Silent judgement sat stubbornly in the depths of Bonzo's eyes as he watched Robert button an excessively flowered shirt.

"Don't say anything." Robert muttered, under his breath. "Believe me - I know what you're about to say."

"You do?" Bonzo's voice reached sarcastic heights that his best mate scarcely believed he had the capacity to.

"I do."

"Then why are you doing this, mate?"

Robert's fingers fell still. "Because I want to."

Bedsprings creaked as Bonzo got to his feet. "You want to?" he echoed, scathingly. "Why the fuck do you want to?"

Questions, questions...

He had no answers for them. It was as though he was a leaf, pulled along at the wind's will. Pulled hither and thither, getting crushed and crumpled along the way.

It wasn't love. It couldn't possibly be love.

"It's an unhealthy obsession." Bonzo said, as if he had read Robert's mind. "Everything he gives you has a way of coming back to bite you in the arse. You don't want your first time to be with a bastard like that."

"I know." How could he not know?

"You're thinking with your dick."

Robert just about managed a wry smile. "Remember when you gave me that little chat about how impractical it was to 'save myself' for someone?"

"I wish I'd never opened my fucking mouth."

And I wish I'd never clapped eyes on Jimmy Page, but life always manages to screw us over.

"Look, mate," Bonzo crossed his arms over his chest, ready to begin some long-winded speech that Robert was in no mood to hear, "I know-"

"You don't." Robert felt terrible; he knew his best friend was right, but, somehow, the pull from the opposite side was far greater. "And besides," he made a weak stab at jocularity, "you wouldn't want me to be a virgin forever, would you?"

Not waiting for Bonzo's reply, he grabbed his jacket off his clothes-horse and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Every little nerve impulse screamed at him, telling him that this was another bad idea in his long succession of bad ideas, but he ignored it all as best he could.

His parents, as usual, were hard at work in the restaurant. They had had to hire two new members of staff, now that Robert and Bonzo were going to be unavailable for an indeterminate period of time. Mr. Plant was deeply suspicious of these new jobs that his son and his ex-employee seemed to have got themselves.

Well, suspicious or deeply disapproving. I can't tell the difference these days.

By now, the route to Jimmy's house had burned itself into the fabric of his memory, and finding his way there took less energy than it did to select something appropriate to wear.

Far less energy. He glanced at the spanking new shirt he wore.

When he landed on Jimmy's doorstep, ringing the doorbell with an anxious finger, he was a little over fifteen minutes early. A small part of him wanted to use that as an excuse to turn tail and run.

No. What sort of man would I be to run off with my tail between my legs?

Ah, said another little voice in his brain. You'd be a wiser man than you'd ever choose to admit.

But it was too late for wisdom now.

The door swung open. Jimmy peered out; his long, slender form encased in a simple button-down shirt and tight jeans.

He looked better than Robert's favourite dessert.

"Someone's very eager." Coy smile on his face, the guitarist opened the door wider to admit Robert.

"Guilty as charged." Robert babbled. There was a knot of apprehension in his stomach. He didn't want to deal with small-talk. Not now.

Jimmy sidled up to him, putting his arms around Robert's neck, tangling his fingers in the other's blond mane. There was less than a centimetre between their bodies; the guitarist leaned in, his breath warm on the singer's ear, "You can touch me, you know."

And so Robert did - tentatively bringing his hands to Jimmy's sides.

Uttering a dark chuckle, the guitarist nipped his ear. In a voice as soft as melted butter, he said, "How's Maureen?"

Robert stiffened.

"Have I hit a nerve?" Jimmy glanced at him from beneath a row of lashes. His face was like that of an angelic choirboy. "I'm sorry," he continued, angelically unapologetic, "it must be terrible - lying to her like that. You must feel so guilty. So-"

"No." Robert lied. "I don't." And then he did what he'd wanted to do since the first time he saw Jimmy in tight pants. He cupped his hands over the guitarist's arse and squeezed - tightly.

"Ooh." Jimmy's breath warmed the side of Robert's neck. "Someone's in a naughty mood today. I'd have thought arse-grabbing would have been too kinky for you."

Implying that I have the sexual thoughts of an especially chaste nun?

Nothing could possibly be further from the truth.

Using his new grip on the other's butt, Robert pushed Jimmy closer to him, bridging the gap between their bodies. Did he really want to test uncharted waters?

Oh, but Jimmy's mouth was now doing divine things to his throat - biting and sucking at the sensitive flesh there. And the idea of him, entirely at Robert's mercy, sent a sharp surge of want through his system.

I want this.

Jimmy seemed to sense a shift in his mood. When Robert lifted him by the hips, he knew instinctively to wrap his legs around the singer and hold on.

Carrying the guitarist was easier than Robert imagined. For one thing, he was terribly light. And Robert was horny. Devastatingly horny.

The friction of Jimmy's jeans against Robert's budding hard-on had sent indescribable waves of pleasure down South. If he didn't get any action down there soon, he'd-

"The bedroom's that way, Romeo." Jimmy cocked his head, his hands not releasing their grip on the other's shoulders. "D'you think you can make it without coming in your pants?"

Robert froze. This wasn't right.

"What's wrong?" Jimmy sighed, breath hot against his ear. "Don't tell me you're actually debating this?"

With the guitarist warm and compliant in his arms, it seemed a foolish thing to do, and yet he couldn't stop himself.

"Do you..." his tongue seemed to large for his mouth. "Do you want this?"

Jimmy sighed for a second time. Robert felt the guitarist's grip on him loosening. "Let me down."

"What are you doing?" Robert's muscles tensed.

"You need a drink." Jimmy wormed himself out of the other's grasp, landing lightly on his feet and not, as he would have, had the roles been reversed, on his arse.

"I do?"

"It's non-negotiable." Jimmy rifled through his liquor cabinet. "One would think you've taken some holy orders to become like this. So...proper."

A wave of anger rose in Robert's chest, despite the throbbing ache in his cock. "I don't want to have sex with someone who's like a bloody block of ice."

The guitarist handed him a glass of amber liquid. "Don't have sex with me, then. No one's forcing you. Well, other than the little organ in your pants you think with."

Furious, Robert downed his glass. And immediately choked - the alcohol hitting the back of his throat like a handful of needles.

Jimmy tsk-tsked sympathetically. "You need practice. Here, let me pour you another glass."

"Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"That depends. Are you more fun when you're drunk?"

Is he flirting? A glance at Jimmy's expressively coy smile confirmed this as a fact. "I hope so."

The guitarist held out his glass, refilled. "Then drink up, Robert - or tonight will never happen."

🦋

Well? What sayest thou, o mine wonderful readers?

Do you find this fic still absorbing or has it wandered off into the brush?

You can tell me your honest opinion because I rarely, if ever, bite.