"Well." Robert panted, half in awe, half wanting to somersault over the warm body beside him and cartwheel across the room.

"Well." Jimmy lit a cigarette.

"That was the best sex I've ever had. The only sex I've ever had...but...it was amazing." In drunken, pleasured bliss, Robert lay back against the pillows, a satisfied smile on his face.

The guitarist snorted. "I just blew you. A blowjob does not equal sex."

"Yes, it does!" Robert was hardly a champion boozer - Jimmy had gone a little too far in his plan to loosen him up for sex. Or perhaps that accident had been by design. Either way, after it had become apparent that the singer was not in any state to fit his admittedly impressive cock in Jimmy without either party sustaining injury, the guitarist had done the next best thing.

"It was incredible." Robert's silly smile was still firmly pasted on his face. He turned his head to gaze up at Jimmy, who was taking a moody drag on his cigarette. "You're incredible."

"So I've been told."

"No - you are!" Robert replied, like an insistent child.

Jimmy exhaled loudly, cigarette smoke escaping through his nostrils. "Go to sleep, Robert."

"What? You're letting me stay the night?"

"That was the deal. Or have you forgotten?"

"No." Robert hugged a pillow. "I just thought we'd...do things." His face took on a comically mournful air.

"You're too drunk to do things. Now," Jimmy's tone shifted to one of irritability, "are you ever going to sleep? Or do I have to drag your heavy carcass into the spare bedroom?"

Robert let out an undignified bray of laughter. "Don't think you can lift me, darling, with those skinny arms of yours." Each word slurred into the other; it was a miracle that he could just about understand himself.

Had he been a few degrees on the more sober side, he might have worried about the guitarist's reaction to this statement. After all, blowjob or not, they weren't exactly friends.

But, clearly Jimmy knew he wasn't in his best mind. He gave the blond a shove and said, "Go to sleep, before I change my mind and make you sleep outside." Something in his voice told Robert that he wasn't being serious - that he was joking.

A flower of warmth started to unfurl in his chest. He shifted onto his side, closed his eyes, safe in a comfortable sphere.

Sleep took him on swift wings.

When the morning came, shining soft, golden light on his pillow, the bed was empty, the room suddenly unfamiliar.

Where am I? he thought, groggily, head pounding. Screening the sunlight with one hand, he surveyed his surroundings.

Fancy. he thought, seeing his jeans on an exquisitely furnished chair. Really very-

His jeans.

Bloody hell.

Images and sensations from the previous night came flooding back. The feel of Jimmy's mouth. That look of his, with downcast lashes, that always seemed to bring out a strange kind of perversity in Robert.

It was a little too much.

What was I thinking? Last night was...wrong. I should've listened to Bonzo. I shouldn't have come.

Getting dressed at breakneck speed with a throbbing head wasn't an easy task, but Robert wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.

He had finally realised the main issue he had with his fascination with Jimmy - the sense of unease he'd never been able to discover the source of. The thing he'd kept hiding behind his fears of his sexuality and his parents' reaction.

Whenever I'm around him it's lust I feel, not love. Instead of wanting to make our moments together tender and gentle all I want to do is get in his pants.

What the hell - we don't even have a fucking relationship. He probably thinks I'm a sex-crazed bastard.

What a stupid goat I've been.

Robert gritted his teeth in humiliation, swinging the bedroom door shut behind him. If the promise of fame and fortune hadn't been luring him on, he would have quit. Quit the group.

But he couldn't do that. He had to stay strong.

He wanted to be a blues singer - and he'd bloody well be a blues singer, gay as a golden unicorn or not.

"Someone's in a bad mood this morning." Jimmy commented, lightly, as the younger man stormed into the hallway.

"Well, I'm bloody hungover, aren't I?"

The guitarist looked as if someone had slapped him across the face.

Lord, that's all I need. To insult him enough that he decides to sack me before we've even made a record.

Backtracking as fast as possible, he said, "Er, I'm sorry about that - I...I have a bit of a headache."

"Right." Jimmy crossed his arms over his chest. "Why don't you have something to eat before you go?" He nodded towards a room Robert assumed was the kitchen. "There's someone I want you to meet."

He led the way, Robert trailing half-heartedly behind him, wandering if the guitarist had some nasty joke in mind.

But no - on entering the kitchen, all he saw was a man. A beast of a man - over six feet tall, built like a wrestler gone slightly to seed.

Mr. Beast exchanged some kind of imperceptible glance with Jimmy.

Who is this bloke? Some fellow he's hired to beat me up?

"Robert - this is Mr. Grant."

Mr. Grant lifted the corners of his mouth into the weakest imitation of a smile. "Good morning, Robert." He extended one meaty hand.

Robert stared at it. If King Kong had hands, that's what they'd look like.

Jimmy cleared his throat. "I'm no expert on etiquette, but I think you're supposed to shake the man's hand, Robert."

"Will he break my fingers if I do?" Clearly, being hungover granted him no filter between his brain and his mouth.

For a few brief seconds, both Mr. Grant and the guitarist looked utterly stunned. Then, to Robert's surprise, they burst out laughing.

"He might." Jimmy replied. "If you annoy me."

"Then I'd better be on my best behaviour." Robert turned to Mr. Grant. "What exactly do you do, Mr. Grant?" Perhaps the residual alcohol in his system had given him a much-needed boost of confidence, because he wasn't usually this forward.

"I'm a band manager. Your band manager, to be exact."

Robert's mouth made an 'o' of surprise. "We have a band manager?"

Jimmy sighed. "Believe it or not, Robert, I do plan on making us a success."

"More than a success." Mr. Grant flashed him double rows of shark-like teeth. "I've already got a gig booked for you boys."

"A...gig?"

The guitarist nodded. "I want us to hit the ground running. See how good the group dynamic is onstage. And besides," he added, "I own the rights to the Yardbirds' name, and there are some gigs the group booked before they split up that we will have to cover."

Grant nodded, like a giant bobble-headed doll. "In Europe."

Robert sputtered. "Europe?"

"Copenhagen - among other places." Jimmy cocked his head. "Is that a problem?"

"No - it's just...very sudden." I've never left the bleeding country, and now I'm supposed to skip happily over to an alien country I've never seen?

"You need time to process it all." Grant said, in a tone that was probably meant to sound paternal. "That's good, boy. It's good to be thoughtful. Mustn't dive head-first into anything."

"Right." Robert felt as though he'd been submerged in water.

"Would you like some tea?" Jimmy cocked his head.

Copenhagen! "Yes." Robert replied. "I'd love some tea." Preferably with something strong in it.

🦋

Apologies if I'm made Jimmy a little too OC.

The Christmas season's got me like 😵😵😵

I'm actually a Christmas person, I've just been insanely busy. Soz if this chapter reflects that.

As usual, tell me what you think. The next chapter will be dramatic (and no, not the way you think it will), so hang on, guys.

Peace and love, Annia. 💕💕