âmes pétillantes ~ classic rock imagines

• Roger Daltrey •

Hi guys! I have completely thrown my schedule out of the window, it seems, so honestly I'm just trying to upload as and when I can. Writing some of these pieces really takes it out of me sometimes, but I'm always so proud when I get to the end, so don't worry, they'll keep coming!

'I could easily fall in love with you.'

Everytime he looked over at you, the candlelight drifting leisurely across your face like sunshine onto the petals of a flower, he became more certain of this heavily weighted thought.

Unabashedly, he kept stealing glances at you over the laden table, watching the alluring shape of your lips as you spelled out words that he so longed to be for him only. He would listen willingly to anything you wished to say, that he was certain of.

But you were talking to someone else. Someone he did not know. A brother, perhaps? A childhood friend? Or a lover?

The idea burned his mind. With rapt attention, he observed the movements of you and your conversation partner, searching for a sign, a signal, an interaction that would answer his wordless question.

And, eventually, it came. Because you turned away from the man, the discussion abruptly over, your interest clamouring for something, someone new. No lover would do that. At least, not a devoted one.

He watched your eyes scan the room as you took a sip from your drink, a fruity looking cocktail, he noted. While you observed the glittering people faking their laughs, he calculated his next move. Or, rather, his first move.

You, on the other hand, were well aware of the handsome stranger innocently regarding you from across the table. His twinkling eyes shone almost the colour of gin beneath the dim lights, and the feel of them on your body had the same effect as a slug of the drink. Your cheeks heated, your brain tangled, your hands fumbled, your inhibitions trickled away.

Yet you remained outwardly indifferent, scanning the room as though his tipsy eyes weren't setting your body alight, weren't pinning you to the chair. It was the only way. He was a rockstar, after all. He didn't have to work hard to get much, so it wouldn't hurt him to take on a challenge.

Purposely avoiding his burning stare, you glanced around the room, the stem of your cocktail glass gripped tightly between your quivering fingertips. To calm the nerves that were crumbling under his undivided attention, you sipped your drink quickly.

With subdued interest, you noticed that you recognised many of the faces that surrounded you, primarily from record covers and TV screens. Yet, you mused in passing, they still seemed as far away from you as ever, as though you were simply a stranger trespassing on their land.

The invitation of a close friend had brought you to this oddly arranged luncheon, set off by crisp, blood red tableclothes and china plates that glimmered threateningly in the light. But your close friend had long since abandoned the table with one of the familiar faces whose name you couldn't recall, so you were left searching for your own entertainment.

As it just so happened, your entertainment finally came in the shape of Roger Daltrey.

As you were anxiously examining the face of a well-known TV presentor who was beginning to look a little worse for wear, your not-so-secret admirer had kickstarted the game. Casually, he had stretched out his arms before standing from his seat

"Hello," he said simply, collapsing into the seat that your previous acquaintance had left. You eyed him curiously, now at a close enough proximity to relish in the soft curls of his hair and the spattering of light freckles across his rosial cheeks.

With a quirk of your eyebrow and a raise of your lips, you returned the greeting. Nonchalantly, you took a sip of your drink, keeping your eyes focused on his as he watched your fluid movements with a lazer point stare.