sing this all together

Mick stretched on Keith's rug, pinching pieces of fur between his fingers.  He was giddy and he hadn't even had hash yet.  Well, not recently.  Perhaps it was the growing delerium in his head already accumulated from the cold weather, sour chocolate and the remaining strains of acid and pot still thrashing around his system.

There was the possibility that he was finally thrilled that he didn't have to devote a large chunk of his mind to fighting for his best friend's attention.  He had captured it wholly and literally but didn't push it so far as to make Keith go running back to the despicable blondes.  Thus, his mind was free, free, free.

"Wonder how many wolves had t'die for Keith's rococo room," he said as he gathered clumps of the grey-white fur in his hands.

Mick spread his hands, palm up, over the fur and tilted his face up lightly.  It was relaxing in this room, he decided--animal death and all.

Paul opened his mouth to give Mick a backhanded, sharp reply, but no sooner had his brain started the process the singer had pranced out of the room, calling back for Paul to follow him.

He sighed, giving a glance back at John.

Should he really leave him here? He was dangerous when he was still coming down from the acid, and now that he'd given him some of his pot he was even more likely to lash out at him once he found that he'd escaped.

But the "adventure" that Mick had talked about seemed so fun in the part of Paul's mind that often opened up when he had smoked a few. The child within him wanted to know, and wanted to know right now what Mick had planned.

So, Paul left the room, walking slowly down the hallway, following Mick's whines from a room not too far away.

Mick pulled himself to his feet and stretched his arms above his head.  His shirt, crusted and stained with chocolate though it was, rode up as he did so.  Settling his arm, he smiled tauntingly.

"'Course I have," he teasted. "Seen bigger ones, too.  Come on then."

He walked past John and all but skipped merrily of out the room.  The hallway no longer seemed so foggy but more like a pretty tunnel.  Wrapped in effervescent darkness, save for a circle of light.  Mick ponced and pranced into the hallway and dove into the first spare room he saw.  He languished on the floor, arms and legs akimbo as he reclined atop of a wolfskin rug.

"Come aaaahn!" he called to Paul.

"I know you can't eat it!" Paul snapped back at Mick, suddenly becoming annoyed by his wriggling and his insistant whines that John was staring at him.  Why would John be staring? John didn't do things like that, did he?

But...

Mick did have a point. There were no matches here.

"Fine, c'mon then." Paul went into the motion of getting off (he had an internal giggle at that) the singer, however Mick had decided right there and then that he should point out that Paul was still - er - tight down below. 

Fuck. Why hadn't that gone away yet?

Blushing, he quickened his movement and pushed himself back into a standing position, wobbling a little before making a slight turn away from Mick, hiding his front.

"S'not like you've never seen one before, y'tosser." Another snap back at him, Paul crossed his arms knowing full well that his insult was little above what he could've made up at age 12. It didn't matter though.

 Mick wriggled, trying to figure out if he was truly trapped beneath Paul or if it were the other way around.  Vice...and versa.  He blinked his large blue eyes up at him and cocked his head to the side.

"I can't eat it," he complained. "And John's creeping me.  Can't we go somewhere else?  Somewhere that has matches?"

He writhed some more, wriggling around in his cold abyss.  His head was getting foggy, not from any sickness of course of course.  From the remnants of pot and acid and chocolate swirling around in his system.  The alchemy of the substances was driving him dotty.  Short drive, really.

"Plus, I'm bein' poked wif Paul Jr.," he continued. "It's uncomfortable."

Paul felt for sure that he had been the one trapped - not Mick - but blinking his eyes a few times in an effort to clear his head made him realise that he himself was pressed against the Stones singer. 

And his problem still hadn't gone away.

As Mick wriggled beneath him in an effort to make him move, Paul struggled again to find where his mind had drifted off to. So it was another few moments before he finally answered the singer.

"Pot? Oh yeah, d'you want some?" His brow furrowed for a moment before he lifted himself slightly off Mick, reaching into the pocket of his jacket. He produced his last roll - and a good one at that.

"I don't have a light, sorry mate."

It still hadn't become obvious to Paul that he had made no move to get off the singer, or to move them away from John. He was trying to answer Mick first as his brain had decided to only let him do one thing at a time.

Mick wriggled and writhed under Paul.  It wasn't the first time he was stuck against a Beatle that night from the mating knot of love that happened before when he had been a Scarecrow.  No, he was quite used to it by this point and to being in tight spaces--he had, after all, shagged Keith in a hallway.

"G'off," he mumbled, giggling. "We can have our adventure in a room where John isn't staring at us.  'Cos I know you got pot and I want some."

He slithered and wriggled against Paul's frame, trying to pry his sinewy body out from under him to no avail.  It'd be up to the bassist himself to get them out.

"Aye? A what?" Paul pulled back on his hands using Mick as a means to get himself up off the bed from his lying position. However, he stopped shortly as he saw Mick's eyes travel downwards, his crotch now no longer safely beneath him against the safety of the bed, but rather facing Mick in all it's purple-pant-clad glory. 

Paul feverishly blushed and tried to tug his hands away from Mick, giving him a dirty look.

"You judging me, then?" He snapped in his half-dazed state, glaring. However the glare directed at Mick didn't last long; as Paul tugged his hands away from the singer he caught him off guard, sending his balance off and Mick toppling into his lap, sending his own form crashing back into the bed.

Paul found himself - and his hands - trapped underneath the giggling and wirey frame of the stones member, and if that wasn't enough on his pot-muddled brain, he felt his collar get deliriously tight around his neck again and his cheeks flush in both anger and embarassment.

Mick marched into the room, now resolute.  His mind free of clinging to Keith, he was free to do what he wanted at any old time.  And what he wanted to do was spend time with Paul.  He liked spending time with Paul.  He was easy to get on with.  None of the hang-ups of his own bandmates or the acerbic irreverence of John to bug him.

Mick took Paul's hand and started tugging him from the bed.  Through childishness, he was ignoring John.  Though it was Mick's own fault (and Keith's) for breaking up their coupling, he didn't want to really look at him.  Instead, he continuing pulling on Paul's hand with both of his--it was easy to fully clasp the bassist's hand in his own as Mick often bemoaned and berated his oversized appendages with their long fingers on a constant basis.

"Come on," he said. "We're havin' an adventure."

Mick's eyes traveled down to Paul's pants on their own volition and giggle bubbled up somewhere below his diaphragm, threatening to burst up and cause spasmodic laughter to come rippling from his mouth.

"Not that kind!" he promised.

Paul was in the middle of willing his situtation to go away (without much luck - still lying on his back, he kept his eyes squished shut in concentration, then looked back down towards his middle every 30 seconds or so) when the sudden noise of the door being pushed open with a creak snapped his attention up. The culprit was half way through uttering a hello when a loud sneeze interrupted the greeting, causing him to bend over slightly to wipe his nose.

"...Mick?" Paul hasitidly rolled over so the door frame was no longer upside down in his view - and of course distracting Mick's view from his pants -  and gave the Stones member a quizzical glance. He'd been frightened out of his dazed pot state, but his eyes still drooped down further than usual and his memory of why Mick was even there didn't seem to be working.