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rareslashTitle: Roofies
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Johnny Depp / Keith Richards (RPS)
Warnings: questionable content which should not be viewed by anyone, to include date rape and an ugly, old Keith Richards
Summary: Keith slips Johnny a couple of Roofies and Johnny crashes like a sand nigger in a stolen plane. Sodomy ensues.
Disclaimer: I do not know either of the people depicted in this piece. I have no correspondence with either of them, nor do I claim to know anything about their sexual preferences or practices. The following piece is entirely fictional.
Word Count: 2,042
Notes: I said I know it’s onlyrock ’n roll weird!fic but I like it, like it. Yes, I do.
This fic is more than mildly suffering from inside joke status, but I think it is lucid enough to be amusing, disturbing and if you're weird enough, arousing, regardless of whether you know the full spectrum of the jokes.
Raucous laughter spilled from the large and lavish hotel room Keith had procured for the after party. The rest of the band had long ago retired to their suites, and the groupies had been asked to leave. Keith, however, had sampled his newest shipment of cocaine, and Johnny was fresh from his last sleep having not attended the night’s show. Good friends as they had been for years, they laughed and talked comfortably into the night until Keith mentioned something Johnny found increasingly unsavory.
“Roofies, man,” Keith finished. He chuckled and watched Johnny finish his beer. Johnny looked sheepishly into his cup.
“That’s an ugly story,” Johnny replied. The edge of Keith’s voice made him uneasy for reasons that he couldn’t seem to bring to the forefront of his mind.
Johnny suddenly wondered why he’d taken to beer this evening. They only had a couple of half kegs and Johnny was forced always to surrender his cup to Keith for a refill. Surely, he’d have been better off if he’d brought his own bottle of red wine. He looked at his cup. He felt a bit tired… unusually tired. A tinge of apprehension surfaced somewhere in his mind. He tried to brush it aside, but realized that Keith was watching him with rather unusual intensity. What was he scrutinizing? Keith gave a little twitch of the eyebrow, then swaggered over to Johnny’s chair, taking his cup with a little flourish of the hand. He seemed to fly into the other room, materializing again immediately with fresh brews.
Johnny wondered then if he’d had too much to drink. He’d abstained from the cocaine he’d been offered, but it seemed that Keith had become more graceful. There was no sober excuse for such things. He took the cup and had a few swallows, but felt he couldn’t have another sip. Johnny thought this notable, as his usual tolerance was significant. He tried to put his cup down on the table beside him, but almost spilled it. He felt uncoordinated and tried to excuse himself. Keith laughed it off, settled Johnny’s cup for him and placed a callous hand on Johnny’s shoulder, encouraging him to remain sitting.
“I think I’d better call a car. I’m obviously not myself, tonight,” Johnny said.
“Nonsense,” Keith assured him, “just a little drunk is all. That and the roofies.”
“What?” Johnny felt confused and disoriented. He was sure he was hearing things.
“Roofies,” Keith repeated with a calm and practiced flare. “There’s roofies in your cup.”
“Could’ve just asked, you know,” Johnny laughed with obvious lack of ease. He studied Keith’s reaction, which was minimal.
Keith looked calm, but intense. Johnny didn’t know what to make of what he was hearing. He thought it must be a ridiculously bad joke. Keith’s laugh echoed in a most sinister way as he jumped up and ambled across the room to the main door. Johnny heard the click of the latch turning and the swoosh of the curtains being drawn behind him. He didn’t turn. He just waited dumbly for the punchline of Keith’s prank.
The voice came hoarsely from a few feet behind the chair. “I’m telling you. Roofies.”
“You’re not serious…” Johnny trailed off. He squinted for a better look at Keith’s weathered face. Keith chuckled again, in that unnerving way.
“I’ll give you a running start. You’ve got about ten minutes before you crash like a sand nigger in a stolen plane.”
Johnny tried to shrug off the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach, but somehow, the predatory look on Keith’s face convinced him that his apprehension was not misplaced. Johnny felt dizzy and tried to raise himself from the chair. He stumbled back into it once or twice before raising himself to his feet. Johnny heard Keith moving around in the room, but couldn’t discern where the sound came from. Just as Johnny began to sway toward the floor, Keith caught him.
“Lucky one, that. Would’ve been an ugly few bruises to explain in the morning. Don’t worry, though, I won’t give you any bruises anyone can see.” Johnny squinted and tried to focus his eyes and his mind. To no avail, though, because Keith was pulling him to his feet. Johnny swayed into Keith’s shoulder and used it as leverage to hurl himself toward the door, but by the time he got half way there, he couldn’t decide which door to go through.
Keith had gone back to reclining lazily in one of the chairs, watching Johnny stumble slowly around the room, but as Johnny approached the door and began fumbling around, Keith realized he had better stop Johnny from figuring out the locks. He was up and running in a moment and had Johnny by the shoulders in the next.
Johnny squirmed and writhed, trying to break free of Keith’s grip, which became more and more menacing to his tumbling mind. Johnny tried to trick Keith into thinking he’d given up by lessening his struggles. It worked, and just at the opportune moment, Johnny swung around, knocking Keith a skidding hook to the jaw.
Keith shrugged off the blow and did his best to sound reassuring, trying to coax Johnny away from the door. Keith wasn’t as young as he used to be and though Johnny was getting on, himself, Keith wasn’t sure he wanted to take the man. Not in a fight, anyway. He advanced again, poorly attempting to mask the intention to hold Johnny fast. Johnny swung about and ducked in a last effort to catch Keith off guard. Johnny stunned Keith, this time with a direct hit to the stomach.
Keith doubled over grunting and Johnny fumbled for the door. He managed to unlock the door, but looked around behind him to see that Keith was still on the floor before he made his escape.
"Fuckmook," Johnny retorted in triumph.
Feeling satisfied that Keith was incapacitated for the moment, yet becoming ever less coherent, Johnny whirled around on his heel and stumbled for the open door.
‘Oops. Wrong door.’ Johnny had barely a second to process his double vision as he slammed into the wall, jarring himself into oblivion, before falling flat on his back.
Keith heaved himself up on an elbow, still huffing from the nasty punch to his gut. He surveyed the scene and scoffed at the table they’d overturned in the struggle and the beer on the rug. He was relieved, however, and chuckled to see that Johnny had knocked himself out cold. Picking himself from the rug and dusting himself off with a grunt, Keith reached over and shut the door. He stepped carefully over Johnny’s head and latched the bolts carefully, double-checking each one. Then, he walked leisurely around to the other end of Johnny’s body and grabbed him by the ankles, maneuvering him expertly through the sitting area, into the bedroom.
__________
Johnny found himself drifting in and out of consciousness. He was confused, disoriented, aching. He tasted blood vaguely, and began to remember running into the wall in Keith’s hotel. And then he remembered why he had been running in the first place. Johnny licked his sore lip, trying to tell how badly he’d busted his face. He started to raise his hand to check for damage, but realized that he was unable to move it very far. He opened his eyes with a start and saw that he was tied, mostly nude, to a set of bedposts. Johnny felt weak and allowed his head to fall back, losing consciousness yet again.
Keith surveyed the knots around Johnny’s limbs from his vantage point at the end of the bed. He’d tied Johnny down just in case he hadn’t had given a large enough dose. He saw Johnny toss his head and open his eyes for a few seconds, but lose consciousness again. Keith was pleased with the accuracy of his dose: enough to make Johnny pliable, but not enough to endanger him permanently. Keith didn’t feel like risking another punch to the gut… Or more sensitive areas, as it were.
In a moment, though, Keith snapped out of his complacency. He’d succeed in getting this far but if he sat around congratulating himself all night, he’d never get the job done. Keith took the bandana off his head and shook out his dingy-looking hair. He ran his hands through it nervously, eyeing his handiwork. Keith shook himself back to action. He removed his clothes, revealing an expanse of coarse, light skin that pulled in some places and wrinkled slightly in others. The shape of his bones stood out in sharp relief and his earrings clinked together musically.
Keith walked to one side of the bed to toy with one of the rings Johnny wore that matched his own. Lovely hands, really. Especially the quirky ink. And with that, Keith took a step backward to gain the bed with his leg. He climbed gingerly up beside Johnny, straddling a single one of his legs. It occurred to him that he hadn’t removed precisely all of Johnny’s clothes before he tied him to the bed corners. Keith decided to test Johnny’s level of consciousness before removing any of the ties.
He ran the thickness of his guitar-calloused fingers over Johnny’s torso, making sure to hit places that would ordinarily make a man jump. The armpits produced little effect, so he moved lower, touching the feet and behind the knees. No ticklish response meant he wouldn’t wake up for ordinary touching which was exceedingly convenient. Just for kicks, Keith decided to pinch him. He grabbed a brown nipple and tugged. Johnny made a sound and tossed his head. Maybe not at convenient as Keith had anticipated…
Johnny had a vague feeling of disconnection. His eyelids fluttered, but he could not open them. He heard Keith’s voice soothing him somewhere in the distance. He noticed that it was vague and harsh. He heard Keith’s familiar cigarette-tattered grunt and felt himself being moved, yet he was too far off to struggle. Johnny tried to move his hand again and thought it must be held by a person instead of tied, now. He struggled briefly, but assented, feeling the desire to sleep again. He felt a sharp pain near the base of his spine and wondered by whom he’d been struck. Again, he drifted off exhausted.
Keith stroked the lines of Johnny’s back from above him. He slid his hands along smooth skin, and then below his own waist. Feeling blunt pressure, he eased forward. Johnny grunted and shifted, but Keith felt no stress to change his course of action. Greased up as he was and relaxed as Johnny seemed, damage would be minimal. They’d both walk in the morning. Well, maybe not Keith.
Johnny was in pain and he didn’t know why. He thought he might have fallen down a flight of stairs, hurled himself off a balcony, contorted his body in some terrible way. He wanted to look around, but couldn’t shake the weight from his back. His eyes were glazed over and his vision was horribly fuzzy at best, and just as a bit of light reached him, he was again too weak to fight to keep his consciousness.
Keith exhaled sharply. Johnny’s skin was tanned and smooth, in sharp contrast to his own, and his body was splayed almost gracefully across the hotel bed. He gave little response to Keith’s movements, but was firm and resisting beneath him none the less. Keith loved the feeling of the other man’s shape. He couldn’t get enough of Johnny’s particularly alluring smell, his elegance, his unyielding rejection of Keith’s intrusion and the thought that he had him, finally, drove Keith over the edge. His breath quickened, he sped his pace, his muscles twitched. Johnny made noises, clearly trying to speak, but so far gone, Keith could only imagine he was voicing his approval. In a few moments, however, Keith scrambled madly for a towel in case Johnny woke. Spent and vaguely panicked, he cleaned them both up, trying to make the whole scene as innocent-looking as possible.
Keith realized he hadn’t exactly thought of an excuse. He didn’t know what sort of line he would feed Johnny in the morning.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Johnny Depp / Keith Richards (RPS)
Warnings: questionable content which should not be viewed by anyone, to include date rape and an ugly, old Keith Richards
Summary: Keith slips Johnny a couple of Roofies and Johnny crashes like a sand nigger in a stolen plane. Sodomy ensues.
Disclaimer: I do not know either of the people depicted in this piece. I have no correspondence with either of them, nor do I claim to know anything about their sexual preferences or practices. The following piece is entirely fictional.
Word Count: 2,042
Notes: I said I know it’s only
This fic is more than mildly suffering from inside joke status, but I think it is lucid enough to be amusing, disturbing and if you're weird enough, arousing, regardless of whether you know the full spectrum of the jokes.
Raucous laughter spilled from the large and lavish hotel room Keith had procured for the after party. The rest of the band had long ago retired to their suites, and the groupies had been asked to leave. Keith, however, had sampled his newest shipment of cocaine, and Johnny was fresh from his last sleep having not attended the night’s show. Good friends as they had been for years, they laughed and talked comfortably into the night until Keith mentioned something Johnny found increasingly unsavory.
“Roofies, man,” Keith finished. He chuckled and watched Johnny finish his beer. Johnny looked sheepishly into his cup.
“That’s an ugly story,” Johnny replied. The edge of Keith’s voice made him uneasy for reasons that he couldn’t seem to bring to the forefront of his mind.
Johnny suddenly wondered why he’d taken to beer this evening. They only had a couple of half kegs and Johnny was forced always to surrender his cup to Keith for a refill. Surely, he’d have been better off if he’d brought his own bottle of red wine. He looked at his cup. He felt a bit tired… unusually tired. A tinge of apprehension surfaced somewhere in his mind. He tried to brush it aside, but realized that Keith was watching him with rather unusual intensity. What was he scrutinizing? Keith gave a little twitch of the eyebrow, then swaggered over to Johnny’s chair, taking his cup with a little flourish of the hand. He seemed to fly into the other room, materializing again immediately with fresh brews.
Johnny wondered then if he’d had too much to drink. He’d abstained from the cocaine he’d been offered, but it seemed that Keith had become more graceful. There was no sober excuse for such things. He took the cup and had a few swallows, but felt he couldn’t have another sip. Johnny thought this notable, as his usual tolerance was significant. He tried to put his cup down on the table beside him, but almost spilled it. He felt uncoordinated and tried to excuse himself. Keith laughed it off, settled Johnny’s cup for him and placed a callous hand on Johnny’s shoulder, encouraging him to remain sitting.
“I think I’d better call a car. I’m obviously not myself, tonight,” Johnny said.
“Nonsense,” Keith assured him, “just a little drunk is all. That and the roofies.”
“What?” Johnny felt confused and disoriented. He was sure he was hearing things.
“Roofies,” Keith repeated with a calm and practiced flare. “There’s roofies in your cup.”
“Could’ve just asked, you know,” Johnny laughed with obvious lack of ease. He studied Keith’s reaction, which was minimal.
Keith looked calm, but intense. Johnny didn’t know what to make of what he was hearing. He thought it must be a ridiculously bad joke. Keith’s laugh echoed in a most sinister way as he jumped up and ambled across the room to the main door. Johnny heard the click of the latch turning and the swoosh of the curtains being drawn behind him. He didn’t turn. He just waited dumbly for the punchline of Keith’s prank.
The voice came hoarsely from a few feet behind the chair. “I’m telling you. Roofies.”
“You’re not serious…” Johnny trailed off. He squinted for a better look at Keith’s weathered face. Keith chuckled again, in that unnerving way.
“I’ll give you a running start. You’ve got about ten minutes before you crash like a sand nigger in a stolen plane.”
Johnny tried to shrug off the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach, but somehow, the predatory look on Keith’s face convinced him that his apprehension was not misplaced. Johnny felt dizzy and tried to raise himself from the chair. He stumbled back into it once or twice before raising himself to his feet. Johnny heard Keith moving around in the room, but couldn’t discern where the sound came from. Just as Johnny began to sway toward the floor, Keith caught him.
“Lucky one, that. Would’ve been an ugly few bruises to explain in the morning. Don’t worry, though, I won’t give you any bruises anyone can see.” Johnny squinted and tried to focus his eyes and his mind. To no avail, though, because Keith was pulling him to his feet. Johnny swayed into Keith’s shoulder and used it as leverage to hurl himself toward the door, but by the time he got half way there, he couldn’t decide which door to go through.
Keith had gone back to reclining lazily in one of the chairs, watching Johnny stumble slowly around the room, but as Johnny approached the door and began fumbling around, Keith realized he had better stop Johnny from figuring out the locks. He was up and running in a moment and had Johnny by the shoulders in the next.
Johnny squirmed and writhed, trying to break free of Keith’s grip, which became more and more menacing to his tumbling mind. Johnny tried to trick Keith into thinking he’d given up by lessening his struggles. It worked, and just at the opportune moment, Johnny swung around, knocking Keith a skidding hook to the jaw.
Keith shrugged off the blow and did his best to sound reassuring, trying to coax Johnny away from the door. Keith wasn’t as young as he used to be and though Johnny was getting on, himself, Keith wasn’t sure he wanted to take the man. Not in a fight, anyway. He advanced again, poorly attempting to mask the intention to hold Johnny fast. Johnny swung about and ducked in a last effort to catch Keith off guard. Johnny stunned Keith, this time with a direct hit to the stomach.
Keith doubled over grunting and Johnny fumbled for the door. He managed to unlock the door, but looked around behind him to see that Keith was still on the floor before he made his escape.
"Fuckmook," Johnny retorted in triumph.
Feeling satisfied that Keith was incapacitated for the moment, yet becoming ever less coherent, Johnny whirled around on his heel and stumbled for the open door.
‘Oops. Wrong door.’ Johnny had barely a second to process his double vision as he slammed into the wall, jarring himself into oblivion, before falling flat on his back.
Keith heaved himself up on an elbow, still huffing from the nasty punch to his gut. He surveyed the scene and scoffed at the table they’d overturned in the struggle and the beer on the rug. He was relieved, however, and chuckled to see that Johnny had knocked himself out cold. Picking himself from the rug and dusting himself off with a grunt, Keith reached over and shut the door. He stepped carefully over Johnny’s head and latched the bolts carefully, double-checking each one. Then, he walked leisurely around to the other end of Johnny’s body and grabbed him by the ankles, maneuvering him expertly through the sitting area, into the bedroom.
Johnny found himself drifting in and out of consciousness. He was confused, disoriented, aching. He tasted blood vaguely, and began to remember running into the wall in Keith’s hotel. And then he remembered why he had been running in the first place. Johnny licked his sore lip, trying to tell how badly he’d busted his face. He started to raise his hand to check for damage, but realized that he was unable to move it very far. He opened his eyes with a start and saw that he was tied, mostly nude, to a set of bedposts. Johnny felt weak and allowed his head to fall back, losing consciousness yet again.
Keith surveyed the knots around Johnny’s limbs from his vantage point at the end of the bed. He’d tied Johnny down just in case he hadn’t had given a large enough dose. He saw Johnny toss his head and open his eyes for a few seconds, but lose consciousness again. Keith was pleased with the accuracy of his dose: enough to make Johnny pliable, but not enough to endanger him permanently. Keith didn’t feel like risking another punch to the gut… Or more sensitive areas, as it were.
In a moment, though, Keith snapped out of his complacency. He’d succeed in getting this far but if he sat around congratulating himself all night, he’d never get the job done. Keith took the bandana off his head and shook out his dingy-looking hair. He ran his hands through it nervously, eyeing his handiwork. Keith shook himself back to action. He removed his clothes, revealing an expanse of coarse, light skin that pulled in some places and wrinkled slightly in others. The shape of his bones stood out in sharp relief and his earrings clinked together musically.
Keith walked to one side of the bed to toy with one of the rings Johnny wore that matched his own. Lovely hands, really. Especially the quirky ink. And with that, Keith took a step backward to gain the bed with his leg. He climbed gingerly up beside Johnny, straddling a single one of his legs. It occurred to him that he hadn’t removed precisely all of Johnny’s clothes before he tied him to the bed corners. Keith decided to test Johnny’s level of consciousness before removing any of the ties.
He ran the thickness of his guitar-calloused fingers over Johnny’s torso, making sure to hit places that would ordinarily make a man jump. The armpits produced little effect, so he moved lower, touching the feet and behind the knees. No ticklish response meant he wouldn’t wake up for ordinary touching which was exceedingly convenient. Just for kicks, Keith decided to pinch him. He grabbed a brown nipple and tugged. Johnny made a sound and tossed his head. Maybe not at convenient as Keith had anticipated…
Johnny had a vague feeling of disconnection. His eyelids fluttered, but he could not open them. He heard Keith’s voice soothing him somewhere in the distance. He noticed that it was vague and harsh. He heard Keith’s familiar cigarette-tattered grunt and felt himself being moved, yet he was too far off to struggle. Johnny tried to move his hand again and thought it must be held by a person instead of tied, now. He struggled briefly, but assented, feeling the desire to sleep again. He felt a sharp pain near the base of his spine and wondered by whom he’d been struck. Again, he drifted off exhausted.
Keith stroked the lines of Johnny’s back from above him. He slid his hands along smooth skin, and then below his own waist. Feeling blunt pressure, he eased forward. Johnny grunted and shifted, but Keith felt no stress to change his course of action. Greased up as he was and relaxed as Johnny seemed, damage would be minimal. They’d both walk in the morning. Well, maybe not Keith.
Johnny was in pain and he didn’t know why. He thought he might have fallen down a flight of stairs, hurled himself off a balcony, contorted his body in some terrible way. He wanted to look around, but couldn’t shake the weight from his back. His eyes were glazed over and his vision was horribly fuzzy at best, and just as a bit of light reached him, he was again too weak to fight to keep his consciousness.
Keith exhaled sharply. Johnny’s skin was tanned and smooth, in sharp contrast to his own, and his body was splayed almost gracefully across the hotel bed. He gave little response to Keith’s movements, but was firm and resisting beneath him none the less. Keith loved the feeling of the other man’s shape. He couldn’t get enough of Johnny’s particularly alluring smell, his elegance, his unyielding rejection of Keith’s intrusion and the thought that he had him, finally, drove Keith over the edge. His breath quickened, he sped his pace, his muscles twitched. Johnny made noises, clearly trying to speak, but so far gone, Keith could only imagine he was voicing his approval. In a few moments, however, Keith scrambled madly for a towel in case Johnny woke. Spent and vaguely panicked, he cleaned them both up, trying to make the whole scene as innocent-looking as possible.
Keith realized he hadn’t exactly thought of an excuse. He didn’t know what sort of line he would feed Johnny in the morning.
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Date: 2007-04-01 06:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-18 03:25 am (UTC)