My old men have souls as sweet as blood-red jam

MICK JAGGER

• Mick's flirting is a game of power and provocation. He doesn't come to you – he makes you come to him

• He watches you from across the room with that penetrating stare, those thick lips curling into a slow, calculated smile. When you finally look back, he glances away as if he couldn't care less – but that smile stays put

• he uses the stage as his weapon of seduction. During gigs, he moves towards you, hips swivelling, silk shirt hanging open to his chest, his eyes locked on yours as if you're the only bird in the room.

• After the show, he saunters over with a glass in hand, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. He tilts his head, hair falling across his face, and asks in that drawling voice: "Did you enjoy the gig, then? I spotted you right at the front. Couldn't keep my eyes off you, to be honest."

• He loves making you blush. He'll lean in and whisper things in your ear, his breath warm against your skin, just to watch you squirm.

• When you finally give in, he kisses you with an intensity that leaves you breathless – and then pulls back, smirking, as if he knew exactly what he was doing all along.

Drabble:):

The gig's finished, but the energy's still buzzing in the air. You're leaned against the back wall, trying to catch your breath,when you feel a presence beside you. Mick. His shirt's still open, chest glistening with sweat, hair a right mess. He doesn't say a word, just studies you with those dark eyes, a slow grin spreading across his lips. "You're the bird from the front row, aren't you?" his voice is low, raspy. "Been watching you all night, I have." He steps closer, and you feel the heat radiating off him. His hand finds your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "Fancy knowing what I was thinking?" He cocks his head, lips brushing against yours. "That I'd rather like to take you home with me.".

KEITH RICHARDS

• Keith's flirting is instinctive, straightforward, and devoid of games. He hasn't got the patience for messing about – if he wants you, you'll bloody well know it.

• He finds you in a corner of the party, away from the racket, and just stares at you with those dark, piercing eyes. A fag's dangling from his lips, smoke curling up slowly

• He doesn't bother with pretty words – he uses action. He'll pull you close, his hand finding your waist like it's the most natural thing in the world, and murmur right by your ear in that gravelly voice: "You're gorgeous, you know that?"

• He's disarmingly honest. If he fancies you, he says so. If he wants to kiss you, he bloody well does it. No strategy, just gut instinct.

• He loves making you laugh. Has a dry, sharp wit that catches you off guard.

• when he kisses you, it's with a savage intensity, like he's starving for you. His hands cup your face, thumbs tracing your cheekbones, and he's in no rush whatsoever.

Drabble:

The party's heaving, but you're leaning against the wall, trying to escape the din. Keith appears out of nowhere, a fag in his mouth, hair a complete state. He stares at you for a long moment, then plucks the cigarette from his lips and grins. "You look a bit lost, love." His voice is slow, thick with that London drawl. "Or maybe you're just trying to dodge me." He steps closer, and you catch the scent of smoke and whiskey. His hand finds your face, calloused fingers brushing your cheek. "Saw you when you walked in. Couldn't stop looking, could I?" He tilts his head, dark eyes fixed on yours. "Alright if I give you a kiss?" He doesn't wait for an answer – he just leans in and kisses you, slow and deep, like he's got all the time in the world.

BRIAN JONES

• Brian's flirting is intense, romantic, and almost hypnotic. He looks at you as if you're the only person on the planet – and you actually believe him

• he approaches with a natural elegance, his blond hair perfectly in place, his clothes immaculate. His voice is soft, barely more than a whisper, and he speaks to you as though every single word matters.

• He gifts you little things – a flower, a record, a scribbled note. He pays attention to details; what you like, what makes you smile.

• He looks at you with those intelligent, pale eyes and says, in that gentle voice: "I simply can't stop thinking about you. It's odd, isn't it? We hardly know each other, and yet I feel as though I've known you for years."

• He's intense – perhaps a bit too intense. His flirting carries an emotional weight that makes you feel special, but also leaves you a little breathless

• When he kisses you, it's slow, almost reverent, as if you were something precious. His hands hold your face with a tenderness that contrasts with the fire in his gaze.

Drabble:

You're out on the balcony, looking up at the stars, when you sense someone approach. Brian. He's wearing a smart blazer, his blond hair catching the moonlight. He doesn't speak – just stands beside you, gazing upwards. After a long silence, he turns to you. "I was inside, you know," he says, his voice soft. "And I simply couldn't stop watching you. You're... different." He steps closer, those light eyes fixed on yours. "May I tell you a secret?" He leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath. "I rather think I'm falling for you. And we've barely even met." His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining slowly.

CHARLIE WATTS

• Charlie's flirting is as silent and elegant as the man himself. You barely notice it – until you realise he's always hovering nearby.

•He doesn't approach with a cheesy line or a bold gesture. He simply... appears. In the corner of the bar, at the next table, in the hallway. Always with a book or a sketchpad in hand.

• When he speaks to you, his voice is low and velvety, and he looks at you with those calm blue eyes that seem to see right through you.

• He notices everything. What you're wearing, what you're drinking, what makes you smile. And quietly, he does little things – offers you a drink, holds the door, pulls out your chair.

• It's in the way he holds your gaze a second too long, the shy smile that escapes when you speak, the way he leans in just a fraction when you laugh

• When he finally kisses you, it's with a slowness that takes your breath away. His hands find your face with a tenderness that feels utterly out of place in a world of rock and roll.

Drabble:

The party's in full swing, but you find a moment of quiet at the end of the bar. Charlie's sitting beside you, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his suit immaculate. He's not looking at you – he's staring into his glass, fingers tracing its rim. "Do you like jazz?" The question's so unexpected you laugh. He turns his head, and a shy smile tugs at his lips. "It's a serious question, that." He leans his body slightly towards you. "I know a place. Small, dark, proper good music...Perhaps you'd like to join me there. One night." He just looks back down at his glass, but the smile stays put

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