Classic rock one shots and imagines [requests closed]

Roger Waters #1

I got a request for this beautiful man and just winged it. Let me know what you guys think and if you have another request, either message me or comment and I'll try to write one for you :)

And, today is Paul McCartney's birthday! Just thought you guys should know.

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Taking a deep breath in, I closed my eyes and imagined a spotlight streaking from the wings upstage right, then bouncing to upstage left. It streaks across the wavers, ultimately returning to the right. 

Just before the violin's melancholy melody began, I rolled onto the toes of my pointe shoes, gritting my teeth as the elastic supports of my shoes braced against my ankle and tightened on my Achilles tendon. The top on my feet chafed against the vamp of my shoes somewhat, but it was a nostalgic feeling. 

As the violin started to play, I imagined the spotlight slowly fading onto my figure. My back facing where I imagined the audience to be as I began a series of tiny bourrées that gave the impression that I was gliding sideways. My arms gently rose and fell with an airy, wistful grace that had taken so long to master. 

I was thankful that there was no mirror in the room I was in because I would do nothing but watch to see if I looked okay. If my form was correct and whatnot. Almost a year-and-a-half out of practice, I decided to dance the one ballet that would put the most strain on my bad ankle. I considered it my swan song because the dance was the last one I ever performed in front of an audience. Prepare my swan costume was the last thing I said before the best thing I ever did ruined my entire life. Knowing this, it was better that I didn't know what I looked like while I was dancing. 

The gliding motions of my hands and the continuing pas de bourrée suivi allowed me to return to the background from where I started. I imagined myself onstage once again, striving toward the horizon, hoping that, in a moment more, I would take flight—exploring the confines of space with my soul. The tension gradually relaxes and I sunk to the floor, just as my ankle feels as though it will give out. 

But the dance is only half over. I waved my arms faintly, as if in pain, and slowly rose to my feet. Then, faltering with irregular steps toward the edge of the room, I turned my back to the "audience" once more. My legs began to quiver like the strings of a harp and I prayed nothing bad would happen in the last few seconds of the performance.

With one swift forward-gliding motion of my right foot to earth, I sank on my left knee— and there, transfixed by pain, the swan died.

I listened to the soft crackling of the 45 on the player and stared at the hardwood floor of the studio, still leaned over in the swan's final resting position. I had done it. I finally finished The Swan. 

I jumped at a sharp whistle that cut through the chilled air, and looked up to see a man standing at the door just inside of the room. 

"You always told me you could dance." He said and slowly started toward me. "I never thought I'd get to see it."

I pushed myself off the floor and pressed my sweaty palms into my thighs. "I umm...  I didn't either..."

Roger finally stopped and now, only standing a few feet in front of me, did I really get a good look at him. He actually looked healthy. His hair had gotten trimmed, his brown eyes seemed brighter and wide awake. Sober sunshine splashed across his features, and he even seemed to be growing a moustache. 

"You look good." I nodded, gesturing a hand out at him. 

"Thanks." He smiled, pulling on the lapel of his brown leather jacket. His eyes flicked to something far behind me for a moment, then he said,  "So do you. I don't think you've looked better.