deal
Rating: R
Pairings: Keith/Mick
Word Count: 5135
Disclaimer: Although certain things are true in here, it's all fake.
Also, this is for protecttheents who was having a shitty day. Hope this helps you cheer up!
Cerulean eyes gazed in trepidation as the pair regarded the image that was cast back on the mirror.
Mick moved his hand up to slightly pull at the leather studded collar that lay coiled around his neck, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He bit his plush bottom lip nervously and in disbelief at the current situation. His fingers moved down the soft and light material that lay stretched out on his skin. Fingers lightly grasped at the flouncy, light material, inspecting the white colored clothing. The pants were the same color and weighed lightly; they were also bell-bottoms seeing that they opened at the ankle of his foot. He stared at his image in the mirror with disdain as the image seemed to mock what he wore.
It was a warm day, but that didn’t translate for the feelings that Mick felt in his soul. He shuffled his feet and wiggled his toes. Still, it never was able to fully rid his mind of the feelings coursing. Soon Mick began to think back to exactly why he was wearing this little getup.
It was about a few weeks ago when this plight of his was proposed. It had been a long day and nothing passed very quickly, not even the ability to will song lyrics to be born inside Mick’s head; not even Keith could successfully pull out the guitar notes he was looking for. Papers lay in scattered heaps, little to no writing doting their bare spaces. Amps sat around unplugged and lonely. Guitars were cast in forgotten about places as Keith became frustrated with the lack of inspiration, setting his guitar down to search for his liquid muse Whiskey.
The studio was empty and briefly believing that their creative juices would be flowing, Mick and Keith migrated to the studio. Frustratingly, nothing happened; their minds remained a barren land of little to no activity. He and Keith decided to roll a joint and spend the afternoon on the decks of their hotel rooms near Hyde Park. Unfortunately, Keith had used the last of his supply on the plane flight back to Europe and he was sufficiently pissed. After some odd minutes, Keith was able to acquire a few bottles of his choice of alcohol. Mick observed in a disengaged interest as Keith began to pop open the cork that separated him from that sweet liquid.
Just then, an idea had enclosed around Mick’s mind, briefly forming an idea. With the moves of a graceful cat, Mick slithered up onto his knees and regarded Keith with stare.
“Hey Keith,” Mick began in a curious voice.
“What?” Keith said after swallowing a mouthful of alcoholic saturated liquid.
“I got a challenge.”
Keith turned to cast Mick an interested look. “I’m listening.”
“I just had a thought: I bet that you can’t guzzle more then one whiskey bottle,” he said, pointing at the bottle of said beverage clenched in Keith’s hand.
“Where did this come from?” Keith asked, his eyebrows knotting in confusion.
Mick shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know really, but I still think you can’t. Never seen y’ take a swig of more then one bottle.”
Keith’s eyes flashed an emotion of a challenging sense. “Really? Then you must’ve not been around a lot when I’m at the pub.”
Mick smiled widely and showed his teeth. “Oh? Then let’s make this interesting: I bet you that if you can’t drink more then one bottle and not be sloshed outside your head, then you owe me a free month’s worth of servant duties.”
Keith sputtered and nearly chocked around his mouthful of liquid. He coughed and wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, gathering up his thoughts. “What? Just for those two bottles? I don’t think so.”
“But if you do win, you get to make a proposition.”
“Really Jagger? ‘cause you usually try to weasel your way out your punishments.”
“Not this time,” Mick spoke confidently. “I’ve got a good feeling that you can’t do it.” He let a prodding tone undermine his words.
Keith straightened. “Are you joking? So, if I win--”
“Doubtful,” Mick interrupted.
Keith shot Mick a look for de-railing his slew of thoughts. “So if I win, I get to choose your punishment?”
“Yep.”
“Okay then, if I win, then you have to dress up in what I say, and I get to call you what I want.”
Mick shook his head. “That’s all you could come up with, mate? Maybe you’ve lost too many of your brain cells to alcohol already; I feel slightly bad for making you get rid of the remaining ones.”
“Can it, Jagger. Let’s get to this.”
Keith swiped a few bottles of whiskey and headed towards one of the tables in the room, Mick following on his trail. The bottles clanged on the polished surface and Keith sat down right in front of them, folding his waif-like legs into a steady crouch. Mick sat down in the opposite direction and set down a glass. Keith watched it suspiciously. “What’s the glass for?”
“Thought you’d need it for drinking and you--”
“I don’t need no fucking glass,” Keith interrupted, a slight gruffness in his voice. “I can do fine just by the bottle.”
Mick shrugged his shoulders. “If you wish.”
Keith’s calloused fingers reached for the bottle, Mick’s eyes peering at the bottle, then to Keith’s advancing hand. He watched as Keith pulled the cork out, a slight ‘pop’ echoing in the room. A light noise was hanging in the air; the sounds of the people outside and a light music playing somewhere in the room that Keith didn’t feel like shutting off.
Keith titled the bottle to his lips and began to take in large gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every swallowed mouthful. The bottle drained, emptying of its polished brown color. As Mick watched, slight doubts began to be spun in the back of his mind as he watched the bottle reach its halfway mark, Keith releasing the bottle from his lips to take in a gasp of air. He breathed for a moment, then took the bottle back to where it was previously. Mick sucked on his bottom lip in anxiety, waiting to see if Keith could follow through with his bet.
Keith sat down the first bottle, not much thought for the comfort of the table as it clanged heavily against the surface and tipped over as Keith drew his hand away. It made contact with the ground but hardly sounded off in their ears. Keith grasped at the second bottle lying in front of him. With the cork popped out Keith dove into his second bottle head-on with determination firmly set within his boundaries. Keith made a slight spectacle of tilting his head back and drinking with ease as though he were an Irish pub owner, or at least acquainted with one seeing the speed which Keith guzzled down the ale liquid. The only sign of life in Keith’s body were the air bubbles dragging through the liquid and the shifting fingers on the bottle’s neck for a much better grip.
The singer began to fidget and twiddle his thumbs as the second bottle was nearly swallowed. Keith then made a dramatic display of jerking the bottle away from his mouth to slam it down on the table causing a Mick to jump.
A loud burp unloaded from Keith’s throat where it had been developing. Keith grinned triumphantly at Mick, his misaligned teeth glinting in the afternoon light. Keith was slightly wavering, but not much to be noticeable. Keith began to open his mouth to let out those victory words he had spontaneously planned up for this wondrous occasion.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah Keith; I know what you’re about to say.” Mick spoke in dismay.
“Told you that I could.” Keith was smiling. “Now, about my reward.”
“I was hoping you’d be too off your head to remember,” Mick muttered lowly.
“Since I won, I want to see you…” Keith trailed off, placing a finger over his chin and was reminded quietly that he was getting his five o’ clock shadow. Suddenly, a wily grin crossed onto Keith’s face. Mick became immediately aware of the plotting expression located within Keith’s eyes and became alert.
“I know what I want,” Keith spoke, a sly quality drenching his words. “I want you to parade around in a frock as I watch you make a fool of yourself.”
A silence then barged forwards to fill in the gaps of their conversation. One sat, staring in disbelief as the other held a bright spark of high hopes and happiness at winning. Mick’s mouth slightly fell open as he still processed this idea in his mind. Keith held a complete look of ‘and I ain’t backin’ down from this’. Mick’s eyes then narrowed at Keith as he grasped for some type of comeback through his words but he couldn’t gather enough of himself to properly formulate anything. His mouth unhinged to only feel like it was too heavy to work, thus closing it again. Keith was still smirking and Mick would give almost anything to plant a swift blow on Keith’s flawless face.
“What’s the matter Mick,” Keith pressed on, rubbing salt in the already slashed and exposed wound of Mick’s ego. “You can’t back out, mate. You’re stuck.”
Mick sighed and unwillingly resigned to his fate. “At least tell me what I’ll be doing; you can spare me that opportunity.”
“Nuh-uh.” Keith held up a finger and shook it as if he were scolding a child. “You’re not getting it that easily. Where’s the fun in having someone do something if they know what’s the punishment? It makes the unexpected expect--”
“I know Keith; you don’t have to keep saying it over and over.”
“Cheer up Mick,” Keith joked, shaking loose a cigarette from his soft pack of cigarette’s. “Might as well go on with your head held high.”
“Easy for you to say,” Mick sighed miserably.
Keith produced a large smile, capable of illuminating a third world country at night. Mick felt slightly aghast, as though the boy should be prepared for a slaughter about to happen. In a way, in Mick’s mind, a slaughter was about to go on: something that would, no doubt, destroy part of his ego or at least wound it. As the day went on, Mick felt weird and alert. Something in the pit of his stomach told him that things weren’t going to go in a very good way and that he would experience something very unpleasant. Keith shrugged off a lot of the earlier atmosphere in favor of a front that would confuse Mick. The older boy was apprehensive and blanched, and Keith’s calm expressions and body language never put any ease into Mick’s ever increasingly distressed mind.
“Come off it Mick,” Keith said as he walked by Mick in one of the studio halls. “You’re gonna worry your pretty little head too much; when I decide we’re going to do this, then we’ll do this.”
Keith then waved his hand in a lazy manner as he entered into one of the studio booths to help mix one of their recordings that had been brought in. Mick bit his lip in thought and decided that worrying is not going to help him, except give him an early death by heart attack and Mick would really like to stick around in life.
Weeks passed and there was no sign of a possible retaliation. At first Mick’s mind went through loops and spun out of control at the assumption that Keith planned on bestowing a possibly humiliating plan for Mick, that the younger boy was delaying his future plans in order to rile him up; next, his brain had finally surfaced to its more composed self and present the thought that Keith had just simply forgot about it. Whatever the reason, Mick made sure to not drop hints to their previous unfulfilled bet in hopes of never hearing about it again.
But like always, Fate decided to drop the bombshell on his poor, unsuspecting soul. He ambulated into his room absent-minded to find Keith standing in front of his closet. Confused, Mick advanced up to Keith’s side to see Keith viewing in one of his collection of clothes. Mick darted his eyes back and forth with a curious prodding until Keith decided to lean into the closet.
“Damn Mick,” Keith spoke in surprise. “I don’t know you had this many things. You could probably dress every female in London with all this.”
Mick turned back and realized what Keith was looking at. It was one of Mick’s personal collection of clothes, the ones he liked to wear in privacy and at parties he decided to spontaneously put together. Different colors clashed and morphed together as the series of fabric materials hung up, neatly done and not one single piece out of place. He also realized that it was the dresses* he liked to collect. He and Marianne both liked to dress up a lot, usually resulting in a finished product of him wearing her skirts, dresses, blouses, and other frilly garments that Marianne liked to done; the same would happen when Marianne would wear his pants, shirts, jackets and pretty much have a complete role reversal and gender duty swap.
They both enjoyed it, opting to parade and prance around their house in these, heightening the sense of gender blending and creating an altogether new place. It was like dress-up for grown-ups. Even when presenting to parties, Mick and Marianne wore their ‘attire’ to the party, catching some very curious eyes; many guests would spend all night trying to remember who was of the female and male counter-parts.
With some time Mick pieced together two and two and slowly looked back at Keith. “Keith…”
Keith smirked, not looking at Mick as he regarded the set of clothes in front of him. “Nice of you to finally take notice.”
“But I thought--”
“Ah,” Keith interrupted. “You thought I forgot. No mate, I was just figuring out when I wanted to do this.”
Mick said nothing as his mind panicked on what Keith was about to pour out onto him. Keith tilted his head. “Marianne told me how much you and her like to dress up in frock and trousers so much that it gave me an idea. Since you like it so much, you’re going to play with me in these; now’s the chance where you can show off your ‘skill’ here.”
Mick’s mouth nearly dropped. First, when did Marianne tell Keith? Secondly, a pang of dread leaked into his stomach as his mind spun the possibilities to what Keith ad in mind.
“Let’s-- well, you get to it. Chop chop.” Keith spun on his heels and headed for the door. “Good luck with that; don‘t trip on your heels and break a leg ‘cause that would be bad,” he threw behind his back and waved his hand in the air. Keith left Mick standing in front of the closet, a mirror hanging on the door reflected his unhappy mood as he gazed at it. Mick sighed and swallowed whatever pride was left that hadn’t been shot down to smithereens by Keith‘s proposal.
So now Mick was weighing his choices and it wasn’t very good. What if Keith was planning some type of blackmail he would use to get his way? What if he used them for publicity purposes? What would-- Keith had to be plotting something; Mick’s mind was in a suspicious overdrive, weeding out any possibility that could be Keith’s motive. Mick threw his eyes over to the mirror in an accusing manor and he narrowed them.
Suddenly stuck with inspiration, Mick decided he would let Keith have it. Fine, if the guitarist wanted Mick to give him his all, then by everything that is blessed by his God Little Richard, he would allow himself to show Keith what he was made of. If the man wanted Mick to give him an extra hip shake, he would do it. If Keith wanted Mick to do an extra shimmy, then he would do it; this time Mick planned to do an over-the-top version of his very own stage movements and show Keith that this was a bad idea and to help nurse his ego back when he would see the uncomfortable expression that would soon be playing out on Keith’s face.
With the last arrangements made to his dress attire, Mick decided to saunter out with a new high held confidence of his impending case. After briefly becoming lost on where Keith was, he had finally found Keith, lounging on a chair, a glass of bourbon loosely clutched in his fingers. A secretive leer played out on Mick’s lips before he wiped it away, replacing it with an unhappy expression.
“Is Mickenzie ready to show of ‘her’ new stuff?” Keith called out playfully.
Mick’s eyes widened as he sputtered in acrimony at the apparent ‘name’ Keith had chosen for Mick.
“Ah,” Keith said, waggling a finger at Mick in a disapproving manor. “Remember what our deal was: I get to call you what I want. And you, my good woman, get to wear that all day-- no, all week when I say.”
“You’re pushing this way too far,” Mick protested.
“A deal’s a deal Mick.” Keith then sipped on his glass. “You never specified how long we get to do this; you only said how long you get to, but not me. Blame yourself, man-- or should I say girl, huh?”
Everything else in the world didn’t matter except the sole, burning desire for Mick to straight up introduce Keith to his knuckles and his dear friend Pain. Mick’s mind finally decided to drop into his earlier sketched plan and his mind curled into a smirking, plotting factory. With an adjusted posture, Mick waltzed up to Keith and planted himself in front of Keith. “So Keith, what do I have to do?” Mick spoke, a slight sneering tone added.
“See you’ve gotten into it. Let’s see,” Keith trailed off, gazing at his near empty bottle of alcohol. “Go bring me another cup and make it snappy.” Keith stared directly at Mick, challenging him, seeing if Mick would follow through with this little request. There was a brief moment where Mick and Keith gazed intently at each other, willing the other man to explode from the pressure each were giving. Mick broke out first, standing to at full height and turned sharply to the kitchen. Keith watched in fascinated amusement at Mick walking in what appeared to be slight stiletto heals. Even in those Mick moved fluidly and weightless. Keith stared at Mick’s flowing ‘skirt’ and watched as the muscles worked to move forwards, slightly imagining how soft the skin would feel under his touch. With a quick snap of his thoughts, Keith rebuffed these curious intentions, hoping to get rid of them as fast as possible.
Mick returned a moment later with a bottle of whiskey and sat it down on the table. A devious smile spread over Mick’s face and he bent down, hiking the dress up farther, hoping to get a reaction. Keith’s eyes followed the flowing material as they rode up Mick’s pearly-colored skin. Keith shifted for a brief moment, trying to play off his interest as just a curious stare; Keith looked around the room, hoping to find something that would distract his attention from his ever curiously growing interest in Mick’s bum. Mick caught this movement and smirked to himself thinking that it was working. He was going to have some much fun in this.
‘Perhaps a little too much?’ his mind questioned. ‘Don‘t get carried away.’ Mick pushed all doubts away for the main purpose of making Keith uncomfortable.
Mick stood up and turned around to Keith. “Is there anything else you need, darling?” Mick spoke in a falsetto voice, batting his eyelashes dramatically.
Keith stared for a slight moment. ‘Is he… taunting me?’ Keith’s mind questioned. ‘Alright, fine. He wants to play that way, I’ll give ‘em what he wants.’
Keith slanted his head to the side and stared at his singer. “Yeah, there is something.”
“And what might that be?”
“Come here and sit on my lap.”
A silence had pushed its way past all words to plop down heavily into the room. Mick blinked several times, then another to confirm that he wasn’t hearing random words within his brain. Keith stared back with a slight grin on his lips, waiting for what Mick would say and do. Mick sucked in a huff through his nose and advanced towards Keith. “Your wish is my command,” Mick spoke slyly.
Keith’s eyes widened a fraction and his mind couldn’t believe it. ‘He’s actually doing it.’
Mick made a show of planting himself on Keith’s lap, moving around to make himself comfortable on the spindly flesh that made up Keith’s legs. Keith pressed his lips together in a thin line of frustration. Both were looking for some way to get at the other; to be able to get under their skin in the most devious way possible, even if it meant flirting or having to cut down their self-pride in order to stoop that low. Even if these actions were succeeding, it was causing some lesser known second feelings to what this situation was playing out to be.
Just then Keith realized where Mick sat and how much pressure was being exerted there. Mick’s body ground against the anatomy of a place that sent slight shockwaves simmering through his body. He slightly heaved in small breaths slow and long. His fingers desired to clench something; to hold onto something to keep his hands from grasping Jagger’s ass and sliding him in deeper into his lap, yet he had the want to push the older man off of him to conceal the fact that this movement was slowly, but surely turning him on. The guitarist made the choice to have his singer sit in his lap, and now, he would pay for it. The meaning could have been both joyous or dreadful, but the combination was now taking effect.
Mick sat, his back facing Keith and he paid no mind to Keith or the dilemma that he didn’t know that Keith had. Mick was slightly surprised at his boldness and non-hesitation at his decision to make himself a spot on Keith’s lap. In the confines of a part of Mick’s mind that usually was ignored had made an observation and this time, Mick couldn’t ignore it. He felt a tingling sensation lightly jolt through his body upon making contact with Keith. Something like this never happened. Sure he’d been onstage with Keith, touching him, slithering up to him, patting him, any type of physical touch and Mick felt nothing. Maybe it was the fact that he was wearing a dress sitting in Keith’s lap.
Keith was no longer able to ignore those inquiring feelings of at least getting some type of contact on Mick; it wasn’t helping that his brain was slightly having a moment of alcohol-fueled bravery at this. His fingers hesitantly reached Mick’s leg and his fingernails ghosted over the flesh, setting Mick off to stiffen under this touch. Keith was curious to take it farther. This was the only time that held more fascination to him then what the guitar did for him. He used his skilled fingers to press randomly on spots of exposed flesh; his fingernails lightly skimming across the surface. Mick shuddered slightly, hoping the younger man wouldn’t notice how this was affecting him.
Keith took notice of the tension springing in his lower section as he continued his expedition. It was a much easier access because of the dress, seeing that it was a much lighter material and the pants didn’t really bother him. His fingers had inched under them, testing out the body-heated skin. A groan was stifled in the back of Mick’s throat to ward off any other sounds that might have wanted to push its way past the boundaries of his throat. He breathing became labored; he was hoping that Keith wouldn’t notice that he was steadily becoming turned on.
Keith’s fingers skated across his legs and closed in on a part of him that was slowly filling with blood that was draining away from his head like a leaking faucet, making it harder to think up ways to get away from this contact. His body was liking the attention, but like always, his mind protested this and demanded him to move away immediately. Mick tilted his head back slightly, letting his mouth fall open. His mind became caught in the whirling sensations that now overcame all of the man’s senses.
Keith felt the weight shift and saw Mick turn around in his lap, hooking his legs around Keith’s and locking them in place; Mick was setting himself up to straddle the thing, bony waist of Keith. Keith peered upwards to Mick’s eyes and was assaulted by the oncoming feelings that were welled up in those blue depths. It felt like a stick that was threatening to break under the strain on another’s weight. Mick leaned in, hair exploding over those thin shoulders as Mick leaned in closer. Keith followed this lead soon and their lips connected. It was a moment of hesitance before it was completely cut out to be replaced with an interested want. Opening each others’ mouths to one another proved to set off the final lever as they both dove into each others’ mouths with their tongues and Keith grasped an arm around the waist currently sitting in his lap, moving them hips closer.
Mick’s hands were upon his shoulders, grasping at them as if he were drowning and they were the only things keeping him afloat. Keith scratched up and down at Mick’s back, drawing out moans from Mick while tracing invisible pathways around the small of Mick’s back. This was an exhilarating feeling seeing that they both had never done this before; even though it was a bit sloppy and spontaneous, it held a fever of amour and inquisitive feelings. Keith broke the kiss, needing air and the want to trail down Mick’s slender neck, wanting to taste more then he could be offered. Keith bit and nipped at the skin, causing little red welts to bloom on Mick’s skin. Mick’s long fingers were inching past the waistband of Keith’s denim pants and nearly ripped the button off in frustration.
Keith began to busy himself with riding Mick of these light clothes and cast them aside without much thought. Mick pried the shirt of Keith’s shoulders with animalistic intent that his mind was operating on. Keith lifted his hips as he shed his pants and kicked the rest off; he felt the material lash back at his skin as though it were upset that it was being abandoned. Keith let his palms drag down the curved sides of Mick’s stomach, feeling the firm muscle twitch under his coordinated touch. Mick felt Keith’s need rub with his own, raising his own need substantially. Keith reached between himself and Mick to slowly rub Mick, his fingers hesitant, then in courage. Mick broke away to hiss, sharp breaths moving through his lungs.
Keith then gathered enough saliva in his mouth and spat it out on his palms, moving to coat himself. Mick lifted his hip and then sank down keeping his eyes on Keith’s own. Mick curled his toes as the pain and the mind-numbing pleasure that ignited a wildfire in his body. Keith’s hands were on Mick’s slender hips, grasping them like handlebars. Keith let his hands push Mick up, hoping to give Mick the support to move on his own accord. Mick moved above him, slightly restrained by the position they were in and the awkwardness of the way they were angled. Keith began to move his hips upwards faster as Mick snapped his hips downwards.
Mick leaned his head forwards and rested it in his new favorite place, Keith’s shoulders. He heard Keith’s breathing quicken and he wanted to receive those breaths. Mick then clashed his mouth with Keith’s, feverishly kissing, feeling the need to push farther in the other males’ mouth, needing to feeling the warm heat and moisture of the others’ mouth. Hands roamed over naked flesh in an attempt to establish territorial claims of the other, staking out his property. Mick left red scorch marks over Keith’s skin as his fingernails made trails around his skin. They became more desperate to feel each other as they both kissed harder, like they were trying to suck the very soul from the others’ body.
Mick finally broke the bruising kiss to throw his head back, his hair whipping past his head, Keith grunting below him with every movement. Their climax was approaching fast and Keith, in the moments of bliss, leaned forwards to bite down on Mick’s neck area; biting down on anything, grasping the skin between his teeth and pulling. He wanted to mark this porcelain beauty so Mick knew just who he belonged to. He had broke the skin and drew slight blood, jolting Mick and he cried out in pleasure with dabs of pains sprinkled throughout. Keith dug his fingers into Mick’s waist as he came, keeping them in a stock-still movement as they both finished in time with each other, floating down smoothly from the tremors that raced through there bodies at lightning speed.
Keith cracked his eyes open as he calmed down and saw Mick, his heart nearly speeding back to its racing pace a few moments ago. Mick looked so utterly at peace and in the after-throws of their lust driven passion. Head tipped back with a slightly open mouth, sweat drenched hair sticking to his face, shoulders, neck and jutting out at angles, his chest heaving slightly. Keith brought up tired hand to lightly caress the perspiring skin of Mick’s shoulders, fingers sliding over moisture-ridden hair. The other parted his eyes, opening them to look at the younger boy below him. For a moment in time nobody else mattered; just the warmth currently wearing off.
Keith made the first move. “I think,” he began, taking in a breath before he spoke again, “we should do that again, huh?”
Mick laughed. “Alright then, but you wear the dress next time.”
“But you look much better in heels and a frock.” Keith leaned in to give a chaste kiss to Mick’s lips. “Besides, it fits you better then me.”
“Hey, you’re about the same weight as me,” Mick lightly protested.
“Key word there Mick: almost. You‘re like a stick out there.”
--
* - While zooming around forums for the Stones, I came up on this quote: 'Mick apparently has a killer collection of vintage Chanel dresses which he likes to don for house parties.' -- I lol'd and had to incorporate this in here.
It's always been mentioned that Mick liked to dress up in drag... a lot; ever seen the movie 'Bent'?
Rating: R
Pairings: Keith/Mick
Word Count: 5135
Disclaimer: Although certain things are true in here, it's all fake.
Also, this is for protecttheents who was having a shitty day. Hope this helps you cheer up!
Cerulean eyes gazed in trepidation as the pair regarded the image that was cast back on the mirror.
Mick moved his hand up to slightly pull at the leather studded collar that lay coiled around his neck, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He bit his plush bottom lip nervously and in disbelief at the current situation. His fingers moved down the soft and light material that lay stretched out on his skin. Fingers lightly grasped at the flouncy, light material, inspecting the white colored clothing. The pants were the same color and weighed lightly; they were also bell-bottoms seeing that they opened at the ankle of his foot. He stared at his image in the mirror with disdain as the image seemed to mock what he wore.
It was a warm day, but that didn’t translate for the feelings that Mick felt in his soul. He shuffled his feet and wiggled his toes. Still, it never was able to fully rid his mind of the feelings coursing. Soon Mick began to think back to exactly why he was wearing this little getup.
It was about a few weeks ago when this plight of his was proposed. It had been a long day and nothing passed very quickly, not even the ability to will song lyrics to be born inside Mick’s head; not even Keith could successfully pull out the guitar notes he was looking for. Papers lay in scattered heaps, little to no writing doting their bare spaces. Amps sat around unplugged and lonely. Guitars were cast in forgotten about places as Keith became frustrated with the lack of inspiration, setting his guitar down to search for his liquid muse Whiskey.
The studio was empty and briefly believing that their creative juices would be flowing, Mick and Keith migrated to the studio. Frustratingly, nothing happened; their minds remained a barren land of little to no activity. He and Keith decided to roll a joint and spend the afternoon on the decks of their hotel rooms near Hyde Park. Unfortunately, Keith had used the last of his supply on the plane flight back to Europe and he was sufficiently pissed. After some odd minutes, Keith was able to acquire a few bottles of his choice of alcohol. Mick observed in a disengaged interest as Keith began to pop open the cork that separated him from that sweet liquid.
Just then, an idea had enclosed around Mick’s mind, briefly forming an idea. With the moves of a graceful cat, Mick slithered up onto his knees and regarded Keith with stare.
“Hey Keith,” Mick began in a curious voice.
“What?” Keith said after swallowing a mouthful of alcoholic saturated liquid.
“I got a challenge.”
Keith turned to cast Mick an interested look. “I’m listening.”
“I just had a thought: I bet that you can’t guzzle more then one whiskey bottle,” he said, pointing at the bottle of said beverage clenched in Keith’s hand.
“Where did this come from?” Keith asked, his eyebrows knotting in confusion.
Mick shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know really, but I still think you can’t. Never seen y’ take a swig of more then one bottle.”
Keith’s eyes flashed an emotion of a challenging sense. “Really? Then you must’ve not been around a lot when I’m at the pub.”
Mick smiled widely and showed his teeth. “Oh? Then let’s make this interesting: I bet you that if you can’t drink more then one bottle and not be sloshed outside your head, then you owe me a free month’s worth of servant duties.”
Keith sputtered and nearly chocked around his mouthful of liquid. He coughed and wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, gathering up his thoughts. “What? Just for those two bottles? I don’t think so.”
“But if you do win, you get to make a proposition.”
“Really Jagger? ‘cause you usually try to weasel your way out your punishments.”
“Not this time,” Mick spoke confidently. “I’ve got a good feeling that you can’t do it.” He let a prodding tone undermine his words.
Keith straightened. “Are you joking? So, if I win--”
“Doubtful,” Mick interrupted.
Keith shot Mick a look for de-railing his slew of thoughts. “So if I win, I get to choose your punishment?”
“Yep.”
“Okay then, if I win, then you have to dress up in what I say, and I get to call you what I want.”
Mick shook his head. “That’s all you could come up with, mate? Maybe you’ve lost too many of your brain cells to alcohol already; I feel slightly bad for making you get rid of the remaining ones.”
“Can it, Jagger. Let’s get to this.”
Keith swiped a few bottles of whiskey and headed towards one of the tables in the room, Mick following on his trail. The bottles clanged on the polished surface and Keith sat down right in front of them, folding his waif-like legs into a steady crouch. Mick sat down in the opposite direction and set down a glass. Keith watched it suspiciously. “What’s the glass for?”
“Thought you’d need it for drinking and you--”
“I don’t need no fucking glass,” Keith interrupted, a slight gruffness in his voice. “I can do fine just by the bottle.”
Mick shrugged his shoulders. “If you wish.”
Keith’s calloused fingers reached for the bottle, Mick’s eyes peering at the bottle, then to Keith’s advancing hand. He watched as Keith pulled the cork out, a slight ‘pop’ echoing in the room. A light noise was hanging in the air; the sounds of the people outside and a light music playing somewhere in the room that Keith didn’t feel like shutting off.
Keith titled the bottle to his lips and began to take in large gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every swallowed mouthful. The bottle drained, emptying of its polished brown color. As Mick watched, slight doubts began to be spun in the back of his mind as he watched the bottle reach its halfway mark, Keith releasing the bottle from his lips to take in a gasp of air. He breathed for a moment, then took the bottle back to where it was previously. Mick sucked on his bottom lip in anxiety, waiting to see if Keith could follow through with his bet.
Keith sat down the first bottle, not much thought for the comfort of the table as it clanged heavily against the surface and tipped over as Keith drew his hand away. It made contact with the ground but hardly sounded off in their ears. Keith grasped at the second bottle lying in front of him. With the cork popped out Keith dove into his second bottle head-on with determination firmly set within his boundaries. Keith made a slight spectacle of tilting his head back and drinking with ease as though he were an Irish pub owner, or at least acquainted with one seeing the speed which Keith guzzled down the ale liquid. The only sign of life in Keith’s body were the air bubbles dragging through the liquid and the shifting fingers on the bottle’s neck for a much better grip.
The singer began to fidget and twiddle his thumbs as the second bottle was nearly swallowed. Keith then made a dramatic display of jerking the bottle away from his mouth to slam it down on the table causing a Mick to jump.
A loud burp unloaded from Keith’s throat where it had been developing. Keith grinned triumphantly at Mick, his misaligned teeth glinting in the afternoon light. Keith was slightly wavering, but not much to be noticeable. Keith began to open his mouth to let out those victory words he had spontaneously planned up for this wondrous occasion.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah Keith; I know what you’re about to say.” Mick spoke in dismay.
“Told you that I could.” Keith was smiling. “Now, about my reward.”
“I was hoping you’d be too off your head to remember,” Mick muttered lowly.
“Since I won, I want to see you…” Keith trailed off, placing a finger over his chin and was reminded quietly that he was getting his five o’ clock shadow. Suddenly, a wily grin crossed onto Keith’s face. Mick became immediately aware of the plotting expression located within Keith’s eyes and became alert.
“I know what I want,” Keith spoke, a sly quality drenching his words. “I want you to parade around in a frock as I watch you make a fool of yourself.”
A silence then barged forwards to fill in the gaps of their conversation. One sat, staring in disbelief as the other held a bright spark of high hopes and happiness at winning. Mick’s mouth slightly fell open as he still processed this idea in his mind. Keith held a complete look of ‘and I ain’t backin’ down from this’. Mick’s eyes then narrowed at Keith as he grasped for some type of comeback through his words but he couldn’t gather enough of himself to properly formulate anything. His mouth unhinged to only feel like it was too heavy to work, thus closing it again. Keith was still smirking and Mick would give almost anything to plant a swift blow on Keith’s flawless face.
“What’s the matter Mick,” Keith pressed on, rubbing salt in the already slashed and exposed wound of Mick’s ego. “You can’t back out, mate. You’re stuck.”
Mick sighed and unwillingly resigned to his fate. “At least tell me what I’ll be doing; you can spare me that opportunity.”
“Nuh-uh.” Keith held up a finger and shook it as if he were scolding a child. “You’re not getting it that easily. Where’s the fun in having someone do something if they know what’s the punishment? It makes the unexpected expect--”
“I know Keith; you don’t have to keep saying it over and over.”
“Cheer up Mick,” Keith joked, shaking loose a cigarette from his soft pack of cigarette’s. “Might as well go on with your head held high.”
“Easy for you to say,” Mick sighed miserably.
Keith produced a large smile, capable of illuminating a third world country at night. Mick felt slightly aghast, as though the boy should be prepared for a slaughter about to happen. In a way, in Mick’s mind, a slaughter was about to go on: something that would, no doubt, destroy part of his ego or at least wound it. As the day went on, Mick felt weird and alert. Something in the pit of his stomach told him that things weren’t going to go in a very good way and that he would experience something very unpleasant. Keith shrugged off a lot of the earlier atmosphere in favor of a front that would confuse Mick. The older boy was apprehensive and blanched, and Keith’s calm expressions and body language never put any ease into Mick’s ever increasingly distressed mind.
“Come off it Mick,” Keith said as he walked by Mick in one of the studio halls. “You’re gonna worry your pretty little head too much; when I decide we’re going to do this, then we’ll do this.”
Keith then waved his hand in a lazy manner as he entered into one of the studio booths to help mix one of their recordings that had been brought in. Mick bit his lip in thought and decided that worrying is not going to help him, except give him an early death by heart attack and Mick would really like to stick around in life.
Weeks passed and there was no sign of a possible retaliation. At first Mick’s mind went through loops and spun out of control at the assumption that Keith planned on bestowing a possibly humiliating plan for Mick, that the younger boy was delaying his future plans in order to rile him up; next, his brain had finally surfaced to its more composed self and present the thought that Keith had just simply forgot about it. Whatever the reason, Mick made sure to not drop hints to their previous unfulfilled bet in hopes of never hearing about it again.
But like always, Fate decided to drop the bombshell on his poor, unsuspecting soul. He ambulated into his room absent-minded to find Keith standing in front of his closet. Confused, Mick advanced up to Keith’s side to see Keith viewing in one of his collection of clothes. Mick darted his eyes back and forth with a curious prodding until Keith decided to lean into the closet.
“Damn Mick,” Keith spoke in surprise. “I don’t know you had this many things. You could probably dress every female in London with all this.”
Mick turned back and realized what Keith was looking at. It was one of Mick’s personal collection of clothes, the ones he liked to wear in privacy and at parties he decided to spontaneously put together. Different colors clashed and morphed together as the series of fabric materials hung up, neatly done and not one single piece out of place. He also realized that it was the dresses* he liked to collect. He and Marianne both liked to dress up a lot, usually resulting in a finished product of him wearing her skirts, dresses, blouses, and other frilly garments that Marianne liked to done; the same would happen when Marianne would wear his pants, shirts, jackets and pretty much have a complete role reversal and gender duty swap.
They both enjoyed it, opting to parade and prance around their house in these, heightening the sense of gender blending and creating an altogether new place. It was like dress-up for grown-ups. Even when presenting to parties, Mick and Marianne wore their ‘attire’ to the party, catching some very curious eyes; many guests would spend all night trying to remember who was of the female and male counter-parts.
With some time Mick pieced together two and two and slowly looked back at Keith. “Keith…”
Keith smirked, not looking at Mick as he regarded the set of clothes in front of him. “Nice of you to finally take notice.”
“But I thought--”
“Ah,” Keith interrupted. “You thought I forgot. No mate, I was just figuring out when I wanted to do this.”
Mick said nothing as his mind panicked on what Keith was about to pour out onto him. Keith tilted his head. “Marianne told me how much you and her like to dress up in frock and trousers so much that it gave me an idea. Since you like it so much, you’re going to play with me in these; now’s the chance where you can show off your ‘skill’ here.”
Mick’s mouth nearly dropped. First, when did Marianne tell Keith? Secondly, a pang of dread leaked into his stomach as his mind spun the possibilities to what Keith ad in mind.
“Let’s-- well, you get to it. Chop chop.” Keith spun on his heels and headed for the door. “Good luck with that; don‘t trip on your heels and break a leg ‘cause that would be bad,” he threw behind his back and waved his hand in the air. Keith left Mick standing in front of the closet, a mirror hanging on the door reflected his unhappy mood as he gazed at it. Mick sighed and swallowed whatever pride was left that hadn’t been shot down to smithereens by Keith‘s proposal.
So now Mick was weighing his choices and it wasn’t very good. What if Keith was planning some type of blackmail he would use to get his way? What if he used them for publicity purposes? What would-- Keith had to be plotting something; Mick’s mind was in a suspicious overdrive, weeding out any possibility that could be Keith’s motive. Mick threw his eyes over to the mirror in an accusing manor and he narrowed them.
Suddenly stuck with inspiration, Mick decided he would let Keith have it. Fine, if the guitarist wanted Mick to give him his all, then by everything that is blessed by his God Little Richard, he would allow himself to show Keith what he was made of. If the man wanted Mick to give him an extra hip shake, he would do it. If Keith wanted Mick to do an extra shimmy, then he would do it; this time Mick planned to do an over-the-top version of his very own stage movements and show Keith that this was a bad idea and to help nurse his ego back when he would see the uncomfortable expression that would soon be playing out on Keith’s face.
With the last arrangements made to his dress attire, Mick decided to saunter out with a new high held confidence of his impending case. After briefly becoming lost on where Keith was, he had finally found Keith, lounging on a chair, a glass of bourbon loosely clutched in his fingers. A secretive leer played out on Mick’s lips before he wiped it away, replacing it with an unhappy expression.
“Is Mickenzie ready to show of ‘her’ new stuff?” Keith called out playfully.
Mick’s eyes widened as he sputtered in acrimony at the apparent ‘name’ Keith had chosen for Mick.
“Ah,” Keith said, waggling a finger at Mick in a disapproving manor. “Remember what our deal was: I get to call you what I want. And you, my good woman, get to wear that all day-- no, all week when I say.”
“You’re pushing this way too far,” Mick protested.
“A deal’s a deal Mick.” Keith then sipped on his glass. “You never specified how long we get to do this; you only said how long you get to, but not me. Blame yourself, man-- or should I say girl, huh?”
Everything else in the world didn’t matter except the sole, burning desire for Mick to straight up introduce Keith to his knuckles and his dear friend Pain. Mick’s mind finally decided to drop into his earlier sketched plan and his mind curled into a smirking, plotting factory. With an adjusted posture, Mick waltzed up to Keith and planted himself in front of Keith. “So Keith, what do I have to do?” Mick spoke, a slight sneering tone added.
“See you’ve gotten into it. Let’s see,” Keith trailed off, gazing at his near empty bottle of alcohol. “Go bring me another cup and make it snappy.” Keith stared directly at Mick, challenging him, seeing if Mick would follow through with this little request. There was a brief moment where Mick and Keith gazed intently at each other, willing the other man to explode from the pressure each were giving. Mick broke out first, standing to at full height and turned sharply to the kitchen. Keith watched in fascinated amusement at Mick walking in what appeared to be slight stiletto heals. Even in those Mick moved fluidly and weightless. Keith stared at Mick’s flowing ‘skirt’ and watched as the muscles worked to move forwards, slightly imagining how soft the skin would feel under his touch. With a quick snap of his thoughts, Keith rebuffed these curious intentions, hoping to get rid of them as fast as possible.
Mick returned a moment later with a bottle of whiskey and sat it down on the table. A devious smile spread over Mick’s face and he bent down, hiking the dress up farther, hoping to get a reaction. Keith’s eyes followed the flowing material as they rode up Mick’s pearly-colored skin. Keith shifted for a brief moment, trying to play off his interest as just a curious stare; Keith looked around the room, hoping to find something that would distract his attention from his ever curiously growing interest in Mick’s bum. Mick caught this movement and smirked to himself thinking that it was working. He was going to have some much fun in this.
‘Perhaps a little too much?’ his mind questioned. ‘Don‘t get carried away.’ Mick pushed all doubts away for the main purpose of making Keith uncomfortable.
Mick stood up and turned around to Keith. “Is there anything else you need, darling?” Mick spoke in a falsetto voice, batting his eyelashes dramatically.
Keith stared for a slight moment. ‘Is he… taunting me?’ Keith’s mind questioned. ‘Alright, fine. He wants to play that way, I’ll give ‘em what he wants.’
Keith slanted his head to the side and stared at his singer. “Yeah, there is something.”
“And what might that be?”
“Come here and sit on my lap.”
A silence had pushed its way past all words to plop down heavily into the room. Mick blinked several times, then another to confirm that he wasn’t hearing random words within his brain. Keith stared back with a slight grin on his lips, waiting for what Mick would say and do. Mick sucked in a huff through his nose and advanced towards Keith. “Your wish is my command,” Mick spoke slyly.
Keith’s eyes widened a fraction and his mind couldn’t believe it. ‘He’s actually doing it.’
Mick made a show of planting himself on Keith’s lap, moving around to make himself comfortable on the spindly flesh that made up Keith’s legs. Keith pressed his lips together in a thin line of frustration. Both were looking for some way to get at the other; to be able to get under their skin in the most devious way possible, even if it meant flirting or having to cut down their self-pride in order to stoop that low. Even if these actions were succeeding, it was causing some lesser known second feelings to what this situation was playing out to be.
Just then Keith realized where Mick sat and how much pressure was being exerted there. Mick’s body ground against the anatomy of a place that sent slight shockwaves simmering through his body. He slightly heaved in small breaths slow and long. His fingers desired to clench something; to hold onto something to keep his hands from grasping Jagger’s ass and sliding him in deeper into his lap, yet he had the want to push the older man off of him to conceal the fact that this movement was slowly, but surely turning him on. The guitarist made the choice to have his singer sit in his lap, and now, he would pay for it. The meaning could have been both joyous or dreadful, but the combination was now taking effect.
Mick sat, his back facing Keith and he paid no mind to Keith or the dilemma that he didn’t know that Keith had. Mick was slightly surprised at his boldness and non-hesitation at his decision to make himself a spot on Keith’s lap. In the confines of a part of Mick’s mind that usually was ignored had made an observation and this time, Mick couldn’t ignore it. He felt a tingling sensation lightly jolt through his body upon making contact with Keith. Something like this never happened. Sure he’d been onstage with Keith, touching him, slithering up to him, patting him, any type of physical touch and Mick felt nothing. Maybe it was the fact that he was wearing a dress sitting in Keith’s lap.
Keith was no longer able to ignore those inquiring feelings of at least getting some type of contact on Mick; it wasn’t helping that his brain was slightly having a moment of alcohol-fueled bravery at this. His fingers hesitantly reached Mick’s leg and his fingernails ghosted over the flesh, setting Mick off to stiffen under this touch. Keith was curious to take it farther. This was the only time that held more fascination to him then what the guitar did for him. He used his skilled fingers to press randomly on spots of exposed flesh; his fingernails lightly skimming across the surface. Mick shuddered slightly, hoping the younger man wouldn’t notice how this was affecting him.
Keith took notice of the tension springing in his lower section as he continued his expedition. It was a much easier access because of the dress, seeing that it was a much lighter material and the pants didn’t really bother him. His fingers had inched under them, testing out the body-heated skin. A groan was stifled in the back of Mick’s throat to ward off any other sounds that might have wanted to push its way past the boundaries of his throat. He breathing became labored; he was hoping that Keith wouldn’t notice that he was steadily becoming turned on.
Keith’s fingers skated across his legs and closed in on a part of him that was slowly filling with blood that was draining away from his head like a leaking faucet, making it harder to think up ways to get away from this contact. His body was liking the attention, but like always, his mind protested this and demanded him to move away immediately. Mick tilted his head back slightly, letting his mouth fall open. His mind became caught in the whirling sensations that now overcame all of the man’s senses.
Keith felt the weight shift and saw Mick turn around in his lap, hooking his legs around Keith’s and locking them in place; Mick was setting himself up to straddle the thing, bony waist of Keith. Keith peered upwards to Mick’s eyes and was assaulted by the oncoming feelings that were welled up in those blue depths. It felt like a stick that was threatening to break under the strain on another’s weight. Mick leaned in, hair exploding over those thin shoulders as Mick leaned in closer. Keith followed this lead soon and their lips connected. It was a moment of hesitance before it was completely cut out to be replaced with an interested want. Opening each others’ mouths to one another proved to set off the final lever as they both dove into each others’ mouths with their tongues and Keith grasped an arm around the waist currently sitting in his lap, moving them hips closer.
Mick’s hands were upon his shoulders, grasping at them as if he were drowning and they were the only things keeping him afloat. Keith scratched up and down at Mick’s back, drawing out moans from Mick while tracing invisible pathways around the small of Mick’s back. This was an exhilarating feeling seeing that they both had never done this before; even though it was a bit sloppy and spontaneous, it held a fever of amour and inquisitive feelings. Keith broke the kiss, needing air and the want to trail down Mick’s slender neck, wanting to taste more then he could be offered. Keith bit and nipped at the skin, causing little red welts to bloom on Mick’s skin. Mick’s long fingers were inching past the waistband of Keith’s denim pants and nearly ripped the button off in frustration.
Keith began to busy himself with riding Mick of these light clothes and cast them aside without much thought. Mick pried the shirt of Keith’s shoulders with animalistic intent that his mind was operating on. Keith lifted his hips as he shed his pants and kicked the rest off; he felt the material lash back at his skin as though it were upset that it was being abandoned. Keith let his palms drag down the curved sides of Mick’s stomach, feeling the firm muscle twitch under his coordinated touch. Mick felt Keith’s need rub with his own, raising his own need substantially. Keith reached between himself and Mick to slowly rub Mick, his fingers hesitant, then in courage. Mick broke away to hiss, sharp breaths moving through his lungs.
Keith then gathered enough saliva in his mouth and spat it out on his palms, moving to coat himself. Mick lifted his hip and then sank down keeping his eyes on Keith’s own. Mick curled his toes as the pain and the mind-numbing pleasure that ignited a wildfire in his body. Keith’s hands were on Mick’s slender hips, grasping them like handlebars. Keith let his hands push Mick up, hoping to give Mick the support to move on his own accord. Mick moved above him, slightly restrained by the position they were in and the awkwardness of the way they were angled. Keith began to move his hips upwards faster as Mick snapped his hips downwards.
Mick leaned his head forwards and rested it in his new favorite place, Keith’s shoulders. He heard Keith’s breathing quicken and he wanted to receive those breaths. Mick then clashed his mouth with Keith’s, feverishly kissing, feeling the need to push farther in the other males’ mouth, needing to feeling the warm heat and moisture of the others’ mouth. Hands roamed over naked flesh in an attempt to establish territorial claims of the other, staking out his property. Mick left red scorch marks over Keith’s skin as his fingernails made trails around his skin. They became more desperate to feel each other as they both kissed harder, like they were trying to suck the very soul from the others’ body.
Mick finally broke the bruising kiss to throw his head back, his hair whipping past his head, Keith grunting below him with every movement. Their climax was approaching fast and Keith, in the moments of bliss, leaned forwards to bite down on Mick’s neck area; biting down on anything, grasping the skin between his teeth and pulling. He wanted to mark this porcelain beauty so Mick knew just who he belonged to. He had broke the skin and drew slight blood, jolting Mick and he cried out in pleasure with dabs of pains sprinkled throughout. Keith dug his fingers into Mick’s waist as he came, keeping them in a stock-still movement as they both finished in time with each other, floating down smoothly from the tremors that raced through there bodies at lightning speed.
Keith cracked his eyes open as he calmed down and saw Mick, his heart nearly speeding back to its racing pace a few moments ago. Mick looked so utterly at peace and in the after-throws of their lust driven passion. Head tipped back with a slightly open mouth, sweat drenched hair sticking to his face, shoulders, neck and jutting out at angles, his chest heaving slightly. Keith brought up tired hand to lightly caress the perspiring skin of Mick’s shoulders, fingers sliding over moisture-ridden hair. The other parted his eyes, opening them to look at the younger boy below him. For a moment in time nobody else mattered; just the warmth currently wearing off.
Keith made the first move. “I think,” he began, taking in a breath before he spoke again, “we should do that again, huh?”
Mick laughed. “Alright then, but you wear the dress next time.”
“But you look much better in heels and a frock.” Keith leaned in to give a chaste kiss to Mick’s lips. “Besides, it fits you better then me.”
“Hey, you’re about the same weight as me,” Mick lightly protested.
“Key word there Mick: almost. You‘re like a stick out there.”
--
* - While zooming around forums for the Stones, I came up on this quote: 'Mick apparently has a killer collection of vintage Chanel dresses which he likes to don for house parties.' -- I lol'd and had to incorporate this in here.
It's always been mentioned that Mick liked to dress up in drag... a lot; ever seen the movie 'Bent'?