Work Text:
August 1971
John stepped into the bathroom, slipping behind Roger who was teasing his hair, to rummage through their communal makeup bag sitting on the sink, his fingers immediately covered in kohl black liner and pink dust. Roger stopped fighting with his hair to look John up and down in the mirror. He turned around as best he could in the tight space and smiled,
“You look cute, Deaks.”
John looked up and failed to hold in a laugh, “You look like a lion.”
Roger had box-dyed his hair a few weeks ago to make it look ‘fuller and brighter.’ It was now streaked bronze and the ends were slowly, yet noticeably splitting.
Roger looked back at himself and scowled, “Shut up.” John grinned, walking back out into the short hall with a handful of random makeup so he wasn’t accidentally elbowed in the face.
They had a gig at a bar they’d never been to before in a few hours. Some new nightclub that was set on the busiest part of College Street, popular with the wealthier crowd.
Performing in new territory was always anxiety-inducing. Held in the bar’s basement, the bassist couldn’t help but expect the worst. He knew his own limits, and yes, sometimes he pushed them (inevitable when you have three horribly good-looking devils always flitting around your shoulders), but a massive sea of drunk and high or just generally intoxicated young men and women who had no interest in the velvet-clad wannabes—
“Roger!”
John started, losing his anxious train of thought, and stepped into the doorway of their bedroom to see Freddie digging through an inexcusably large pile of clothes.
“What?!”
“Where’s my jacket?!”
A moment of silence followed Freddie’s question, which made the man scoff and stand up straight. “Rog—!”
“You’re going to have to be more specific!”
John shook his head, “You are only one room away, do you have to yell so loud?”
Freddie turned around at the sound of his soft voice, his shoulders immediately slumping at the sight of him. “How are you already dressed and ready to go?” he whined.
John looked down at himself. He was wearing an all black suit, excluding the silk, pearl-white shirt that he knew complemented his naturally pale complexion. John smiled and took a step forward, gesturing with his head towards the pile of clothes.
“What are you looking for?
“That stupid blue jacket that I paid way too much money for just for it to—”
“This one?” John picked up a coat off the top of the pile and held it out for Freddie, who took it with a defeated sigh.
John then watched him walk out of the room, back in, look through their disheveled closet, walk to the doorway, then turn around. Somehow, he knew exactly how Freddie was feeling. Frantic and restless, yet full of excitement.
“Do you need help with anything?” John asked. Freddie looked up at him and sighed once again. He looked good enough to eat dressed in a pair of flared trousers that were thrifted (stolen) by Roger, one of Brian’s shirts that shrunk in the wash, and John’s own black platform boots.
He suddenly had a fierce desire to protect the singer, to wrap him up in his arms and hide him away from the world.
“No, no,” Freddie responded, “I just want it to be time already. I hate these in-between moments.”
John sat down on the edge of their bed, “I’m nervous, too.”
Freddie stomped his foot lightly, throwing the blue jacket down, back to its rightful place on top of the giant pile of clothes. “I wish Brian were here so we could all be nervous together.”
“He’ll be here.”
Brian had officially begun writing his thesis. An endeavor that required a lot of patience from all areas of his life. The three of them tried to be accomodating. John had been working for his electrical classes anyway. There was a minimum amount of hours of off-campus service he had to do, and it wasn’t laborious work, but it took time.
Time he would rather spend with his partners. Their relationship wasn’t necessarily new, but it was still a fragile thing and his quiet heart was always beating for more, more, more. (John was willing to acknowledge that he never really asked for much. The other three quickly made it their jobs to learn how to read him and his moods though. And to his surprise, he discovered that he wasn’t overwhelmed by the different forms of attention they offered him.)
John sighed internally. They hadn’t seen much of Brian for the past week and a half. He’d get up before the sun and come home whenever he remembered to. Roger made sure things were tidied up for him though, and Freddie would scatter short, sappy notes all over the apartment for him to find. John would force him to eat dinner, whether it was 6:00pm or 10:00pm. They did what they could.
The bassist thought, as uncharacteristically nervous as he was for this gig, it would be good for them to spend some quality time together.
“Were you going to do your makeup?”
John looked up at Freddie’s questioning glance, “Oh, uhm, I was going to ask for help, but…”
“I can help, dear,” the older man took a step forward and plucked the various makeup tools from John’s hands, “What do you want?”
“Nothing dramatic.”
“Boringgg,” Roger dragged the word out in song as he walked into the bedroom, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He flopped down on the bed beside John, his perfectly teased hair surrounding his face like a halo. John smiled at him then up at Freddie and shrugged,
“Do whatever you want.”
“Good answer,” Freddie muttered, opening up a square box that held a nice-smelling, peach-colored powder.
John sighed quietly and leaned back on his hands, spreading his knees apart wide enough for Freddie to stand in between them.
The singer began to apply the powder on his cheekbones. John closed his eyes and tried to calm his nerves. If he did it now, he would be fine later.
I will be fine. Tonight’ll be good, he thought to himself, The four of us will be together. And if the show goes horribly wrong then we can all get plastered together… He felt Freddie shift between his knees.
What he wanted was for the bundle of nerves that had decidedly settled in his stomach to leave. Something was going to have to change if this was how his brain was going to make him feel every time they played in a new pub or hall. It was like he could physically feel the anticipation beat within him, like a second heart.
Or maybe like a drum.
“Roger, dear, stop. You’re moving the whole bed,” Freddie said patiently. John opened his eyes wide enough to glance over at the blond who was lying down on his back now.
“Sorry,” Roger whispered, blowing a cloud of translucent smoke towards the ceiling. John must have turned his head a little too far to the left cause there was suddenly a firm hand gripping his chin.
“Look at me,” Freddie whispered to John as he moved his head back. The younger man’s face flushed pink and all carefully curated thoughts he had been trying to harbor went straight out the window.
Freddie’s face was a lot closer to his than when he had first closed his eyes. His eyelashes were curled and the thick, black liner on his lids somehow made his brown eyes look bigger. There was also a light dusting of white glitter on his temples that sparkled in the faint evening light shining through their bedroom window.
John breathed in as steadily as possible. He made a conscious effort not to move for the man in front of him. That is, until Freddie moved the hand that was holding his chin in place. His fingers slid down the bassist’s neck and then firmly pushed him back onto the bed.
“Fred—!”
“I couldn’t get the right angle for your eyeliner,” Freddie huffed, climbing on top of him. John’s heartbeat began to pick up. He heard Roger chuckle beside them. His voice was low, baiting, when he spoke,
“Don’t worry. You look good, John.”
John would have told him to ‘Fuck off,’ but his mouth was dry and really, he couldn’t focus on anything now but how good Freddie looked above him. It didn’t help that part of his shirt was chiffon and see-through. The older man leaned down, his soft hair tickling one side of John’s face. His dark eyes were determinedly focused as he dragged an eye pencil across one of John’s eyelids. The bed shifted slowly, creaking at the change of weight, and he supposed that Roger was trying not to disturb either of them.
A few minutes of impressive silence followed. He licked his lips and let his eyes drift fully closed. There was a small click and the sweet smell of bergamot filled the air, mingling with the tobacco smoke that hadn’t followed Roger out of the room.
Calm down, John told himself. Calm down. Not now. Not now. Not here. It’s not fair. Bri’s not here.
Maybe now that he didn’t have an (insatiably provocative) audience, he wouldn’t feel so on edge…
Freddie’s putting makeup on you. That’s all. Calm down, he reiterated. His hands had been hovering above the singer’s back and he decidedly brought them down and let them rest there.
His body immediately began to pulse with desire as Freddie arched his back at the contact, his knees digging into John’s hips. It seemed as though all the blood in his brain rushed south, and rational thought fled John’s mind as Freddie sighed in his ear.
He swallowed thickly. His voice was barely above a whisper when he said his partner’s name, “Freddie?”
The singer hummed softly in response.
“Are you almost done?”
John felt the muscles in Freddie’s back move underneath his fingertips as he changed positions above him, and he felt the air of his words against his lips as he answered,
“I have been done, darling.”
He felt Freddie lean back on his knees and John’s hands naturally moved to rest on his hips. He opened his eyes as Freddie shifted again, his bottom bumping against his hips. Red hot desire pooled in his stomach (the bundle of nerves that had made a home there earlier completely forgotten) and spread quickly throughout the rest of his body.
John looked up into Freddie’s eyes as they both exhaled in different levels of arousal, and he blushed at the look of hunger on his face. “Been done?”
He nodded, then raked his eyes down the bassist’s body, stopping at the slit of skin that was exposed between the bottom of his shirt and the top of his trousers.
“Just thought you looked good underneath me,” Freddie purred.
John didn’t know how to respond to that. He felt like every nerve had been set alight by the other man’s touch. His brain was short-circuiting. He couldn’t think. Why couldn’t he think?!
Think! Think! John yelled at himself.
John moved one of his hands up Freddie’s back, pushing him down so they were face to face again. The other man’s hands came up to brace himself above his head. John’s eyes felt heavy with want. His lips were slightly parted, because he wanted to say something. Something sarcastic, something stupid to break the tension, maybe something along the lines of ‘We can’t do this right now! Not now!’
Not now! Now!
Now!
John leaned up on his free arm and closed the distance between them, pressing his lips against Freddie’s, his fingers tangling in the singer’s soft hair. His heart pounded against his ribcage and his skin was hot and he couldn’t help but let out a small gasp at everything he was feeling. Freddie took the opportunity to lean in closer, their chests pressing against each other, and slipped his tongue in between John’s pliant and willing lips. The movement forced John to gently lie down on his back again and it felt like something akin to surrender.
They parted for only a second, each taking what seemed like half a breath before Freddie captured John’s top lip with his own two again. He moved one of his arms that was bracketing John’s head to grab the bassist’s hip, pulling their lower halves closer to each other. He moaned, a low and broken noise, at the contact. The man above him made sure to swallow every breath that left him though, nipping desperately at his wet lips over and over again.
Freddie soon pulled far enough away to whisper, “Tell me what you want, love.” His thumb was caressing John’s hip, the rest of his fingers splayed across his ass.
John’s chest was heaving as he opened his eyes. The air around them was hot. “Don’t stop,” he said. They were still so close, their lips dragged against each other with every word.
Freddie’s eyes were glossy as he nodded minutely, shifting their bodies so they were half-laying on their sides now. John’s grip tightened in his hair, his other arm coming to rest underneath the singer’s slim waist. His free leg rested on top of both of Freddie’s. Freddie tilted his head to nuzzle at his neck before placing a soft, yet firm kiss in the center of John’s neck, nipping lightly at his Adam’s apple. His breath hitched at the feeling.
Freddie began to kiss all along his neck, leaving behind small, desperate bites, occasionally dragging his tongue over John’s warm skin. John sighed softly, tucking a piece of his partner’s dark hair behind his ear. His thumb grazed his cheek and he could feel Freddie smile against his throat.
At one point, it felt like his heart skipped a beat when Freddie bit down harder than he had before, and he distantly wondered if the other man felt it too.
And John noticed, rather belatedly, the hand on his backside had begun to move, cupping his ass and squeezing gently, fingers digging into just the right places. He opened his eyes slightly, his pulse racing underneath Freddie’s mouth. Suddenly, his body was pulled closer and his hips bucked up involuntarily.
Freddie moaned loudly, mouth hot against his skin, as their erections brushed against each other.
“Oh, God,” John whimpered, tilting his head so he could seize Freddie’s lips in a bruising kiss, pulling at his hair roughly in the process. His body was aching for more, more.
More, John’s mind whined. He licked at his partner’s lips over and over again, savoring his taste, wanting to hear his voice again.
The angle they were at had become awkward though; John let Freddie continue kissing him as he disentangled his fingers from the singer’s hair. He gently shoved at his shoulder and rocked his hips sideways, hoping Freddie would get the idea. The older man pressed one last kiss to his swollen lips before pulling away to let John straddle him. Their positions were reversed from earlier now, though both of Freddie’s hands had come to lay on his ass.
“Okay?” Freddie whispered, pupils blown wide.
John nodded, his eyes grazing over his partner’s gorgeous face down his chest to his clothed erection. One of his hands brushed over Freddie’s stomach before moving towards the zipper on his trousers. Freddie slid one of his hands under the bassist’s shirt, warm against his bare skin. The gesture was oddly reassuring. John licked his lips and leaned down.
They kissed slowly this time, their tongues dragging against each other hotly. His fingers dipped below the singer’s waistband for a second before fully unbuttoning his pants. John’s mouth watered at the idea of taking Freddie in hand. Slowly, the hand that wasn’t up his shirt snaked around his waist and came to lay on his lap.
His lips parted in a silent moan (giving Freddie the chance to lick into his mouth obscenely) as the singer began to stroke him through his pants, making him momentarily forget what the hell he was supposed to do next.
The act of Freddie confidently unbuttoning his pants and sticking his hand down his shorts helped him snap back into reality though. He kissed the other man soundly before leaning away to prop himself up on his knees, pulling down his own trousers and underwear. Freddie took the opportunity to do the same.
Then immediately pulled him down by his neck into another kiss, his lips so hot and so familiar against his own. His free hand moved in between their bodies and wrapped around John’s cock, his thumb brushing over the tip. John bit down on his partner’s bottom lip at the motion, making the other man groan prettily.
John’s hips jumped as Freddie easily spread pre-come down the length of his cock and began to stroke him with fervor. He pulled away from their kiss to lean his forehead against Freddie’s temple, heavy-laden heat already pooling in his lower stomach.
“Freddie…” he whined.
Freddie hushed him quietly, kissing his cheek then the corner of his mouth.
“I’m not going to last much longer.”
“It’s okay,” he breathed, tugging and squeezing in ways that had John nearly crying.
He eventually shoved his hand down between their bodies, gasping out the words “You, too” in between moans. Freddie nodded, letting go of John and putting his hand on top of the younger man’s, leading them to wrap their fingers around both their lengths. Freddie let out a strangled moan at the contact, the sound shooting sparks down John’s spine.
John knew he couldn’t hold on much longer. His and Freddie’s hands were slick, their fingers tangled together making the act all the more intimate. Every overwhelming pull found him closer and closer to finishing. His muscles were shaking as he struggled to keep himself from falling on top of the other man.
He moved his head down to place a messy kiss on his partner’s lips. He tried to find the strength within himself to warn him one more time, “I—”
“Oh, John…”
Later, when John was on stage, bouncing up and down to the beat of Roger’s drum, he would think back to the moment that sent him over the edge and conclude time had stopped for a second. He’d look over at their frontman and force himself to bite back a smile, glad his bass was slung low enough to cover his lower half, as he replayed Freddie reverently moaning his name against his lips over and over again in his mind.
But currently, John was seeing stars as hot ropes of come covered both their hands. Tears sprung to the corners of his eyes as pleasure surged throughout his whole body, coursing through his limbs, seeping into his veins. He sobbed pathetically at the feeling.
The cloud of euphoria that was blocking his senses slowly began to dissipate after a few moments, the sound of his heart pounding in his ears shocking him back into reality and making him painfully aware of Freddie still working both of them. He jerked away instinctively, his body already over-sensitive to his partner’s touch.
But Freddie inhaled brokenly, as if he was unable to truly catch his breath, and the sudden rush of affection John felt as he gazed down at him overpowered the urge to pull away. He leaned in closer, hesitating for only a second before nuzzling at his neck. He then began to place hot, open-mouthed kisses along the exposed skin, letting his lips linger, trying to wordlessly convey to Freddie that it was okay to keep going.
John felt more than heard Freddie’s breath hitch a moment later as he finally came, come hitting his hand and the exposed parts of his lower stomach and waist. He sighed breathily at the feeling, matching Freddie’s sweet-sounding moan.
They took a minute to catch their breaths, both breathing heavily as their hearts continued to race. John let himself fall to his side, making sure not to crush Freddie, muscles buzzing from holding himself up for so long. He heard Freddie sigh then felt him gently move their hands from their lower halves, his arm lifting up in the process. Freddie’s warm lips came to lay a soft kiss against the clean part of his inner wrist. The act made John’s heart ache. He interlaced their fingers together, wanting to stay as close as possible to his partner…
“John, dear?”
John opened his eyes (not remembering when he had closed them in the first place) to meet Freddie’s warm gaze.
“Are you still feeling nervous?”
“Hm?”
Freddie gave a small smile and tried again, his voice quiet, “Are you still nervous?”
“About what?” John asked. A familiar laugh floated into the bedroom as if answering his question, followed by a quieter exclamation that he didn’t quite catch.
John shifted so he could glance at the half-open door and something clicked in the back of his brain. He blushed as he heard his partner chuckle softly next to him.
John turned his head back to stare at Freddie, wide-eyed, “Oh, right. The show.”