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“Deaky, darling, please! ” Freddie huffed, chasing after the youngest member of the band. “Just try and see some sense!”
John was not particularly inclined to rage, and the expression on his face wasn’t exactly what one would call fuming, but Roger looked up from his drums as John stormed into the room and knew, right off, that Deaky was pissed off.
“Um,” Roger said, frowning, laying his drumsticks down. “Are you okay?”
John sighed, massaging his temples. “Oh, I’m just fantastic.”
“Deaky!” Freddie exclaimed as he burst into the room.
John did not turn to look at him. He faced Roger and he squeezed his eyes shut. “That’s not my name! ”
Roger frowned a little deeper. “Do you — do you have a problem with the nickname all of a sudden?”
John’s eyes opened, his gaze falling upon Roger’s confused expression. “No, Rog, that’s not what I —” he stopped, shook his head, and turned to face Freddie. “What gives you the right to change my name?”
Freddie crossed his arms. “Look, we’ve only got one shot to make an incredible impression, right?”
“Freddie,” Roger sighed, “what’d you do?”
“Nothing’s set in stone,” Freddie huffed. “Trident’s still looking for a record company that will release it. But —”
“Jesus, Fred,” John huffed. “It’s my name. You didn’t change my bassline or — or something that should actually matter to you! That’s my name! My name!”
Freddie jumped to his own defense quickly. “I didn’t change it, exactly, I just —”
“Yeah, I know, you just switched it round to sound more interesting! ” John sighed. “Because I’m not interesting enough — don’t you think I know that I’m not as interesting as the rest of you, Freddie?! I haven’t got your stage presence or Roger’s good looks or Brian’s fuckin’ legs, but what you see is what you get and if it’s not what you want then you can go out and find yourself a new bloody bassist!”
“No, no, Deaky, you’re very — you’re interesting! ” Freddie exclaimed. “We all think so, it’s just that — John, look at me!”
John had turned away from Freddie while he’d been explaining himself. He made a point of continuing not looking at him, back to Freddie, facing Roger, rolling his eyes.
Freddie sighed. “John, please, I — I’m sorry, I — I’ll go. I’ll fix this, I’ll tell them right now to credit you as ‘John Deacon’, not ‘Deacon John’!” And with that he fled, off to do damage control.
John scowl morphed into a smirk as soon as he’d heard the door slam shut behind Freddie. “You know, Rog, you and Bri are always going on about how Fred can’t be controlled, can’t be tamed, but it’s not all that hard, really.”
Roger choked out a laugh as it dawned on him that he’d just watched Freddie fucking Mercury get played. “Oh, you fox,” he said, shooting John and a crooked grin, “you’ve just got him wrapped around your little finger, haven’t you!” he crowed, and John laughed along with him. Roger stood, then, stepping away from his drum set. He placed his elbow on a nearby counter and leaned his weight onto it. “So,” he said with a little smirk of his own. “No rehearsal this weekend, for once. What’re you up to?”
“Oh, my parents are coming round for dinner tomorrow,” John said.
“Oh,” Roger said, doing his best to keep the disappointment he felt out of his voice. “That’s, erm, nice.”
“Yeah, they’re heading up to Scotland for Christmas, see, and I’m staying here,” said John, “so we’re having our own little Christmas tomorrow.”
“That’s really sweet,” Roger said, a tight smile on his lips.
“Yeah,” John said, nodding. “But I’m free tonight…”
“Ah,” Roger said, and he nodded too.
“And you…?” John askes, expectantly.
“One of my mates from uni is coming into town for the night,” Roger said, still pushing hard against the disappointment that was trying to be stealthy, sneaking its way into his words.
“Tonight or tomorrow?”
“Oh, uh, tonight,” said Roger.
“Ah.”
“Yeah.”
Words, left unspoken, hung heavy in the air.
John usually carried round a pocket tool, wherever he went, just in case he found something that needed tinkering or fixing. It had a couple little extensions — a screwdriver, a small pair of scissors, and a knife. He thought, during these long moments of heavy silence, that if he took out his pocket knife and sliced it in between the two of them, he could cut the tension as if it were some tangible thing.
After John had joined the band (almost two years ago, now) there’d been this unspoken agreement between the two of them that they wouldn’t sleep together again. For the sake of the band and for the sake of keeping the fact they weren’t straight a secret.
That had lasted about a month.
“Drinks?” Roger suggested as they were all putting their instruments to rest for the night.
“I’m in,” John said, nodding.
“Cool,” Roger said, forcing a smile, unsure of how to feel about this. He was always unsure what to feel, now, whenever John was around… which was complicated… because they were in a band together. “Boys?” Roger said, turning to his other two bandmates.
“I’ve told you already, Rog, it’s date night!” Freddie said cheerily. “You have fun at the bar, dearies. I’ll be having a romantic candlelit evening with the love of my life,” he said and waved goodbye. He left the room with a pep in his step and a tune on his lips that none of them recognized.
“Alright, then,” Roger sighed, a little exasperated. “Bri?”
“I’m tired,” Brian said, shaking his head.
“Oh, come on, Brian!” Roger exclaimed. “Don’t be a pussy!”
Brian rolled his eyes. “I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he said. “You two, have your fun. I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”
Roger groaned. “Lame!” he shouted after his friend as he walked out the door.
Brian flipped him the bird over his shoulder before snapping the door shut behind himself.
Roger turned to John, then, and it dawned on the both of them that this was the first time they’d been alone in a room together, just the two of them, since the morning when Roger had told John that he should join the band. “So… just you and me, then?”
“I — you don’t have to do this,” John said, shaking his head. “I get it. You don’t want them to find out, and that’s fair. I’ll just go home. See you tomorrow, Roger.” And with that, he turned to leave.
“John, wait!” Roger shouted.
John turned back, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Just — look, I was a dick,” Roger sighed. “That night, when I found out you’d be auditioning for us? I was a dick. There’s no reason we can’t be friends, right? No reason. There’s nothing to suspect — we’re in a band together, we hang out, we’re friends.”
“Yeah?” John smiled.
“Yeah,” Roger said, nodding.
“I’d like that,” John said, nodding back at him. “To be your friend, I mean. Yeah. Let’s go get some drinks.”
“Um,” Roger began, then thought better of it and shut his mouth.
“Yeah?” John said expectantly.
“Well, I was just — I was going to ask, what’re you doing on Sunday?” Roger said.
“Not sure,” John said. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, we could hang out then,” Roger said. “Since you’re busy tomorrow, and I’m busy tonight.”
“I would like to go to sleep at a reasonable hour on Sunday,” John sighed. “No offense, but we’re rehearsing pretty early in the morning on Monday and —”
“No, no,” Roger said, “none taken. I get it.”
John smiled.
“But you could come over around dinner time?” Roger suggested. “And then just, like, leave at a reasonable hour?”
“Yeah?” John said.
“Yeah,” Roger said, shrugging his shoulders. “I mean, why not?”
“Yeah,” John said, smiling a little wider. “Yeah, you’re right. Why not?”
“Right, then,” John said, buckling his bass case shut and lifting it up by the handle. “See you then.”
“See you,” Roger smiled.
***
How’d they get to where they were, then? That was all Roger could think a couple hours after him and John had agreed that they’d go out for drinks, just the two of them. It seemed as if it had happened all at once, like a tornado of events. One second: not there at all. Next: the wind was starting to pick up, danger was ahead. And then: fields and homes were torn to shreds.
One second: Roger and John chatted idly. They spoke of anything, really. They spoke of music and of family and of the future
Next: they were drunk. Really fucking drunk. They were sitting on the same side of the booth now, and when had that happened? They were sitting close. Really fucking close. Roger’s hand was on John’s thigh and John’s hand was on top of Roger’s pulling it up and in, closer to where his jeans were growing tighter.
And then: Roger was leading John through the front door of his apartment. They licked into each other’s mouths, hands roaming. No — hands searching! Searching for something to hold onto, to keep them grounded.
They were floating, both of them, high on the alcohol and high on one another and high on the rush of doing something that they knew they shouldn’t be doing.
Roger lifted the obnoxiously ringing phone and yawned out a tired, “Hello?”
It was three in the afternoon so maybe he should do a better job of hiding the fact that he’d only just woken up. In his defense, his friend had been visiting the night before! And he’d only been in town for the one night and so he and Roger stayed up late into the night talking and drinking… amongst other things, of course.
But the person on the other end of the phone didn’t know all that.
Oh, well. What’s done was done.
“Rog,” said a breathless voice on the other end of the call.
Roger furrowed his brows. “Deaky?”
“Yeah, hi,” John replied, still in that breathless tone. He sounded nervous — no, more than that, he sounded scared. “Rog, I —”
“Are you okay?” Roger asked, concerned.
“Um, yeah,” John said. “I just —”
“Are you sure?” Roger asked. “‘Cause you don’t really sound okay.”
“Roger, I need you to come over,” John said, then started mumbling. “ Shit. Shit. I mean — I mean, if you’re willing — if you want to —” his breathing sounded heavy and unsteady in Roger’s ear, “— oh, God, but Roger please, can you come over? Will you do this for me please?”
“Okay, okay,” Roger said. “Breathe, Deaks, don’t faint on me now.”
“This might be too much to ask of you, but —” John sounded like he was on the verge of tears, Roger noted. “But I need — I need someone to be with me when — when —”
“Hey,” Roger said, and he was frowning now. “Hey,” he repeated. “I’m sure it’s not too much to ask for. You’d never ask for too much.”
John released a shaky breath.
“I thought your parents were coming over for dinner tonight,” Roger said. “Is everything okay, John? Are they okay?”
“Yes, they’re still coming,” John said. “And — and yeah, they’re fine, it’s just —”
Roger waited patiently for John to say when he needed to say.
“Rog, my parents —” John said. “They — they’re not too happy. About the music thing. About the — the —”
Roger waited a long stretch of time but when John didn’t continue he urged him on. “The what, John?”
John sighed. “They know about George.”
“Who’s George?” Roger asked, puzzled.
“The boy,” John sighed again.
“What boy?” Roger asked, no less puzzled after receiving an answer to his initial questioning of who George was.
“He’s the one from high school,” John said and when Roger made no indication that he knew what John was talking about, John added, “The one who kind of, sort of, got me kicked out of my band?”
It took Roger another moment to click all the pieces into place in his brain, but when they did, when he remembered everything John had told him the night after his audition, he yelled, “Oh, shit!”
“Yeah,” John mumbled.
“Your parents know about that?” Roger asked. “How do they know?”
“Word got around,” John said softly. “My bandmates, they were telling everyone in school to stay away from me. They were telling them all why they should stay away from me, too. Word gets around. Apparently, word gets around to the headmaster.”
“Oh, Deaky,” Roger breathed.
“So the headmaster,” John said, a little softer, “he called my parents.”
“Deaky, you don’t have to talk about —”
“They had a meeting with him,” John went on anyway and he spoke softer still, so that Roger struggled to hear him. “I didn’t even know they were meeting with him and then I came home that afternoon and — and my mom, she was sitting at the kitchen table in tears. She wouldn’t look at me. And my dad, he —” John stopped, suddenly, and cleared his throat.
“John?” Roger said gently.
“Sorry, I — I kind of lost it there,” John said. “I didn’t mean to — I mean, I wasn’t even going to talk about it at all.”
“Do you… want … to talk about it?” Roger said.
“No,” John said, though he didn’t sound so sure of himself.
“Are you sure?” Roger asked. “Because when I said that you didn’t need to talk about it I — I only meant that if you don’t want to talk about it, then you don’t have to. But that goes both ways, you know. If you do want to talk about it then I’m here for you.”
John was silent for a small stretch of time. “No,” he said again, eventually. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Roger frowned a little, suspecting John wasn’t being entirely truthful with Roger (or with himself). Roger wasn’t about to push, though. “Okay,” he said simply.
“Can you come over?” John asked suddenly.
“Right now?” Roger asked.
“Yeah,” John said. “Or, I mean, soon. Can you come to dinner, is what I’m really asking. I don’t want to face them alone.”
Roger frowned again. “I’ve got to hop in the shower, get dressed… I’ll be over soon, John.”
“Thank you,” John breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re the best.”
They tumbled onto the couch, Roger straddling John’s hips and grinding down, earning himself a sharp moan against his own lips. John’s hips jerked upward, searching for some kind of friction, some kind of relief, some kind of something.
“Rog,” he groaned. “Rog — Roger,” he panted into the blonde’s mouth.
Roger broke the kiss, if only barely, leaving barely an inch between his mouth and John’s. “Can I — can I undo your shirt?” he asked breathlessly.
“Yeah.” John nodded eagerly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah — yes — please,” John said, nodding again.
Roger grinned crookedly, making quick work of the buttons that kept John’s shirt closed. “You’re so pretty,” he breathed. “God, you’re so —” he pushed John’s shirt just slightly off of his shoulders, “— hot.” He went for John’s neck; placed bruising bites to the tender skin there. A hot, wet swipe of his tongue soothed the ache.
John threw the front door of his apartment open to find Roger standing there and he grinned.
Roger was dressed a tad more modestly than John was used to — than anyone who knew Roger was used to, really. He was still dressed like Roger, of course, very much so. His shirt was buttoned for once, anyway.
“Thank you so much for doing this,” John said, stepping aside and gesturing for Roger to enter.
“Of course,” Roger said. He stepped over the threshold and followed John into his apartment. “So… can I ask you about your parents?” Roger asked, against his better judgement, as John lead him into the kitchen.
John’s shoulders tensed visibly, but he nodded.
“Right,” Roger said. “So, since they’re coming to dinner, since they’re coming to visit you and you’re on speaking terms and all that, can I assume that they’re cool with the whole gay thing now?”
“No, they —”
“Or, I mean, do they tolerate it?”
“No.” John shook his head. “They think it was just a one time thing — a phase — a really bad lapse in judgement, I’ve even heard my father call it.”
Roger frowned.
“I told them that I slept with a girl freshman year of uni,” John said, turning to the stove to check on the food that was there, cooking.
“Wait a second,” Roger said. “Did you only ever sleep with women to win back your parents approval?”
“No, I said that I told them I slept with a girl,” John said.
“Okay,” Roger said slowly, not sure that he was understanding what it was that John was telling him.
“I never actually slept with a girl,” John clarified.
“Ever?”
“Never ever.”
“But…”
“What?”
“You said,” Roger began, “that you’d never slept with a bloke. The first night we slept together, you said you never slept with a bloke.”
“Right,” John said, nodding. “And I hadn’t.”
“But you didn’t say you’d never slept with a woman,” Roger said. “You didn’t tell me that you’d never had sex before.”
“I didn’t think it was important enough to mention.” John shrugged his shoulders.
“So am I the only person you’ve ever slept with?” Roger raised his eyebrows.
“Does it matter?” John asked.
“I — I suppose not,” Roger said.
“Good.”
“But am I?”
John rolled his eyes. “There was one guy, back in 1971. Just after I joined the band.”
Roger opened his mouth to say something. He didn’t know what he was going to say but he had to say something, right? He felt like he needed to say something.
Before he could even think of anything to say, let alone form the words and say them out loud, there came a sharp rapping at the door.
John looked up and the expression that passed over his features, if only for a moment, unsettled Roger deeply.
“They’re early,” John murmured. “They’re here.”
John moaned, wrapping one of his legs around one of Roger’s, grinding upward.
Roger raised his head away from John’s throat, looked into John’s face.“What do you need?”
John was breathing hard. “I — I w-wanna feel good.”
Roger nodded slowly.
“Roger, make —” John carded his fingers through Roger’s shiny hair. “Roger, please make me feel good, Rog — please, I —”
“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” Roger said, nodding a little faster. “C’mere.” He pulled John into a sitting position and rolled off of him, kneeling before him. “Throw your shirt away,” he said and John did, scrambling to pull it off. Roger reached for John’s jeans, looking into his eyes, waiting until John nodded his consent before he tore into the task at hand. Unbuttoned, unzipped, yanked them off of his legs and tossed them aside, leaving John clad only in his boxer briefs.
“Roger,” John breathed, reaching out to touch his hair.
“John,” Roger replied. “Can I take care of you?”
John’s breath hitched. “Shit — why’d we ever stop doing this?”
Roger grinned.
“Yeah,” John said.
“Yeah?” Roger raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah,” John said. He nodded. “Take care of me, Rog — please. Take care of me.”
Roger didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned in and mouthed at John’s cock through his underwear. There was already a wet spot there and Roger sucked around it, tasting John’s precum through the fabric and reveling in the taste of him. He moaned into the cloth, knowing damn well that John would feel it in his whole body, knowing damn well that it would drive him wild.
“Ah!” John cried.
“Fuck, you taste good,” Roger hissed, pulling hard at his boxer briefs. He tossed them aside and leaned in again without hesitation. He got his fingers wrapped around John’s length, pumping him steadily. “Fuck,” he said and wrapped his lips around the head of John’s cock. He hummed, pleased to have the taste of John’s arousal on his tongue again.
A long, low moan escaped John’s lips. His eyes rolled up and into the back of his head as Roger slowly slid his mouth down around his dick. John’s eyes fluttered and fell shut, his mouth hung open. He was floating. High on the alcohol and high on Roger and high on that wet, hot —
“ Oh! ” John cried.
Roger bobbed his head on John’s cock. He held onto the bassist’s hips to give him some type of leverage.
“Oh, fuck! ” John moaned out. “Fuckfuckfuck!”
“Fuck!” John cried as the knife he was holding slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor. He hopped backwards, narrowly avoiding an unfortunate meeting between the sharp blade and his toes.
“John,” Mr Deacon snapped. “Language!”
John frowned. “Sorry, Dad.”
Roger leaned down and picked up the knife, carefully handed it back to John. “Are you okay?”
John nodded quickly. “Yeah, I’m f-fine.”
Roger frowned at him a little, shot him a look that said ‘Sure you are’. But he only pressed his lips tightly together and nodded once.
John went to the sink, washed the knife quickly, and then took a seat at the table. Roger sat beside him, and Mr and Mrs Deacon sat opposite them. John sliced up the meat that he had made for dinner in silence — it was a heavy and uncomfortable silence — and when he was finished, he served it onto everyone’s plates in silence.
“So, Roger,” said Mrs Deacon when the food had all been served and they were all beginning to dig in. “What do you do for a living?”
“Well, er, I’m a musician,” Roger said, smiling. “Like John.”
John frowned and Roger remembered, too late, how John had briefly mentioned on the phone that his parents were disapproving of his choice to pursue music as a career.
“Yes, like John,” Mrs Deacon said, her tone unreadable, at the same time Mr Deacon sighed, “Another one?”
“Dad, please,” John said softly. “Not tonight.”
“Are you in a band together as well?” Mr Deacon snapped.
“Dad,” John said.
“Well, are you?”
“Yes.”
“Hm.”
“The food’s delicious, John,” Roger said through a mouthful of steak and potatoes, drawing the attention away from the younger man. That earned him a deep scowl from Mr Deacon, but it was all worth it because John smiled and suppressed a laugh.
“Thank you very much, Rog,” John said warmly.
Roger pulled off of him with a wet slurp. “Am I doing okay? Am I taking care of you?”
“Y-yeah,” John said, nodding. “You’re — Rog, you’re —”
“John, are you okay?” Roger asked cautiously.
John was staring blankly at the door that his parents had just exited through. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Roger asked.
“No,” John said, shaking his head.
“Okay,” Roger said. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No,” John said. “I mean, unless you want to leave.”
“I don’t,” Roger said, and he shook his head.
John smiled. “We’ve got the whole night, now. We could… hang out now instead of tomorrow… if you want.”
Roger grinned. “Got any wine?”
“I’m gonna fuck you,” Roger said, rising to his feet and pressing his mouth hard against John’s.
John licked into Roger’s mouth, realized he could taste himself there and moaned.
“John, I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” Roger hissed. “You won’t be able to walk for fucking days.”
“I’ve got lube,” John said breathlessly. “In my — it’s in my room.”
“Let’s go there, then,” Roger said, getting to his feet and pulling John up onto his. “Come on, come on!”
John slipped his hand into Roger’s and let the drummer lead him to his own bedroom. “It’s in the — the side table — ” he said, letting go of Roger’s hand and going for the table at his bedside. He yanked the drawer open and snatched up the bottle of lube.
“Give me,” Roger said, holding out his hands.
John tossed the bottle, watched it fly through the air and into Roger’s hands, watched Roger’s fingers curl around it.
“Can I fuck you against the wall?” Roger asked.
“God, yes,” John hissed.
“Get up against the wall,” Roger breathed out. “Go on.”
John did, splaying his fingers on the wall. Roger came up behind him, warming lube in between his fingers then slowly pushing one inside John’s hole. He pumped it gently, waited until John was pushing back against his finger, searching for more, before he dipped a second one inside of him, right alongside the first. He repeated his movements then, but pumped a little bit harder this time, waited once more until John was pushing for more.
“P-please,” John hissed out.
“Please what?” Roger grinned.
“More, please — please — more!” John said and just as he did, Roger slid in a third — and a fourth — and crooked his fingers, looking for that spot that he knew was going to make John’s vision white out with pleasure. He knew it would be much easier of he knelt down behind John, he’d have more wiggle room with the angle, but he liked this; standing with his chest flush against John’s back while he thrust his fingers in and out of John and breathed hotly in his ear.
“You’re gagging for it,” Roger said, teasing, voice thick with arousal. “Say it,” he said. “Tell me how much you’re gagging for it, John.”
“It’s so good, Rog,” John hissed. “It’s — it’s so — I wanna feel g-good, Roger, please, I —”
Bingo! Roger thought to himself with a smirk when he felt his fingertips brush John’s prostate, as he watched John arch his back and tip his head back. John rested his head against Roger’s shoulder as he shook with pleasure. He moaned wantonly and it was the most beautiful sound that anyone had ever heard — Roger thought so anyway.
“Rog, fuck — can you —” John broke off into a moan and didn’t bother to finish whatever it was that he was trying to say.
Roger stilled his fingers inside of John, earning himself a high pitched whine that made Roger smile. “Yes, John?”
“I, um —” John bit his lip.
“You’ve gotta tell me what you want,” Roger said even though he knew damn well what it was that John wanted.
John mumbled something incoherent.
“Speak up, sweetheart,” Roger breathed in John’s ear, started to press his fingers into John once more, brushed his prostate just so.
John inhaled sharply. “You said you’d fuck me!” he cried. “Please — please — please!”
“Ah,” Roger sighed, pressing a kiss right below John’s ear. “Why’d we ever stop doing this, indeed?” He placed his hands on John’s hips and turned him around. He shed his clothes, fitting in kissing John where he could. He retrieved the bottle of lube once more, spreading it over his length.
“Rog, please,” John whined impatiently.
“I’m here,” Roger said, shucking off his last piece of clothing. “I’ve got you, John.” He lifted John’s arms up and looped them around his own neck, then placed his hands on John’s ass. “Can you help me out here?”
John nodded.
“Right,” Roger said, smiling. “Up you get,” he said, and John managed to jump at the same time Roger made his best attempt to lift him, and together they got John’s legs wrapped around Roger’s waist, his back pressed against the wall.
“Are you alright, Deaky?” Roger asked, a little out of breath but smiling all the same.
“Wha— sorry, what’d you just call me?” John furrowed his brow.
Roger shrugged. “It’s a nickname. Freddie’s always saying you need one,” he chuckled. “I don’t know, it’s dumb. I’m sorry I —”
John cut him off with a hard kiss. “I like it.”
“Yeah?” Roger grinned.
“Yeah.” John smiled.
“So, you alright?” Roger asked again.
“I’m perfect,” John breathed.
Roger chuckled to himself and with a firm grip on John’s ass, lowered John onto his achingly hard dick. The slide was smooth and both of them groaned in unison as Roger fully bottomed out. John was warm and tight around Roger’s cock and he had to will himself not to come from that feeling alone.
“Are you gonna move?” John asked impatiently.
Roger huffed out a laugh. “I was giving you time to adjust,” he explained, panting against John’s skin.
“Make good on your promise,” John said, grinning crookedly. “Fuck me so hard that I won’t be able to walk for days.”
“Oh, you minx,” Roger hissed.
“You sound like Freddie,” John chuckled.
Roger snapped his hips upward and John threw his head back against the wall, cursing a little when his head hit the wall with a small thud.
“Are you okay?” Roger asked, concern evident in his voice.
“I’m fine,” John said, nodding quickly. “Just move.”
“Are you —”
“Move!” John insisted.
Roger chuckled. “Your wish is my command.”
“This is pretty okay,” Roger said.
John took the tall wine bottle from Roger’s hands, the one they were drinking straight out of, and he took a swig. “It’s cheap,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and handing it back to the drummer. “It gets the job done, anyway.”
The two of them were sat on the floor of John’s tiny living room, passing a shitty bottle of wine that cost John all of five quid back and forth. John had his shirt unbuttoned and his jeans rolled halfway up his calves and his long socks were bunched up around his ankles. Roger had shed his shirt and his socks.
“So my parents,” John sighed.
Roger looked over at him, eyebrows raised. “They’re… something.”
“They’re shit,” John sighed.
“I mean, yeah, but I didn’t want to be the one to say it,” Roger said, shrugging.
“They’re just… not proud of me,” John said.
Roger frowned.
John looked away.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Roger asked carefully.
John drew in a deep breath and said, “My dad told me to go back to school. He said I need to go back to school.”
“When?” Roger asked.
“Tonight,” John sighed. “When I walked him and my mum out to their car.”
“Okay,” Roger said slowly. “And, what did you say to him?”
“I told him I wouldn’t,” John said. “I told him I’m focusing on the band right now, focusing on Queen. He didn’t like that too much.”
“It’s good that you told him you’re not going back to school,” Roger said praisingly. “I’m sorry you have to put up with that, but you did good.”
“I did well.”
“Whatever.”
“He asked me if I’m sleeping with you,” John blurted out.
Roger looked up. “Oh?”
John wasn’t looking at Roger anymore. He was staring down at his fingers, twiddling his thumbs and just watching as he did so. And then there was one tear, a second tear, and then he was sobbing and Roger was pulling him into a tight hug.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Roger said in a soothing voice. “It’s okay, Deaky, it’s gonna be okay.”
“Is it?” John laughed through a sob.
“John,” Roger breathed.
“I thought he believed me,” John said, trying to wipe his tears away but to no avail, they just kept coming. “I thought I really made him believe it was just a phase or something. I’d rather they think of me that way.”
Roger was silent for a few moments before he said, “We could stop. If this is all too much for you… you know, we can stop this thing we’ve got going on at anytime.”
“I know.” John nodded. “I don’t want to. Remember when we started asking why we’d ever stopped in the first place?”
Roger curled his hand around John’s cock as he drove into him with such a force he didn’t even know he had in him, stroking him in time with the thrusts that slammed John’s body against the wall over and over again.
“Yes, yes, yes!” John cried, curling his fingers into Roger’s hair. “Don’t stop — don’t stop — never stop!”
Roger smiled. “Yeah, I do.”
John looked into his face and smiled through his tears. “I like what we’ve got going. You’re my best friend, you know that? I like being around you. I like being with you and I like being with you. And you make me feel good. And I’d like to think that I make you feel good, too.”
“You do,” Roger assured him.
“I don’t think I’m quite in the mood tonight,” John sighed. “But I don’t want to stop.”
Roger smiled. “Okay. More wine? And that dumb show you like, let’s see if it’s coming on tonight.”
“Thank you, Rog.” John pulled him into a tight hug. “You’re my best friend.”
“And you’re mine,” Roger told him.
***
They were coming down from a climactic high, collapsing onto John’s bed together. It was amazing, they thought, how easily they could make one out of two when they’d barely known each other a month.
They should stop, they both thought so.
But they didn’t want to stop. They never wanted to stop.