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Oh boy, do I ever so love doing this.
Title: Beware of the Brown Eyed Monster
Pairing: John Lennon/Mick Jagger
Disclaimer: I'd give half my soul to own them, but for their sanity's sake, I don't.
His fingers curled, crumbling the fabric between nimble fingers; the material was ruthlessly squeezed.
There was absolutely no way he was jealous.
John sat in the audience. His eyes were stead-fast and brutally trained; mahogany colored eyes watched the show. He watched it, the way a scientist did when conducting experiments.
The object was moving; eyes followed the path it moved in. This vessel that belonged to a singer. Mick Jagger, as they called him. The singer was actually calm, his voice pouring out the slow lyrical words. A song of which called “No Expectations”. John’s eyes took the opportunity to study what the flesh had to offer. He could clearly see everything. The clarity that the stillness was providing him,
All of it. Mick’s body It was a bit difficult to catch it when he was moving frantically around the stage; never one to be quelled into a silent stillness.
John’s mind, sleep ridden from the late night/early morning, told him that he was just curious; he couldn’t like the same gender. Besides, he had Yoko and she was fantastic enough.
His eyes averted again. Watching. Mick’s slow pace was easier to trace. He glided towards Keith. Digits again closed tightly around the soft sheet that he was wearing, creases lining the surface. The yellow material was thoroughly being crushed between vicious acting fingers.
Why? It would later resurface again. Why did he care? It wasn’t a role that John took part of; romping with the same gender. He told himself that women were the way. They were God’s given creature. Yet one man was unraveling those firm thoughts.
Besides, it wasn’t like he was interested; as if he were in a way jealous. Especially of Keith. What Mick did was of his own. It wasn’t like he wished for the boy to stop. To stop this roaring echo in his mind. He wasn’t thinking that. It wasn’t as if wanted Mick to keep going.
He did. But why? He never went after it. They seemed to always elude his ever so frustrated mind. It would be nice to know, but his mind became worked up. Just worked over by some beautiful androgynous boy who did his routine of f** dancing.
Beautiful… He just called Mick beautiful. Well was he? To the naked eyes of John’s mind; Mick was becoming that creature, the graceful beauty. Something was compelling to John from Mick. Whether it was charisma, attention demanding dances, the curious taste in clothes, or the ability to arouse doubt into people’s mind. He didn’t really care.
But he still did.
To rid himself of the less than desirable thoughts, he immersed his ears and mind into the notes that Richards was birthing from his acoustic. It really was a fine song. Like lazy, sunny afternoons. How everything melded; the bass, the guitar, the slide guitar, how that voice lulled you away.
God, Mick’s voice was so languid and full of calmness. He could get lost in this. How Mick’s voice would… he really had to stop this. Again, he tried to focus.
Pete tilted his head, black hair grazing across his cheek. Something was off with John. For the many of minutes that he had been here, John seemed to be very off balance. First, while sitting on the side of the stage earlier, he had watched John seemingly make moves. Or passes. He seemed rather intent on bothering Jagger. It was as if he had completely disregarded the presence of Yoko and Julian.
He heard about how John greeted Mick and took of his jacket for him; then embrace Mick and slyly slide his hand into Mick’s shirt. Twice.
All day, it did seem that John put Mick off by this. These apparent gestures. He would have this look his face, his large lips morphed and twisted into a silent gesture of ‘huh?”.
There seemed to be something that was underlying. Pete noted that there was more things than normal that John was dong with Mick.
Oh well. Pete could ramble this in his mind and go onto more assumptions, but it wasn’t as if he could actually prove these. He could keep speculating on John but it didn’t really matter.
John’s fingers had yet again found themselves anchored tensely into the material. How he hated this. He wished that somehow he could quit this. Something in his mind disapproved of what his eyes were feeding to his mind. How Mick would get close to Keith. He wanted Mick to move away from Keith and slowly advance towards himself.
Seeing Mick stride over to anyone really set off feelings of envious thoughts. Seeing anyone graze over him, or Mick touching anyone else had set off a defense. They always said to beware of the envious greens; the green eyed monster.
He felt Yoko’s hand. She slid her fingers in place with his own. He looked at her, feeling her gaze leveled with his. He stared into her black eyes and smiled. His own orbs, possibly too quickly, sought out body he was just staring at; they found their ways back to Mick.
Still he wouldn’t admit jealousy. But in the back of his sleepily clouded mind, he couldn’t deny that he wanted Mick to belong to him. There would always be a type of pull that Mick would do on his mind; something that craved his attention. Whether he would find out, it didn’t really matter. Or so a part of his mind vehemently confirmed.
Really, it couldn’t be all jealousy.
Currently listening to the commercials on the radio. Bad Company was just on.
