âmes pétillantes ~ classic rock imagines

• Mick Jagger •

Happy holidays, my sweethearts! I hope you all have a lovely Christmas (if you celebrate) and a Happy New Year. Here's a festive slice of the Stones for you. I'll see you all in 2024! ❤️

--☆--

'Hey Y/N?" Mick called from across the shop. You turned from the rack of Christmas jumpers you'd been disinterestedly shuffling through to see Mick holding a slinky red dress up to his slim frame with one hand, grasping his waist with the other and sticking out his chest. "Do you think it suits me?"

You laughed at his ridiculous pose and silly pout but pretended to think all the same. "Hm, I'm not sure if red's your colour, my love," you said through your mirth, and he withdrew it from his body with a shrug.

"I'll come back later with Keith and get a second opinion. How's the present shopping going?"

You sighed dejectedly. "Terribly. I'm never going to find the right present for my Mum."

With a grin, he held out the dress he'd been joking around with and gestured to it with his shaggy head. You laughed but pushed his hand away quickly. "Red's definitely not her colour either."

"Oh, I don't know," he said coquettishly, and you snorted before whacking him softly on the arm.

"If you're not going to help, why don't you see what you can find for Charlie?"

"Nah, already got his." With a flourish, Mick produced three thick leather drumstick holders from one of the numerous bags that currently sat beside his feet on the floor. "He's always losing his bloody sticks; now he won't have any excuse."

"Bill?"
"Got him that fancy beer, remember?"
"Keith?"
He laughed loudly. "Dealer's out of town until Christmas Eve."
"What about your mum?"
"Oh, I..." he paused for a moment. "Oh shit."

Quickly, he bustled off once more, the ridiculous dress cast carelessly aside over the wrong rack. You laughed as you turned back to face the shop floor, shelves and racks and hangers stretched out ahead of you like a sea of sharks.

The shopping centre had a late-night opening on the 22nd of December every year, and this year you and your lover had decided to take refuge in the star-crossed night so Mick could make all his festive purchases with a lessened risk of being swamped by over excited Stones fans.

However, time was running out and this, the 11th shop you had entered so far, was proving as fruitless as the rest, for you at least. You had finished the majority of your Christmas shopping weeks ago, but there was one present you just couldn't decide on, and that was your mothers. You'd seen scarves, jumpers, books, LPs, calendars that you knew she'd fuss over in their wrappings, but nothing that screamed 'she'll adore this.'

You carried on scanning all the articles of clothing on the rack mechanically, the low 'tick, tick, tick' of the hangers hitting together as you did so like a metronome for your buzzing brain. As you knew you would, you found nothing there either.
At the rumble of Mick's voice, you looked up with a sigh to see him handing over some notes to the cashier, who was deftly folding up a thin, black scarf tastefully decorated with red roses. When his purchase was complete, he came strutting back over to you, a grin on his face.

"See? All done," he said in an 'I-told-you-so' manner.

"Gee, it took you five whole minutes. Did you put any thought into that?" you asked teasingly, knowing as well as he did that it was exactly the kind of thing she would wear as often as she could.

"I'll have you know I saw it in the window last week. Any luck?"

You shook your head, the deep frown on your face causing a groove between your eyebrows. "I've got three days, Mick. What am I going to do?"