•••••••••••••••••••••••Requests Open!••••••••••••••••••••••••
Will update upon receiving requests. Check chapter cleverly titled "⭐️Requests Open!⭐️" for more details (it's the 10th chapter!)
You can never have too many classic rock one shots, can y...
Muse: Dutch-American Figure Skater Dianne De Leeuw Musician: English Multi-instrumentalist and Guitarist of Led Zeppelin, Jimmy Page Time: Mid Seventies
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The nights in New York are often cold. The fur of Mary's beaver coat seemed to shiver almost as much as she did. The girl almost didn't believe it when he chose her — she'd been told that he liked tall blonde girls with long straight hair, this being the complete opposite of herself. Her hair was wavy and brown, and by far the shortest of any girl (or even boy) she had seen at the club.
Yet there she was, walking alongside Jimmy with her hand enveloped in his. They'd just gotten out of a taxi, heading for the doors of a luxury hotel. The way he'd approached her was far from romantic — he hadn't asked her to join him, he demanded it. It was almost rude, and if anyone else had asked her in that way, she would have refused.
But he was Jimmy Page, the one man she couldn't refuse.
"You're going to spend the night with me." He told her, his voice husky and low. She hadn't seen him coming, but he'd been watching her all night. Her dress was silver and iridescent, loose on her slim frame. The straps were thin, her back fully exposed down to a dangerously low curve, and the material shone in the light in the most magnificent way. Jimmy came up behind her as she was dancing to a song she didn't know, and wrapped his arms around her midriff.
His whisper was hot against her ear, it sent chills down her bare spine. When she whipped around to tell him off, he got trapped in his eyes. Those hypnotic, green eyes. "Okay." was all she could muster.
The hotel lobby was warm and inviting. Extravagant crystal chandeliers reflected the warm, golden light all across the giant room. The ground was covered with an intricate turkish rug; blood red and off-white. The walls were cream, and stretched all the way to the high, domed ceiling.
Even the lifts were breathtaking, made of glass and shining silver. Mary thought to herself about how she could never afford a place like this on her own. She basked in the opulence. They carefully stepped into the elevator, Jimmy not releasing her hand. The ride up was silent, but not a stiff silence, it was surprisingly peaceful.
"Tell me," started Jimmy, his eyes burning into the girl. "Are you nervous?" She gave him an assured 'no', but couldn't look up from her feet. They exited the lift, the guitarist leading Mary to the door of his hotel room.
"I think you're telling a lie. I think you are nervous." He husked, leaning his slender frame over hers, his breath ticking the high points of her delicate face.
His body left a shadow hanging over her, not too dissimilar from the wave of nerves that washed over her, too. But before she got too worked up, her turned her face away to unlock the door, kicking it open with a leather-bound foot.
"You first, lovely." He smiled, his a grin almost innocent and boyish, in great contrast to the way he came across. Mary hurried into the room, Jimmy following suit at his cool pace. She crouched down quickly to unbuckle the straps of her heels, the guitarist tugging at the backs of his loafers and tossing them aside while he stood.
