BILLET-DOUX ✦ CLASSIC ROCK

1 - john entwistle

Major thanks to @colorofdxsire for my first request!
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The moon was clouded over that night, as it typically was in London. Not a star could be seen. The only twinkling lights you could make out were the streetlamps dotting the thoroughfares and the bright beams of passing cars, engines muffled as if you were caught underwater.

You enjoyed your evenings spent at home with a good book and the faint background noise of the television. But the evenings were even better when John was home. It wasn't very often, as most of his time was spent touring and recording with the band, and you cherished every moment you were able to spend with him.

Tonight, you could barely focus on your novel, too distracted by John's warm weight on your shoulder, the ticklish feeling of his inky black hair at your chin. He'd come home late and caught you propped up in bed, nose stuck in a book. John hadn't wasted any time cuddling up beside you.

You'd welcomed him with open arms and more than a few eager kisses, happy to have him home again. Try as you might, you couldn't keep track of what was currently developing in your book. John's soft breathing had all of your attention, his eyes fluttering slightly as he rested.

John had initially left you be, still keeping your bodies pressed together, and watched the crappy nighttime soap you had switched on. It must have been an exhausting day for him, because it wasn't long before John passed out, and any hope of finishing your chapter went out the window.

That was alright, you thought with a wistful smile. There was no one else you'd rather be interrupted by. You wanted to let him rest, to build up his strength for tomorrow's recording, but you couldn't resist the temptation of gently carding your fingers through his hair.

You kept your touch light, trying not to wake him. John was a heavy sleeper anyway, and it was likely he probably didn't feel it. He was getting more and more overworked with each passing day. It wasn't uncommon for John to arrive late in the night or not at all. You worried about him almost constantly while he was away.

The rockstar lifestyle, you knew, was a taxing one. Maybe John would get some time off soon. It was a silly wish, but the idea conjured up pleasant thoughts of you two going on a beach holiday together. Kicking through piles of hot sand and following the ebbing and flowing of the tide, lost in each other as much as you were the ocean, sounded so wonderful.

You sighed, hand trailing from John's head to his shoulder, rubbing at the worn fabric of his teal sweater tenderly. It had been your gift to him some years ago when you were both young and full of needling insecurity. Somehow John had held onto it for all of this time, holes and all.

His sentimentality had only endeared him to you further. John had the money to buy the nicest, most expensive pajamas in the country, but instead he chose some ratty old thing just because you were the one to give it to him.

You gave up all pretense of reading and dropped the book onto your lap, allowing full use of both hands to hold him better. Somehow, two hands on him caused John to stir awake. He blinked up at you blearily, blue eyes ringed with dark circles that could be seen in the glow of the television. You felt guilty all over again for disturbing him.

"Wha... Y/N?" He rubbed at his face, still not fully alert. "Whasthematter?"

Shaking your head, you gave John a peck on the forehead. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you. Go back to bed, baby."

John groaned, falling back to sleep almost immediately. He buried his nose in your neck, mumbling something incoherent into your skin. You shivered at the little vibration it caused, wrapping an arm around his stomach to keep you two close. Your bare feet brushed underneath the covers and grew entangled in a mess of warm legs and frozen toes.

The night was so perfect that you wondered if it would ever happen again. If you would ever be lucky enough to have John to yourself for another night. For weeks upon weeks you were forced to share him with crowds of adoring fans. Times like these belonged to no one but you.

You wanted to keep this night. Hold it forever to look back on when John was thousands of miles away playing shows in a country you'd never heard of. Giving John one last ghost of a kiss on his head, you allowed yourself to drift off against the pillows piled up along the headboard. Your neck wouldn't forgive you in the morning, but you hadn't the presence of mind to care.

The TV droned on the same tinkling tune, the voices mere ripples in the backdrop of your dreams. Your mind was focused on better things, happier times. Technicolor pictures of crashing waves and the sun warming your bodies as you splashed in the water. It was as if you could smell the sea air, fresh and clean and there.

In the back of your mind, you knew that you would wake up to your bedroom, to an empty bed and to John smoking outside. Your cramped flat was far from any seaside retreat, the constant honking of car horns reminded you of that.

For the night, you were content to just imagine. One day you were confident John would make your dreams a reality. He had so far, what was stopping him now?

You shifted impossibly closer to him in your sleep, unaware of John doing the same.
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I hope you enjoyed this! I'd appreciate any feedback that you're willing to give! Further requests can be made on either the most recent chapter or the intro!

For my fellow Wholigans, do you have a favorite Who album?

I can't be constrained to a singular piece, but my top three would be Quadrophenia, The Who by Numbers, and The Who Sell Out in no particular order.

Thank you for reading!

— adeleine