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We're Gonna Groove	By : peppers Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Led Zeppelin Views: 3282 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Led Zeppelin. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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- 2
- 3
Chapter 2:

"Houses of the Holy"

Robert felt strange standing on Jimmy Page's front door on an early sunny afternoon, a battered old suitcase in one hand and a flimsy jacket in the other.
it was the moment of truth; he really should ring the bell already.
Though being quite the novice Robert knew how much relied on chemistry and this invitation to Page's house at Pangbourne was just that; a study in compatibility.
In the singer's eyes, music was a marriage of souls instead of voice and instruments so this was quite appropriate.
He finally summoned up enough courage and rang the bell.

It took a few moments before the door was answered by a gorgeous woman, scantily dressed in what appeared to be some sort of a net curtain.
Robert's mouth opened as his suitcase abruptly landed on the ground, the only thought in his mind was 'I love the Yardbirds'.
"Shit…and it's still day light" he said under his breath.
"You alright, love?" asked the girl looking at him as if he were brain damaged.
Robert had to force himself to stop staring at her and as he finally came round he managed to say, "I'm here to see Jimmy".
"Oh sure, you're Robert?" she asked, and when he nodded she motioned for him to go in.
Robert quickly picked up the suitcase and followed her into the plush boathouse, secretly admiring the back view.

Jimmy was in a back room with large glass windows facing the river; a large acoustic was in his hands, making the guitarist look frail.
Page was a waif at twenty four, bone thin and delicate, his long back tresses falling down on his back as he swayed to the melody his was playing.
He was strumming away quite beautifully and with obvious skill that made Robert jealous since his own playing was just okay and nothing remotely close to being impressive.
But with Jimmy it was another thing all together. It wasn't just chords he was playing- it was something like weaving an intricate thread and no words could describe it; you could only feel it.
The music stopped and Jimmy turned round to face the intruder to this most inner sanctum.

"Oh, you're here already" he said as he saw it was Robert.
Robert felt a cold sting, once again that alienating ambiance from Jimmy and suddenly he came to feel something akin to fear.
Here he was a penniless kid coming from the Black Country to posh London and into the house of a man that much older than himself, a seasoned and talented musician.
"Yeah, I took the early train" the singer managed to utter, half whispered, "What was it that you were playing before?" he asked with renewed confidence.
Jimmy laughed, it was interesting to find Plant so timid and yet so confidante all at the same time.
"Oh, just something I wrote. I meant it for the Yardies…but, you know..." Jimmy answered, you could tell by the look in his face he was aching to play again as a part of a group. It must have pained him, their recent disbandment.

The net curtain girl came in, this time wearing something a bit more decent, and waltzing over to Jimmy she quickly pecked him on the lips and said her goodbyes.
"You going then?" he asked, she nodded and scampered off.

"Hungry, Plant?" asked Jimmy and Robert seemed to slip back into his shy demure once again.
Jimmy had learned from Terry about Robert's past few years away from home after a falling out with his parents at the tender age of fifteen.
Of course he was hungry, from what Terry said Robert seemed to be living on coffee and cigarettes, trying to cut down on the latter on account of his voice, and as he was quickly lacking the money to support that habit.
But it didn't take much persuading for Robert's bolder side to come out and soon after they were both munching on sandwiches, listening to a Joan Baez record.
"I was thinking I'd like the group to be able to do a song like that, only with more light and shade." Said Jimmy as the first notes of "Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You" played.
According to Jimmy there was a way to make music like a painting of sorts, it shouldn't be just one or the other- music should somehow be chiaroscuro.
By evening the conversation flowed freely. Less was there the awkward tension of novice and master.

Robert was a Blues freak, a thing which Jimmy could more than appreciate as names such as Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf, Ledbelly and Robert Johnson among many others sprung from the youth's lips.
And of course Elvis, the early records which sound was so different from anything else up to that point, the bold statement that from now on this was main stream.
As Robert tried hopelessly to describe the feeling, Jimmy could definitely see the ten year old Robert listening to the radio, impersonating Elvis and Little Richard behind the living room curtains because his parents had rejected the Blues so whole heartedly they'd quite literally cut the cord of his record player.
Robert's pride possession was a bass mouth harp he'd nicked backstage at a Blind Willie Johnson concert.

Jimmy in turn explained that it was an Elvis record for him as well that at the age of twelve made him pick up the guitar, and though he took a half a dozen lessons back in the day he was pretty much self thought.
If Jimmy had any fears of Robert being a complete jerk, they were now subsided and utterly gone.
Jimmy found Robert witty and amiable, and so charming he could probably charm the knickers of a nun.
Not to mention his exquisite taste in music which Jimmy found so compatible to his own, except for the few odd psychedelic influences like Moby Grape which the singer kept pushing on to the top of the records pile, to which Jimmy just couldn't relate.

"You know, I found a new bass player that I'm really keen on" revealed Jimmy, remembering the call he got from John Paul Jones just days before Chris finally gave up to pursue his true passion, photography.
He explained to Robert that he'd known the bassist back from his session days.
The man was a genius of sorts, playing bass, keys, as well as having a gift for arrangements.
John Paul could lay a thick and heavy bass line and since such good bass players were hard to come by, Jimmy jumped at the chance of having him.

Finally it was past 3AM before they even noticed how late it actually was, Jimmy offered Robert the spare guest room and of course the bathroom there was at his disposal.

It was only round eleven that Robert finally woke up; he spent two more hours the previous night just trying to fall asleep.
His mind was swarming with excitement and ideas and with the man called Jimmy Page, who seemed to be opening a brand new door for him, no, rather kicking it wide open. Page, that frail and introverted creature, but only at first glance, for underneath it all he was drenched in power, precision and a completely enthralling mystique that at times gave Robert the ominous feeling of darkness.
He now could clearly see that Jimmy had envisioned far beyond where the Yardbirds had left off, and Robert wanted desperately to be a part of it.
As he climbed out of bed he saw a neatly folded note that was slipped under the door.

It said:

"Went to meet with G, be back soon-

The Kitchen's stocked, help yourself for breakfast.

Jimmy."

***

Peter Grant's office was located at 155 Oxford Street, a small and simple one.
For all his bulk, Peter was not the preening and flashy type- simplicity in all seemed to be his credo.
Hell, so simple was the man that the only contract between himself and Jimmy was a gentleman's handshake- and for both it meant more than any legally binding piece of paper, for Jimmy knew Peter to be a word of his man once it was issued.

Jimmy entered the building and headed for the small elevator, contemplating for the hundredth time perhaps how Peter could cram himself in there- where even Jimmy ( a scrawny man by all accounts) found it a tight fit.

"So how's things with Plant?" asked Grant as Jimmy sat down in his office. "I've been listening to those demos he gave us the other night, you know the more I listen the more he's growing one me" said the manager.
"Yeah…" mused Jimmy, looking dejected. Plant was more than growing on him- he was fast becoming an obsession of sorts.

Plant was maddening him with those eyes ensued with so much passion, just barely visible behind a veil of unruly thick blonde locks.
But good god was he even listening to himself? Was he possibly attracted to another man? But than again the young Plant seemed to posses a powerful persona that could indeed swallow one whole.

"I want to close the chapter on the bass issue" said Jimmy, recuperating from his thoughts, "John Paul is eager and I want him in the group as well, so better seal the deal before he changes his mind or any other sort of damnable mishap might occur."
"Yes, I agree…but Chris' departure didn't come to me as quite a surprise" said Grant.
"No, I guess not, we parted as friends" concluded Jimmy.

***

After a quick and timed rummage in the fridge for some bread and marmalade Robert settled near the record player, sipping a hot cup of coffee.
Jimmy had stacks upon stacks of vinyl and Robert was quite delirious with joy to be left amidst it all, just embracing the music, the way he'd always wanted to.
It was like being a kid in a candy shop, just pick anything you want.
Oh, this was simply heaven.
By the time Jimmy came back, Robert had gone through dozens of records, sitting Indian style on the carpet and wailing with his high pitched tenor along with the music.
A smile was slowly making its way to Jimmy's lips at the sight of this, for some odd and bizarre reason Robert had picked out the very same records that Jimmy had intended on playing him today.
Robert's place in the group was sealed and secured right then and there, for Jimmy there was no going back on that decision.

When Robert finally did notice Jimmy his hand quickly went for the needle, "No! Don't stop..." said the guitarist, "You were enjoying it."
Robert's hand froze in mid air.
Jimmy approached the teen as the music changed and a new track was playing.
It was 'Bring It On Home To Me', Otis Redding's sweet voice came flowing with the subtle strumming of an electric guitar as he wondered if his lover would ever change her mind about leaving him behind, and just shortly the sinuous voice of Carla Thomas followed.

The older man kneeled and took stock of the teen; he seemed fearless when fronted with the lust that he must have seen mirrored in Jimmy's eyes.
At that moment, the guitarist lifted his hand to Robert's face as he began to trace the jaw line, such smooth cheeks.
Robert smiled suddenly and two dimples appeared from each side of his cupid bow mouth.
Jimmy just couldn't take it any longer and plunged forward, pressing his lips to Robert's, somewhat surprised that instead of pushing him off, Robert opened his mouth, welcoming Jimmy's tongue.
Something quite beyond their control was happening as they kissed fiercely, the tempo of it all growing and doubling in proportion as Robert found himself on his back down in the plush soft carpet with Jimmy on top of him, tenderly sucking at his throat.

The guitarist's hand fumbled to undo Robert's shirt buttons as his knee made it's way between his legs pushing closely to Robert's growing erection, creating much needed friction.
"Fuck" Robert exclaimed, his breathing heavy and fast as Jimmy's long fingers raced up his bare chest, capturing the right nipple in a rapturous grip.
"Yes…" said Jimmy in response. He felt as though he couldn't possibly stop now, even if Robert were screaming and throwing punches- which he thankfully wasn't.
Instead, Robert was spreading his legs wider and trailing his curious finger tips over Jimmy's back all the way down and cupping his buttocks- pulling Jimmy closer as if in this urgent embrace they could break down the barrier that was their own flesh.
Jimmy managed to open and push down Robert's pants, through his lustful haze he could barely realize what he was doing as he stroked the teen's cock fast, making Robert babble nonsense and pant even more so than before.

Robert knew he wouldn't last much longer, but it still took him by surprise as he was hit by an orgasm as powerful as a freight train, spilling his seed into Jimmy's skillful hand.
The older man thrust himself a several more times, grinding his erection hard into Robert's thigh before he too subsided in raspy pants, tumbling down on the softness of the carpet beside Robert.

Jimmy lay exhausted on his back, amazed that it took so little for him to lose control so fast.
He hadn't came in his pants since he was a thirteen year old boy, but still there he was lying like some messy wreck of heaving flesh, so satisfied as though something that was imperative has just occurred.
A sort of tension had been broken beyond repair.
He glanced at Robert who was intently looking at him, somewhat bemused and searching for something in Jimmy's face.
"You okay?" Jimmy managed to say, tucking an unruly curl behind Robert's ear.
Robert nodded with a boyish grin, "Don't think okay's the right word for it, though" he laughed and Jimmy followed suit.

Robert left the next day but not before he was assured by Jimmy that the group was now lacking only a percussionist.
The teen left for the Black Country with a racing mind, ideas and hopes that were driven into him by this encounter with Page.
Robert had a very clear notion as to the drummer he needed to get onboard with them.

Sex on the other hand was an issue that seemed to just fade and after that rough first session it didn't happen again. Nothing seemed to be changed by it except for some particular brand of nervousness that seemed now to be gone.
For the time being Robert didn't quite care to face with what had happened and as it seemed neither did Jimmy.
He knew it wasn't like him to cast such things for nature's course, but somehow it didn't matter just now.

He found a musical soul mate and a helping hand that seemed to draw him out of this bug of nothingness he was drowning in as of late.
Was it not (in a very strange way) reasonable? Since music is by far the most sexual of arts… that a musical bond such as this be laced with sexual elements?
Had it been any other man, Robert would surly have reacted differently. He tried to tell himself that he would surly have pushed off, kicked and screamed obscenities.
But that moment in which their eyes locked and he knew exactly what was about to happen, he could say with a certainty that he wouldn't and couldn't resist.

And yet Jimmy seemed to linger in his mind, plucking away at Robert's thoughts the same way as he plucked his guitar, skillfully and sensually, spinning an intricate web of questions that one day may need an answer.
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We're Gonna Groove