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ganymede-princess · 1 year

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Hanging Up My Heart | Duane Allman (The Allman Brothers Band)

ship: Duane Allman x fem!OC

warnings: drug use/smoking, promiscuity, sexual references

summary: Duane gets a shave from his favourite groupie.

word count: 3544

a/n: Bit of a niche subject, but I hope everyone enjoys it! I spent a stupid amount of time making the timeline add up to their actual Autumn '69-Summer '70 touring schedule, which I know doesn't really matter to anyone but me, but y'know. I also did a fair bit of digging to find any recordings I could of Duane speaking out loud, and I found an album on Spotify called Skydog Tales, which is like an hours worth of radio recordings of his voice. So if you're curious just have a look for that. Anywho, thanks for reading!

written by @ganymede-princess

Cigarette smoke and incense mingle into a mind-melting haze in the stuffy hotel room den. Gregg perches on the vanity, talking low and quiet to Astrid who stands in between his knees, their eyes locked together as twin blue flames. Berry languishes on the seat by the window, menthol between his teeth, plucking a melodic bassline on the lower strings of an acoustic guitar. Laying on the bed beside me, Lorelai snorts a line off her pocket mirror with a dollar bill and shakes her head in satisfaction. I let a contemplative drag filter through my lips and ash out the cigarette butt on the tray on the side table.

"Hey, Tammy?" Lorelai stretches out and rolls onto her side. "When do you s'pose you're gonna leave the tour? 'Cause I know some of the guys from Traffic and I think I'm gonna join with them at Cosmic. I could get you a spot with them if you want to come with me."

"Oh, Lori I..." I reach out and run my fingers through her silken hair. "I don't know... That's so soon."

"Oh c'mon." She rasps. "Traffic are far out. It'll be fun... and I'll miss you if you don't."

"I dunno, I'll think about it." I lay back and look at the ceiling fan as it spins. "Steve Winwood is pretty cute though."

"Oh my god, he is! He'd be so perfect for you."

"You think?"

"Uh-huh. You gotta come, he'd love you."

"We wouldn't think you're disloyal or anything if you went." Berry flops down onto the bed and lays his arm over Lorelai's waist. "It's all love."

"It's not really about that." I bite my lip. "I mean, you guys are my favourite band, yeah, and obviously I care what you think, but... it's just something I'm dealing with personally, okay?"

"Shit, mama, is it terminal?" Berry grimaces.

"No, no, I mean... maybe." I giggle. "It's not gonna kill me, it's just..."

Lorelai grabs my hand, concern written across her face.

"Baby, are you pregnant? Is it Duane's?"

"No! God, no! Duane and I never even... not with any of them-"

"Well, what the hell do you do when you're alone for so long?"

"Talk."

"You talk to him?" She gasps. "Just talk? You never..."

I shake my head.

"Well, baby, what kind of groupie are you?"

"An interesting one."

We collapse into a fit of giggles. Berry has clearly grown bored of the conversation and begins working his lips against Lorelai's neck.

"Just promise me you'll think about it." She groans, already getting distracted.

"Sure."

I prop myself up on my elbow and lay a soft kiss on her lips. Our mouths move together in a familiar motion and her hand finds the back of my neck as she deepens the kiss. We keep it up for a minute or two, lightly moaning and squirming around for Berry's benefit, until a low whistle interrupts us. I look over to see Duane leaning up against the doorway, arms folded; his red-gold chops are a lion's mane, and an ever-present smirk lights up his face. Lorelai tugs my hair, silently asking me to re-join the fray, but I push her away.

"Hey, Skydog."

He says nothing to begin with, just letting his eyes roam across the scene before him, expression unreadable. Then, he smiles.

"Miss Callaway, I wanna see ya in five."

"You're not the boss of me, Duane."

He laughs and holds up five fingers, winks, and then slinks away into the hall. My body prickles deliciously with uneasy excitement. I make the move to follow him, but Lorelai catches my hand.

"You want some blow before you blow him?"

"Lori." I scoff.

"Your heart is probably beating hard enough already!" She cackles before Berry engulfs her in a frenzied embrace.

"Shut up." I mutter, opening the side table drawers in search of a downer.

"You won't find anything in there." Gregg grumbles. "Willie locked 'em up 'til after the show. Lucky Dick had that 8-ball o' cocaine up his ass."

"God damn!" I cringe. "You're kidding."

"True story, he- mmph!" His response is muffled by Astrid crushing her lips against his.

"Ew, dude."

I shuffle out of the room, taking a second to catch my breath in the hallway. My heart races as a hundred imagined scenes run through my mind. Trying to find peace, I rake my eyes across the cracked popcorn ceiling, smoke-streaked floral wallpaper, and faded carpet. I think of all the similar hallways we have left behind, and every dingy hotel bed I laid in next to Duane, talking for hours about The Lord of the Rings, harmonica blues, and native peyote rituals among a slew of other topics. I think of his low drawl and the humorous spin he puts on even the darkest conversations. I think of the first time I saw him on stage last November, back home in Macon on my twenty-first birthday. My first gig since my post-Woodstock, post-Rick Danko heartbreak, hibernation and freak out. Duane glowed with a cosmic energy unlike anything I had ever seen, and I felt my heart thaw out as he sang to me through his guitar. Though we didn't have the chance to talk face to face, I found him occupying my thoughts for months after. I think of the first time we spoke by the side door in Atlanta in the crisp March evening, our voices hushed and fleeting, the way my hands shook as I scribbled my number on the back of a pack of fries, and the way my name sounded on his lips. I tremble, plunged back into the memory for a moment.

"Fuck outta here, Gregg!" Berry's shout snaps me out of my reverie, and moments later Gregg and Astrid come tumbling out of Berry's room, lips and hands still locked onto each other.

I duck out of the way and retreat a few doors down to Duane's room. The gentle sound of the blues trickles under the door, drawing me in like the Pied Piper. I inch the door open, peering in to see Duane sitting on the loveseat under the window noodling away on a beat up acoustic. The summer breeze filters into the room, shifting his rusty hair and disturbing the stream of smoke emanating from the cigarette between his teeth. He hums lowly, a rare sound from Duane since he's grown shy about his singing voice. He looks up calmly, still humming, then grins around his cigarette.

"Hey, peach." He purrs in his southern drawl, laying the butt in the ashtray on the windowsill. "C'mere, listen."

I gingerly pad over and sit down beside him, and as I do, he takes my chin in his hand and kisses me soft and quick. His moustache tickles me when he smiles against my lips, and he parts from me before I can deepen the kiss. He pecks me repeatedly on the cheek, making a low, sweet noise in his throat, and when he's satisfied, he begins to pluck a soaring melody on his guitar. Still breathless and seeing stars, the sound sends my mind rushing to another realm. I close my eyes and let my spirit fly out of me like a wedding dove into the beams of brilliant golden light emanating from the strings. As he finishes, I let my eyes open slowly and return to myself. Duane looks up at me with expectant puppy-eyes.

"It's beautiful, Duane." I breathe. "Absolutely beautiful."

"Thanks, sugar." He sets down his guitar with a bashful smile. "You want a smoke?"

"Sure." He lights us both a menthol and lays his arm out behind me so I can rest my head on it.

"Does the song have a name yet?"

"It's barely a song." He grumbles. "I guess Gregg'll name it after he writes the words."

"Hmm." I take a ponderous drag. "It's so pretty it could just be an instrumental."

"You think?" He quirks an eyebrow.

"Yeah. It's kinda catchy as it is, so you could just build on it with the other instruments. Maybe you could add a b-section too, I don't know. I kind of imagine it like Elizabeth Reed but more mellow, y'know?"

"You're onto something, girlie." His eyes crinkle when he smiles. "Why don't you play me your own songs?"

"Mm." I scowl. "I already told you, it's too embarrassing."

"What if I died tomorrow?" He deadpans.

"Duane."

"What if?" He blows smoke in my face. "Huh? I'd be dead and I'd never have heard-"

"Duane!" The cheeky grin drops off his face. "God damnit, shut up!"

"I'm just kiddin' around, ya sourpuss." He mumbles dejectedly and gives my shoulder a squeeze.

I take a deep drag of my cigarette and let the smoke out with a shuddering breath.

"Lori wants me to get off with her in Atlanta." I admit, desperate to change the subject. "She says she knows somebody from Traffic who can get me a place on their tour."

If Duane is hurt by the idea, his steady gaze doesn't show it.

"What did you tell her?"

"I said I'd think about it."

"Well," He itches his sideburns. "What do you want to do?"

I look into his blue-grey eyes, trying to glean some sense of what he is thinking, but Duane is, as always, unreadable.

"I wanna stay here." I cave under the weight of his gaze. "But I feel like I've outstayed my welcome."

"What makes you say that?"

"I've been on tour with you guys for two months already, and since I haven't been fucking anyone, I feel like a bit of a dead weight. I'm not really doing my job."

"You don't have a job." Duane teases.

"Shut up, you know what I mean."

"Peach," He kisses my temple. "I assure you, you're not a dead weight."

"Yeah? 'Cause I figure there's six of us and six of you, so surely one of you isn't getting any."

"You really don't fuck anyone?"

"You know this, Duane." I assure him. "Unless you count Lori, but that's just us blowing off steam."

"Hmm."

"Gregg's still trying."

"I bet he is, the jit." Duane snorts.

"Part of me wishes I could just cut loose and say yes to him," I admit. "But I'm not sixteen anymore. I can't just... let things wash over me anymore. I have grown-up feelings now."

"God awful, ain't it?"

"Oh it's the worst!"

We share a quick giggle before a comfortable silence takes over. We finish our cigarettes by the dim lamp light, relishing the warm Floridian breeze.

"You wanna do me a favour?"

"Here we go." I tease.

"Forget I asked."

"No, no, no, what is it?"

"I need a shave and a haircut." He runs his hand over his chops. "I'm gettin' scruffy."

"I like scruffy."

"M'yeah me too, but not this scruffy."

I did have to admit, his chops could use some work. They were so long they were hanging halfway down his neck.

"Well, you picked the right girl for the job." I say. "I've been cutting my little brother's hair since he was six years old."

"I know, you told me."

"I did?"

"Mm. We were talking about your grandparents' ranch, and you mentioned Bobby had long hair like a girl, and he caught it on fire setting off a rocket, so you had to cut it, and you did so well that you've been doing it for him ever since."

"Damn." I squint. "I really did tell you, huh."

"Mm. I don't forget."

"Okay, well, go clean up and get your razor out and I'll do it for you."

He pecks me on the lips and disappears into the bathroom. I lay down on his bed and watch the ceiling fan spin. Three months in and my heart still races at the slightest hint of his affection, and I'm beginning to hate it. I curse my total lack of foresight in joining this tour, and the fact that I cave to his every demand. I should have known myself better, known that basking in the glow of his soul would quickly become an addiction. I should have known that he would be another knife in me. I wipe away the tears that leak from the corners of my eyes and sigh, steeling myself against the trial of touch I will have to endure.

"Alright, alright." Duane pops his head around the door, grinning like always. "I'm ready."

He disappears back inside, and I grit my teeth as I follow him. He sits on the closed lid of the toilet, shirtless, with his hands on his knees and a towel around his shoulders. My stomach squeezes at his rough beauty, the rusty hair on his chest and the way his lean arms are slightly toned from carrying his equipment. Noticing me staring, he smirks and flexes his arms.

"You like these guns, huh?" He kisses his bicep. "That's all muscle, baby."

"Tshhh." I pick up the can of shaving cream and pretend to read it. "You wish."

"I been trainin'." He deadpans. "Pretty soon I'll be able to swing Gregg around by the ankles."

"Yeah, bet." I keep looking at the can, swallowing my laughter.

"By the end of the tour we'll save a ton on fuel 'cause I'll just push the bus around."

"Uh-huh."

"Peach, it's shaving cream not the Declaration of Independence."

Giggles bubble out of me before I can stop them.

"God, shut up!" I cover my face. "So stupid."

"Yeah, you love me."

"Yeah." I realize what I'm agreeing to a moment too late, so I put on a flamboyant Boston accent in a futile attempt to distract him. "Sowh, Mistah Awlman, what cayn Oi do fowh ya?"

"Just a trim, sweetheart." He drawls, suddenly quiet. I tremble inside as he strokes the front of my hair. "Do this thing for me too, where it kinda falls closer at the front."

"A little blending?"

"Mmhm." He runs the back of his fingers over my cheek, leaving it hot and tingling.

"O-hokay." I clear my throat. "I'll see what I can do."

"I want the chops up to my chin, too." He tilts his chin up and runs a hand down his neck. "And clean up the hair under here."

"Anything else, your highness?"

"Clip my moustache. It's too long, keeps gettin' in my mouth."

"Are you gonna say 'please?'" I quirk my eyebrow.

He takes my hand, kisses it, and smiles.

"No."

"You're a bit of an asshole." I scowl, beginning to comb his fine blonde hair.

"Can't fault you there, sweetheart." He chuckles. "But you do love me."

"Yeah." I mutter reluctantly.

He closes his eyes and groans lowly as I pass the comb over his scalp. His hair is so soft that the tangles melt away with the slightest touch.

"That feels good, sugar." Blushing, I turn away to grab the scissors. "Why'd you stop?"

"Shh."

"You're awful quiet."

"I wish you would be."

"I don't know what you're antsy for all o' sudden." Duane rolls his eyes. "It's a damn drag."

My heart is running like a thoroughbred, and I'm surprised he hasn't heard the hoofbeats thudding through my chest. Keep it together, Tammy. I lose my breath for a second as I take a lock of rose-blonde hair between my fingers. A snowfall of gold floats away as I begin clipping.

"I can't focus with your yapping. You'll look like a one-eared hound dog if you don't shut up."

Patient as always, Duane leans over and kisses my hand, then makes a lip-zipping motion.

"Thank you."

Relishing the way his silken hair slips between my fingers, I keep cutting until it sits just below his chin. When it is time to blend the front, and clip his chops and moustache, he closes his eyes and hums softly as my fingers brush against his cheeks. I battle against the animal urge to straddle him right then and there. When it's done, I take the razor and shaving cream from the sink. Duane looks at me with half lidded eyes.

"Don't cut me now, peach."

"I didn't say you could talk yet." I huff.

"Too bad, sugar, I just did." He straightens up and stretches. "Be careful, my face is my greatest asset, I'm sure you agree."

"Oh, for certain." I nod, tilting his chin up with my finger and patting some cream onto his neck. "Definitely not your sense of humour, or your talent..."

"You think I'm funny." I want to bite the infuriating smirk off his lips.

"And talented. Now, don't talk or you might actually get cut."

I drag the razor slowly up from the base of his throat to his chin. He sighs lightly, his breath warm against my hand. Suddenly, the world feels closer, as if Duane and I are alone in our own tiny universe. His eyes are like the sky before a rainstorm, yet life shines through them like a Jacob's Ladder. Emboldened, I slip my hand into the hollow of his cheek and keep shaving. As I finish the next stroke, Duane takes my hand off his cheek and kisses it, long and soft. As the razor slides up his neck, he rubs his calloused thumb over my knuckles. I feel his gaze on me like hot water. I finish up the last stroke and rub off the rest of the shaving cream with a wet towelette, taking a moment to appreciate my handiwork. As I pat some lemony aftershave onto his soft skin, he takes my face in his hand, tracing my lips with his thumb.

"Stay with me." His voice is rough as gravel. "I want you here."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He smirks mischievously. "Who else is gonna stay up and listen to me talk about Tolkein for hours like a goddamn speed freak?"

"You're right," I struggle against the waver in my voice. "I'm the only one who can tolerate you."

He rolls his eyes, but soon after his face softens and he suddenly seems vulnerable.

"Peach, I..." He looks away, cheeks reddening. "You know I dig you, right?"

I nod, biting my lip. He sighs and looks up at me.

"I gave my black book to Gregg last week. I want you to be my girl. Exclusively."

"Like going steady?" I blurt out.

"C'mon, peach, I'm being serious! This is heavy shit I'm laying out here."

"W-well, I am too." I wring my hands. "You really got rid of your book?"

"Uh-huh." He takes my hands, forcing them to be still. "Peach, I... Tammy, I love you. You're... you're spectacular. You're beautiful, intelligent, fucking hilarious. I mean, you listen to me bitch and moan all goddamn day and you still have a sense of humour about it. Hell, you're the only woman I've ever seen shotgun a Jax. I just... Every time I see you I can't get enough of you. I think I'd walk into hell with you if that's where you needed to go. I think you're probably my best friend, and... shit, peach, I been lookin' for home for a long time, and... and you feel like home. Please, just give me a chance."

"Oh, Duane." My throat tightens as tears tumble down my cheeks.

"Oh, no, peachy, don't cry!" He frets. "I'm sorry, I'll never mention it again, I swear."

"No, no, Duane, I-" I swallow thickly. "I just never- I didn't think... I been through a lot in my life, y'know, and, and Rick Danko and..."

"Hey, hey, shh." Duane stands up and pulls me in against him. I lay my head against his chest and try to still the breathless weeping. "Shhhh, you don't need to tell me now."

"Duane." When I finally speak, my voice comes in a squeak. "I been hung up on you since the day I saw you."

"Atlanta?" His face lights up.

"No, Macon." I dry my face and itch the back of my neck. "I saw you back in November at the City Auditorium, but I was still kinda buggin' from all the shit Rick put me through, so I didn't talk to you. But I swear I stared at you all night."

"Surprised I didn't see you." He chuckles, wiping my tears away with his thumbs. "You light up a room."

"So do you." I put my arms around his neck and get on my tip toes. "I love you too, y'know. You drive me wild."

"In a good way?"

"The best way."

I lean in, and after a lingering moment of almost-touching, Duane thrusts his lips against mine hungrily. Finally unafraid, I part my lips, letting him kiss me deeper than he ever had before. His hand firmly on my chin, I am at his mercy, and it feels perfect. As my knees tremble, his hands move to anchor to my hips, holding me up as he relentlessly kneads his lips against mine. When he's finally satisfied, I almost collapse in his arms.

"Sorry, sweetheart." He locks his arms around me. "You okay?"

"I love you." It's the only thought left in my head.

"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" He chuckles. "I love you too, peach."

"Are... are you okay?"

"I feel about ready to fly out the window and do an airborne lap o' Tampa." His laugh is like music to me. "Now, c'mon, I gotta get down for the soundcheck or Willie's gonna beat my ass."

"I thought you said you're strong enough to swing Gregg around by the ankles." I follow Duane out to the bedroom where he promptly starts rifling through his luggage.

"This is true." He tosses a silk paisley shirt onto the bed. "I could fold Willie like an accordion, but then we'd be up shit creek without a manager."

"I think you're full o' shit, Skydog."

"Oh, yeah?" Before I know it, Duane has tossed me over his shoulder, spun me around, and dropped me down on the bed.

"Not fair!" I exclaim breathlessly as he hovers above me, his hair a golden halo in the lamplight. He lays a kiss on me, deep and ferocious. My head spins until he eventually relents, moving his lips to work against my neck. "D-Duane, what about... soundcheck?"

"Fuck soundcheck."

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