âmes pétillantes ~ classic rock imagines

• Bill Wyman •

Hello! Long time no see, told you that writing fit wouldn't last! But I'm still here, don't worry, and coming through (finally) with a request for nourirlemonstre. Thank you so much for requesting - I apologise for the lifetime wait, but I hope you enjoy all the same. I am going to try to continue uploading, but unfortunately I can't promise a schedule :/ I am, however, still working on a Jim Morrison request for one of my favourite people on this app, which will be up when it's up!!

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You walked through the door into a dark, quiet house, and hesitantly presumed you were alone. Of course, since Bill liked his private time, that was not always the case. So, you called out for your partner, your voice echoing forlornly through the open doors and shadowed hallways. He did not respond. You guessed that he had gone out to find his private time that night.

You made your way into the kitchen, flicking on the overhead light with a wince at the harsh illumination before placing your sodden umbrella and bag of shopping onto the table, finally relieving your shoulders.

When you'd agreed to move in with Bill in London, you were rather excited at the prospect of not needing to drive everywhere. However, this prospect was often tested when underground lines were closed on the same day the Heavens decided to open. Still, you would not have passed up the chance to migrate into the life of your beloved.

As you began to open the plastic bag, you heard a delayed, faint response, a despondent call of your name. Almost lost beneath the drums of rain, you ceased your rustling to listen, ears pricked like a hunted deer. In the depths of the home you'd shared with your lover for almost a year, you heard the tell-tale creak and bang of the dodgy window at the end of the upstairs hallway. Bill's favourite smoking spot.

Abandoning your shopping, you paced into the darkness of the foyer, reaching to grasp the handrail as you turned onto the stairs. The rain continued to echo through the eerie rooms and ajar doors in the upstairs hallway when you emerged from the stairwell. But the shadows of droplets cascading down your windows and the drenched clothes sticking to your back became insignificant when the spot of light by the circular window came to your attention.

Your eyes quickly adjusted, and the figure of Bill, spread across the plush window seat with one foot dangling on the floor and staring avidly out of the window gripping a cigarette between his lips, became apparent against the twilight.

"Come here, honey," he said, moving his head only a little to remove the cigarette from his mouth. You obliged instantly, bare feet sliding over the warm shag carpet as you approached him. He sat himself up a little, tucking one leg up against the window and leaving the other dangling to the floor, making room for you on the lush window seat.

You sank thankfully onto the plush cushion beside him, while Bill wrestled weakly with the latch, which constantly stuck in all the wrong places, until he finally managed to open the window. For a moment, the sound of the rain, a background noise of waterfalls, intensified, hammering into the despairing darkness of your home.

Hastily, Bill tossed out his ebbing cigarette before trying to pull the window shut again to silence the storm. But it wouldn't go, no matter how he pulled at it; it had decided to lock itself into place. Unbothered, Bill gave up quickly and slouched back once more, leaving the sound of the rain to mingle with that of breathing, your soft exhalations and Bill's heavy puffs.

As a reflex, you reached out for his hand, curling your fingers across the coarse harshness of his blistered palm. He clung to it tightly, a lost child to a well-meaning stranger, but did not turn away from the rain.

He looked beautiful in it. Shadows crossed his face, tainted casually by the streaks of illuminated rain streaming down his skin, his eyes as dark and mysterious as the sky swirling above.

"Where you been?" Bill asked, fingers tangling messily with yours.

"Sainsbury's," you said. "We gotta eat, y'know."

He smiled. "If you say so, sweetheart. You look pretty."

You'd been staring out of the window with him, at the rain-drenched landscape. When he spoke, you focused in on yourself, your reflection. Shadows crossing your face, tainted casually by the streaks of illuminated rain streaming down your skin.

"Yeah," you said. "I guess I do."

You could see his reflection beside you, looking at you. When you smiled, so did he. "How are the guys?"

You watched him watching you in the distorted glass, waiting for him to respond. Instead, he darted forward to plant a kiss on your cheek, bringing his hand to rest on your knee.

"Forget 'em. Let's go out tonight," he said, leading his kisses from the round apple of your cheek, down along your jawline, trailing your neck.

"Now?" you asked, despairingly. "But I've got to -"

"You don't have to do anything," he mumbled into your skin. "I'll do anything you have to do. Just go out with me tonight."

This was familiar. Just go out with me tonight. That, funnily enough, was how he'd talked you into going on the first date with him. It had worked then.

Of course, it was going to work now.

"Okay," you said weakly. "Okay, let's go out."

Instantly, the warmth of his face left the crook of your neck, the hardness of your shoulder. He was standing up, tugging at you by your joined hands and offering you his other.

You took it and allowed yourself to be pulled up. "Let's get ready, love." He kissed you again, on the mouth, on the cheeks. "We'll go to Queen's Gate."

"I'll get ready," you said, dodging his unforgiving lips. "You have to put the shopping away."

He groaned against you, but you were laughing. "Go on. I don't have to do anything, remember?"

You shoved him gently until his lanky body was moving of its own accord, and watched him shuffle towards the stairs, where he turned to you waggling his finger. "I'll be back soon. Stay warm for me, honey."