âmes pétillantes ~ classic rock imagines

• Mick Jagger (II) •

A quick little thing I literally just wrote in the bath. How do we feel about present tense ('he says' rather than 'he said')? I'm vibing with it at the moment.

--☆--

When Mick's hands find yours, groping across the cool Egyptian sheets, they are clammy and rough. It has been a warm night. Your legs are tangled in expensive cotton, forehead sheened with sweat, hair matted and damp. Still, he drapes himself across you.

Sunlight peeks through the partially open Venetian blinds, crawling tentatively across the polished floorboards, just beginning to touch the grand oak bed frame, as though scared of exposing your secret. Sadly, everything you and him do must be secret, even from Mick's beloved band mates.

Your eyes open, but you have been awake for several minutes. Dust floats serenely through the sunbeams. Shadows flit across the exposed floor. Outside, birds sing the joys of summer we can never understand. The house creaks slowly into life around you.

And as you watch and listen, wondering drowsily what woke you, lips press softly against your shoulder, warm and safe and everything you could ever dream of. You roll over.

Flashes of predatory eyes glint in the morning sunlight. Glittering black eye makeup still lingers in the creases rising at the end of his smile, a soft, delicate smile of childhood.

"Mornin'," Mick mumbles, ravenous lips attaching to yours the moment the word has left them. He tastes of lingering whiskey, which hits you like dragon's breath. When he goes to pull away, you push him closer by one bare shoulder.

Why is something as sacred and beautiful as morning kisses and warm nights secret? Well, your family, for one, believe you to be studying abroad. God only knows what they'd do if they find out you're only a few miles of train track away.

And his family, for two, which is more than worried parents. It's a wife. And in-laws. And frantic discussions about children and homes and settling down.

Mick looks down at you as you lie back to stretch, revealed skin still stained from his lavish love, and you find yourself not caring about anything besides his eyes. His fingers, gentle and protective, stroke the parts of your skin where the previous night lingered, and he laughs lowly. "You're like a collage."

He lowers his head to your neck, seemingly intent on continuing as though sleep had never happened. Suddenly, through the wall, a loud, rough shout echoes through the room, quickly followed by a telling crash. A damning reminder of life outside. And that you'd agreed to take the room next to Keith.

You jump at the sound, slipping from Mick's grasp. It's so easy to forget that what you share is a secret, until it's almost exposed.

He's quick to calm you, arms rewinding around your body and pulling you close. With his fingers on your jaw, he takes you into a kiss, delirious and purposeful.

"Today, love," Mick whispers when he takes a breath, another secret passed from his mouth into yours. His voice, cracked by sleep, sounds ancient and timeless. "We'll tell 'em today."

Your eyebrows raise, and a light touch to his chin is enough to stop him reeling you back in. One glance, and he understands.

"Everybody," he confirms with a confident nod.

You think of your parents. Of his wife. Of the world. But a simple kiss where your forehead has wrinkled with worry is enough to begin untangling the knot of your panic.

"Keith already loves you," he shrugs, like that was all that was needed for your relationship to work. "And so do I." Now, that's more like it.

"My mum already loves you," you say, giggling. Your mum was a renowned Stones fan - not that this meant she would appreciate her child dating their front man.

"And so do I," you add teasingly, smiling as he meets you in another hopeful kiss.

Only one way to find out.