Saint Aura (plinksnotdead) wrote,
Saint Aura

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"Rough Boys."

TITLE: "Rough Boys"
FANDOM: The Who!
RATING: NC-17 because there's talk of sex, swearing, and the word cunt.
PAIRING(S): Pete/Roger, Pete/Karen.
SUMMARY: Just some good ol' Pete/Roger standalone.
STATUS: El Finished.

He grew out his hair for me. Those delicious honey blonde curls. Hey, I'm a song writer, I'm allowed to use stupid similes!

Roger Daltrey's infamous curls that threaten to take over the planet, he grew them for me. I like having something to hang on to in bed. And what better thing to grab onto when Roger's face is in my crotch than a nice big thatch of curls?

Sorry, that was rather crass. But you must admit, who doesn't want to shag that hair?

I'm Pete Fucking Townshend (yes, I'm quite aware that "Fucking" is not actually my middle name, but fuck you if you think I'm going to put down "Dennis Blandford"!) and Roger Daltrey is my cheap slag. Those cold nights on tour with one room and a double bed -- Keith and John can usually be persuaded to sleep on the floor, and once they're passed out, we're free to do as we please.

Oh sure, I have a girlfriend. Karen Astley, I'll probably ask her to marry me some day. Soon, even. We've been seeing each other for a while. As of today (September 16th, 1965.) we have been together for about a year and a half. We met in 1963, so we're not doing too badly.

I've been with Roger since mid 1964. I can't recall quite when he got drunk and confessed he had a very strong urge to give me a blowie, but that fucking night changed my life. Since then, it's been back rooms and back alleys, back stages and back door men. I'd never go near him without a condom though. God knows who or what else Roger gets up to.

* * *

Roger sits up with half closed eyes. "Where are you off to?" he squints, watching Pete hop around the room, trying to get his pants back on.

"I'm meetin' me girlfriend in 'alf an hour, I be fuckin' late again! She already thinks I'm sleepin' with 'er mate Lin, if she finds out where I've been --"

The sentence was cut off when Pete crashed down heavily onto the floor. For such a skinny wench, he sure made a lot of noise.

"Shu' up!" Roger hissed. "Jackie might be comin' 'ome soon, then we're both fucked."
"Fuck you man.
"No fuck you!"

* * *

They were never particularly nice to each other. All their conversations consisted of "fuck", "cunt", "arse", "blowie", and "fancy a quick one? Karen won't be back until 10." But rock bands make for strange bedfellows, so...

Then there were the nights when everyone else was out of town and they were free to do as they please. If anyone had wanted, they could have opened Pete's unlocked front door and strode straight into his bedroom, to catch him cuddled up snug as a bug with the singer.

But no one did.

Their relationship was kept silent.

And that was all that mattered...
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