My Rock and Roll Fanasty, Clad in Leather Fanasty

Depends {Waters}

for radiomeddows

"Roger," Jane started to ask, hastly. "Can I possibly borrow your...um, your black shirt?"

"Yes, my dear, but it depends on how nice I'm feeling," he stated, making my roll my eyes at his shirtless figure in bed.

"So, how are you feeling, Rog?"

The fucking, cheeky grin on that fucking horse face. This arsehole will ruin my life. Wait...he already has!

"About fifty-fifty, my dear."

This game went on for a while. The 'Depends' game as our female protagonist called it.

It was strange not seeming to have any care in the world. It felt weird, to Jane, when Roger didn't come home every night complaining about the day, the weather or the news. It wasn't right, but then again, there's nothing really right in the world, is there?

She called everyone in Roger's band. David told her it was the same, everyday. Nick told Jane things were slightly off and Rick told her the complete opposite.

"He's completely off-key. He's not sharp, he's acting flat." The keyboardist told Jane. "He's up to something, I reckon."

"Thanks, Richard." She smiled and hung up.

When Roger was out, she put on the black t-shirt, when this whole 'Depends' thing started, put on a softer record, hardcore death metal! No, some Eric Clapton, which she thought she'd fall asleep to after drinking a hot beverage of some sort. Tea, maybe with honey or lemon or sugar and milk, depending on her mood.

Jane thought honey and lemon would do just fine and so she had the tea while Cream playing in the background and then she slept on the couch in his black shirt and her bell bottom jeans with flowers from the Wall on them.

Some days are better than others and Roger came home infuriated, to find his wife, in the fetal position, on the couch, asleep. All the frustrations lifted off his shoulders.

He dropped his overcoat and brief case at the door, and smiled, snuggling up on the sofa next to his beloved.

The time clicked away, Roger half-grinning at the woman close to him with messed up hair in a peaceful slumber.

She turned in his arms, facing his chest, the agigation making Roger, in his half-dozed state fully awake.

They laced fingers involuntarily, as she awoke.

"Looks like the beast has awoken." The cheeky git, Roger.

"Oh, hush. It's too early in the morning for this." She groans, opening her eyes a crack.

Roger looked up at the clock. "It's half past nine, at night."

She groaned something that sounded like 'Fuck it' but Roger couldn't tell.

"Well, can I have my morning kiss?" Yup, definitely up to something.

"It depends on how I'm feeling." A smirk rose on her lips as she said this.