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Flick of the Wrist (And you’re dead baby)

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The first time it happens, it’s the second night of their American leg of the tour. Brian is sleeping.

The hotel they were put in is decent, nothing to particularly complain about, but it is small. Two beds, a dresser with a television, a coffee table, and one end table with a lamp atop it occupy the space, leaving not a whole lot of room to walk around in, and not a whole lot for privacy.

They made it to the hotel late. The four of them all went out after the show to explore Cincinnati, trying out an ice cream shop the city was known for. Freddie wasn’t impressed, deeming it much too sweet. “Dreadful. How is this vanilla? There’s no flavor in it at all. It’s just sugar,” he had said. While eating, Brian noticed Roger looking at him from his peripheral, turning to face him. “Do you like it, Rog?” Brian had asked. Roger’s eyes didn’t leave his, smiling and answering him with “It’s alright. You?” Brian had nodded before starting to eat at the cone. He was faced away from him then but still Roger’s eyes didn’t leave him until John had engaged him in conversation, feeling a blush burn its way down his neck.

Roger’s staring wasn’t unfamiliar.

Brian first noticed him doing it back in Singen, Germany, where he gazed at Brian throughout the entirety of the guitarist’s solo, Brian feeling how Roger’s eyes trailed up and down his body, breathing hard as his mouth remained slightly parted. As Brian neared the end of his solo, he turned toward Roger so that he would know when to come in so that they would sync up perfectly. Even under the dark stage lights, he saw how wide Roger’s were, how he looked at him so intensely it made him feel slightly self-conscious.

It was like that every show since then, and although Brian thought it was a bit strange, he didn’t act weird about it. This was the first night Roger did it out of performing, though, out of the charged atmosphere that made things more acceptable and consequently easier to forget.

Back at the hotel, they did their usual pair-ups with Roger and Brian headed to one room while Freddie and John slept in the other next to theirs. It was around 3 at night before they finally got settled.

Brian is exhausted, but notices Roger is still jumpy with adrenaline, taking way too long arranging and re-arranging the sheets and pillows on his bed after he comes out of the shower.

They talk for a little while after they both get comfortable, making fun of the late-night programs on TV before Brian passes out.



An hour later, Brian is stirred half-awake by noises coming from across the room, his mind foggy as he starts to come out of sleep.  His eyes are still closed as he tries to process the noise.

He realizes it’s Roger, and it sounds like something’s wrong. He’s whimpering and Brian’s first thought is that he might be having a bad dream as his eyelids start to flutter open.

Squinting in the darkness, he tries to focus across from him, his eyes burning.

Roger whimpers again, and Brian can vaguely see Roger on top of the sheets, head against the pillows. He can vaguely make out the outline of Roger’s chest expanding as he breathes, and Roger’s hand working up and down his… oh.

Brian manages to suppress a noise and his eyes quickly shut, heart beginning to pound.

Shit, did he see me?  Brian thinks. He’s completely alert now, the pull of sleep beginning to dissipate. He swallows, his mind reeling. He tells himself not to freak out, don’t make a big deal out of it, I’m supposed to be asleep anyway. Just go back to sleep.

He tries not to focus on the sounds his band mate is making in the bed so close to his, tries to block out the sound of his shaky breaths, his soft moans.

He fails, his ears and face burning as heat spreads throughout his body and his own breathing begins to pick up.

Roger’s moans are loud in the quiet room, and every sound seems amplified to Brian’s ears, shutting his eyes tighter together in a futile attempt to will himself back to sleep.

The bed creaks across from him as Roger adjusts himself, breathing harshly. Brian hears him sigh as he wraps a hand around his cock again, the slick sound of it making Brian’s head spin. He seems like he’s close, his hand picking up speed as his moans get louder.

He’s not even trying to be quiet.

“Oh fuck,” Roger says it softly, pushing up into his palm.

The sound of Roger’s voice, so desperate and dripping with need, goes straight to Brian’s dick, and he shifts uncomfortably as he begins to harden in his underwear.

Roger seems to notice the movement across from him, stilling for just a moment and Brian thinks he might stop but he jerks himself off quicker, harsh pants pulled from his throat as he trembles, rubbing the head with his thumb.

Brian doesn’t know exactly what propels him to do it, but his eyes open and he glances over for just a second, and when he does Roger is looking directly at him. Brian’s eyes go wide and at the same moment Roger comes, hard, cursing and shuddering and spilling over his hand, heart pounding as he lays still on the bed, trying to catch his breath.

A few moments pass and Roger is up, walking to the bathroom and shutting the door.

Brian doesn’t sleep much that night.


The first day after what happened in their room in Cincinnati, Brian had been avoiding eye contact with Roger as they sat down for breakfast that morning, pretending to read the newspaper while Freddie and Roger chatted.

He’s still exhausted from the lack of sleep, and Freddie notices.

“Jesus Brian, did you get any rest last night, dear? You look like shit.”

“Couldn’t sleep. Bed felt like a rock honestly,” he says. The lie doesn’t come out as natural as he hoped, but Freddie’s noise is sympathetic, passing over the coffee pot.

Roger never once seemed embarrassed or bothered by what had happened. He remained his usual cheerful and talkative self while Brian struggled to even appear relatively normal so he wouldn’t arouse concern in the others, but he was unable to think about anything else. And above all, feelings he didn’t know he still had for the drummer started to surface, feelings he had long since buried.

The way Roger had completely come apart when their eyes met spun around constantly in his head, the images and sounds playing over and over in high definition.

He was jerked out of his thoughts by a tap on his shoulder. He whips his head around.

Roger is looking at him with a slight smile on his face, holding two steaming cups, one of which he offers to Brian.

“Tea?” Roger asks. Roger looks radiant, his blond tresses framing his face, blue eyes sparkling. Brian looks at him, opens his mouth to speak. “Don’t worry, it’s not the awful hotel stuff,” Roger says. “Brought my own stash.” Roger’s smile widens a little and he’s still holding the cup out, moving it closer to him.

Nodding, Brian grabs it from Roger, a smile forming in genuine appreciation. He clears his throat.  

“Thanks, Rog.”

“Of course,” Roger replies. He walks away then, picking out some cereal bars and strawberries from the breakfast table before sitting back down.

As Brian sips on his Earl Grey, his eyes trail over to Roger across from him, and he watches the way he tastes the ripe strawberry before biting into it, a bit of the juice spilling from his mouth.

That afternoon, Brian had managed to push his complicated feelings and thoughts concerning his band mate to the back of his head, both of them continuing to interact normally. Easy. Roger was his best friend after all, and if Roger wasn’t bothered by it, then why should he be? He shouldn’t.



The second time it happens, it’s in Detroit.

Three days pass after Ohio, and the tour goes along brilliantly, the four of them continuously performing to the best of their ability, on point musically and visually, the crowds reflecting their energy from venue to venue. Each night feels incredible, spirited and vibrant and all of them are positively on cloud nine.

When they exit the Ford Auditorium after changing from their show clothes, the sharp chill of the Detroit air nips at their faces and necks as they make their way to the limousine parked outside to take them to their hotel. John and Freddie are talking excitedly about something, walking faster than the other two. Brian feels Roger’s arm brush against his, their hands lightly touching as they walk and it lights something faint inside him. He glances over at him and Roger is staring straight ahead.

Piling into the bus, the four of them try to warm up as the vehicle starts and Roger is pressed tightly against Brian’s side. Suddenly the drummer’s hand flies out and lays his hand on Brian’s neck, giggling as he watches Brian gasp and flinch away from his ice-cold fingers.

“Roger!” Brian glares at him as his hand warms up the spot on his skin, Roger trying to suppress another laugh. Looking at Roger’s face makes his slight annoyance fade quickly, shaking his head as his mouth forms into a small smile.

He looks away from him and Roger’s hand pulls Brian’s own from his neck and leans in close, in clear view of the others, his nose brushing against his jaw before he exhales, Roger’s breath warming where he had placed his icy fingers. Brian tenses, eyes widening slightly and entire body flushing with heat as he feels Roger’s lips lightly sweeping over his neck before he pulls away, grinning at him.

“Is that better?” Roger asks him quietly, and Brian can see how blown his pupils are, how his breathing has picked up a little, matching Brian’s.

He doesn’t reply.

Freddie clears his throat softly, and Brian turns to him. Freddie is squinting at him, the look on his face a complex mix of amusement and confusion as he looks between Brian and Roger. John is looking out the window, smiling.

The ride seems to take forever, but eventually they pull up to the lobby of their hotel. John, Brian, and Freddie make their way up to the rooms, Roger staying behind to have a quick cigarette outside. This one is especially nice, nicer than many of the other ones they’ve stayed in, and when Brian opens the door to his and Roger’s room, he finds that it’s a suite, a small living room and kitchen area connected to the bedroom.

Closing the door, he turns on the lights and puts his coat and scarf up on the rack next to the desk in the corner. He decides to try and get some reading done before heading off to sleep.

Roger comes in twenty minutes later. He doesn’t speak to Brian when he enters the room, locking the door with his key before making his way into the bathroom and turning on the shower.

A few moments after Roger exits, he peeks his head out the doorway connecting their room to the living space.

“G’night, Bri,” Roger tells him.

Brian looks up and says goodnight, watching him as he closes the door.

It’s an hour later before Brian goes to sleep, the drummer dozing peacefully in the bed next to his, the television still on.

He switches it off before climbing into bed and breathes steadily, thoughts of the day disappearing as sleep overtakes him.

The next morning, Roger is up early.

He goes into the other room and soon after the noise of the coffeemaker starts, the smell of it making its way through the open door, rousing Brian from his slumber. Brian stirs, falling back to sleep for ten minutes or so before he decides to get out of bed. He sits up and stretches, going in the bathroom to prepare for the rest of the day.

When he comes out, he gathers his suitcase and goes to join Roger.

“Rog, have you heard from the others?” he asks as he closes the bedroom door behind him, his eyes not yet meeting the drummer.

He turns around and his breath is punched out of him.

Roger is lying down on one of the sofas, facing his direction, shirt hiked up his stomach and his pajama bottoms around his legs as he strokes his cock. He’s moaning brokenly, the tip of his hardness wet and red. His eyes are hooded, lip between his teeth as he meets Brian’s shocked expression, the guitarist frozen in place.

A swear involuntarily leaves Brian’s mouth as Roger continues to move his hand up and down his length. Brian can see his legs shaking, eyebrows knitted in concentration.

Brian… I…,” is all he manages to get out before his peak rushes towards him, gasping as his orgasm overwhelms his body. A shiver runs through him and he strokes himself through it before he sinks bonelessly into the couch, sighing.

Brian is panting, his mind screaming at him before his legs finally catch up and he moves across the room, stammering something about checking on John and Fred before opening the front door and slamming it shut, pressing his back against it.

It’s then that he realizes, even as his brain is positively short-circuiting, that Roger had absolutely meant for this to happen. He meant for that night back in Ohio to happen. He wanted Brian to catch him, wanted Brian to watch him get off. Wanted Brian to see him with his hand around himself, lost in pleasure.

God, what is this? Was Roger attracted to him? Was he trying to tell him something, send him some kind of weird message? He didn’t even know Roger was gay, or bi, or whatever. His mind went back to Singen, how Roger had looked at him, how he couldn’t recognize what it was, couldn’t pinpoint this change between them and how it made all of their interactions charged with something else.

Brian swallows hard, trying to force his growing arousal to wane, conjuring up all kinds of awful thoughts to make the ache subside.

He’s fucked.


They still don’t talk about it.

A week passes and they’re in Boston. Brian and Roger are still relatively Brian and Roger, and it drives Brian crazy with how unaffected Roger appears, neither of them in the slightest acknowledging the tension of whatever the fuck this was that hung in the air between them.

And he hates it because he’s always been sure about Roger, Roger has always been transparent, never afraid to communicate how he feels about something or what he’s thinking in any given moment. It was one thing Brian had always admired, something he wished he could do himself. Now though, Brian is completely unsure. He can’t read him.

Glasses of champagne are passed among the four of them and some of the roadies backstage before the performance. Freddie makes a toast.

“To all of us!” he says, waving his glass. “And to making it through three months of the tour. I’m actually quite proud of all of you.”

“Cheers,” everyone says, and they raise their glasses.

The drink is pretty decent, Brian thinks, and he takes generous sips of it while they all disperse to make whatever final preparations they need to before the show starts. Brian takes a seat on one of the chairs, slightly jittery with pre-show anxiousness.

“Oh, can I get a bit more, dear?” he hears Freddie saying.

Brian starts looking around the room absentmindedly. Roger is a ways across him and their eyes meet, the drummer’s eyes dark and hooded as he looks at him, his face expressionless as he takes a slow sip from his glass.

Freddie is doing John’s makeup, lining his eyes with jet-black. He studies his work, making sure it’s flawless before looking in the mirror and confirming that his own is the same way.

They gather in the hallway waiting for the cue to go onstage. It’s cramped and dimly lit but Brian is able to get a good look at Roger for the first time that night as he stands close next to him. He’s wearing a cropped shirt, embellished with sequins paired with black satin trousers. He sees how the top rides up his body. His hair looks softer than usual, and the necklaces he wears fall delicately over his neck. His heart pounds.

The show that night goes on as normal, and they’re halfway through the set list. They start Flick of the Wrist, and Freddie has the crowd under his thumb as usual, his solid and powerful voice filling every corner of the venue. The musical interlude starts, Freddie heading over to the piano to join in with the rest of the band, gliding his hands over the keys.  

Brian catches a glimpse of Roger at his kit, head thrown back with strands of his hair stuck against his face, eyebrows furrowed as he beats his drums. Brian can’t help thinking back to that morning in the hotel, how the expression he’s making in this moment is so incredibly similar to the face he made when his body seized up in orgasm, the face he made while looking directly at Brian.

Arousal seeps through him at the memory, making his entire body heat up, breath coming out a little faster. He’s grateful for his guitar as he twitches between his legs. His eyes forcefully close, biting his lip as images of Roger in various positions underneath him flash in his mind. He doesn’t even attempt to deny it to himself any longer – he wants Roger. Badly. He opens his eyes and tries to focus on his guitar. He feels it when Roger turns to look at him then, watches Brian’s fingers trail up and down the strings, his mouth parted as he expertly plays his instrument.

Everything goes by in a blur, and only when the four of them complete the encore does time seem to slow down.

When they exit, adrenaline is high and the crowd is cheering and Brian is still half-hard. He takes a different, empty path from the rest of the boys and tries to make a dash for the bathroom, getting part of the way there before he hears someone walking behind him. Fuck.

He barely gets to turn around before the person grabs his arm and squeezes, hard.  

It’s Roger, and his breath hitches at how he looks, hair unruly, blue eyes hidden behind blown pupils, breathing through pink parted lips.


He leans into Brian, his eyes studying him. He’s speechless as Roger continues to stare him down, his fingers playing with the hem of Brian’s shirt. He’s so close to him, can feel his breath tickling his neck, his hair grazing his cheek and he stills, legs going weak under him. He’s pressed into the wall, and he knows undoubtedly that Roger can feel how hard he is. It’s a moment after that thought that Roger places a leg between his and Brian can feel the pressure of Roger’s own full hardness against his thigh. He can’t think, a thick fog enveloping his brain.

“Bri…” Roger’s voice is lower than he’s ever heard him, and the drummer stares at him. He’s quickly consumed by the look in his eyes.

They’re both panting, and a thrill runs through him then realizing that anybody could see them like this, pressed close against each other.

It all happens so fast.

They manage to get into an open space in the wall, one with boxes stacked up in the corner covering them partly as Roger grinds into him, burying his face in Brian’s neck. Roger’s noises are loud in the empty hallway even with him muffling them into Brian’s skin.

“God, I want you so fucking bad,” Roger whispers, lips brushing against Brian’s collarbone. This makes something in Brian snap, and he grabs Roger’s hip, making a low sound in his throat. He moves against him, pressing his clothed hardness into his, holding Roger tighter, impossibly close.

The air is thick and heavy around them and Brian can’t stop the groans that leave his lips, unable to think about anything else except how Roger’s body feels. They move together erratically, no grace or rhythm to it.

Shutting his eyes, Brian lifts his head up, overwhelmed by the friction that only increases, just teetering on the line between pleasure and pain. He gasps as Roger starts to suck on a spot below his ear, grinding his hips harder into Brian’s.

Roger sucks another mark right below that one, tasting the sweat there and Brian is throbbing now, getting closer to the edge with every second that passes.

“Roger…” Brian breathes, hiding his face in the drummer’s hair, one hand lifting to grab a fistful of it. He pulls and Roger cries out, moving so hard against him Brian is practically pinned to the wall. Roger puts both hands on Brian’s waist, bunching his shirt up in his fists.

He’s close, and Brian can see it in the way his cheeks flush, the way his mouth parts as he breathes shakily. He’s gorgeous. Something ignites inside Brian then and he moves his lips to Roger’s ear, the words pulled from his throat.

“You’re gonna come, aren’t you?” he murmurs. “Just like you did in the hotel. The way you waited for me. Waited for me to catch you with your hand on your cock. Didn’t you? You’re filthy. Christ,” he moans, hearing Roger swearing and whimpering. “Fuck— Rog…”

“Can’t stop thinking about you… what it would feel like. You inside me,” Roger says immediately, voice strained. “God, Brian- just want you to fill me up, want you to fuck me, fuck, please-” It all rushes out at once. Brian tenses and is surprised by the force of his orgasm when it hits him, his hips stuttering against Roger’s. Brian sees the way his thick eyelashes flutter as he shuts his eyes and comes soon after, holding onto Brian as it rocks through him.

It’s over just as quickly as it started, Roger pulling off him without another word.

They manage to make it to their dressing rooms without anybody noticing them, frantically changing out of their clothes.

When they come out, they’re both still both a little shaky and a little high from what happened. Brian can’t wrap his head around what they just did, how fast the rubber band between them snapped. He feels like he’s in a dream, not quite placed in reality as he looks over at Roger, his skin still hot from where Roger was pressed up against him, the marks on his neck still stinging.

They’re questioned by Freddie when they get back in their tour bus, looking them over.

“We thought we lost you boys,” Freddie says plainly. “Everything alright?”

Brian opens his mouth to reply but before he does, Roger answers, cool and easy, saying something about wanting to have a drink with a couple of fans.

John and Freddie are playing Scrabble, and Brian sees the glance they give each other. Freddie looks back at the board and nods, asking Roger and Brian if they’d like to join the game.



A little over a week goes by and Roger is still on the forefront of Brian’s mind.

The ache that he had initially thought was somewhat sated by the after-show encounter they had just continued to grow. It was a constant buzz under his skin with no signs of subsiding.

He had been unable to think about much else besides what Roger told him right at the end of it, breathing hot against his neck, the way his voice shook when he told Brian what he wanted him to do, what he couldn’t stop thinking about, the very thing that made Brian come harder than he’d ever had in his life.

And he wanted it.

He had jerked himself off in his bunk for two nights in a row thinking about it, how Roger would sound, how he would like it, what he’d look like when he came with Brian’s dick deep inside him. Brian would come quickly each time when he let himself think about it, tiny sighs escaping him.


At the same time, he feels guilty, frustrated at himself for feeling like this about his band mate, his best friend for gods sake, thinking of how badly he doesn’t want this to mess them up, or potentially even mess the band up. He wouldn’t be able to handle it. There are few things more important to him.

They still act like friends, interacting easily, but the tension, although lighter, remains. And sometimes he can’t stand it. He’s sure he’s never wanted anyone this badly in his entire life.


That night, they’re performing in Philadelphia.

They’re well into the American leg of their tour now, getting used to the hotels and the food and how the venues are organized.

During the show, Roger is especially on fire, charisma apparent even behind his drums, making jokes in his song introductions, his voice full and clear when he sings background, and his falsetto is brilliant, singing and playing as easy as anything.

Everything about him consumes Brian, makes him ache with how badly he wants him, how badly he wants to have the drummer underneath as he kisses along his neck and chest, something so much more than a rushed dry-hump in the cold tiled hallway of a music hall.

The show ends and everyone heads backstage for a quick drink. An hour passes before they leave the venue and Roger doesn’t stop touching Brian in the car, playing, flirting with him by touching his hair and digging his fingers into his neck, laughing.

It does little to amuse him and very much contributes to his already overflowing desire for the drummer. His fingers tap against his legs as they ride to their hotel.

This time, they get separate rooms.

Saying goodnight, the four of them disperse for the evening and Roger’s hand grazes against Brian’s as he makes his way to his room on the opposite side, the flame in the pit of his stomach starting to lick up his spine.

Brian watches Roger close the door, entering his own room afterward. He gets in the shower and stands underneath the water for a long time, but it doesn’t do much for the persistent semi he’s had for hours, having been glad he decided to wear loose trousers on stage.

Brian sits on the edge of his bed after he showers and changes, rubbing his scalp with his fingers. His ears are ringing and he’s hard and he can’t stop thinking about Roger to save his life.

He’s out of his room and walking down the carpeted hallway and tapping on Roger’s door before he realizes what’s happening, and Roger is opening the door before his hand meets the door a third time, pulling him in.

The room is dark and the two of them stand face to face, their breathing audible in the quiet space.

Brian swallows, speaks. “Roger,” he begins, trying to search for the right words.

“I need you to tell me if you really want this… I have to know you don’t think this is a mista-.”

Brian is interrupted by Roger’s lips smashing into his, wrapping his arms tightly around his neck. It’s their first kiss, and it’s just as amazing as Brian imagined it. Roger tastes like nicotine and cherry-flavored candy and he groans into it, his entire body igniting with want that burns through him, that makes him grab Roger’s hips to press him into the wall, covering his body with his.

Roger sighs, his hands trailing from the back of his neck to his face, pulling him closer as they kiss. It rapidly heats up, Brian’s tongue meeting his and it makes Roger’s head spin, tilting his head to get more access. The way Brian’s lips move against his is making Roger unravel fast. His lips are soft and he kisses him so, so deeply it makes his chest ache.

“Fucking hell,” Roger breathes as he breaks apart from him, going in for another kiss just as quick, catching Brian’s lip between his teeth after he does. That makes Brian’s eyes go wide, breathless as he looks down at him, cheeks already flushed red.

Roger doesn’t look away from him as his fingers reach into Brian’s pajama pants, fingers teasing at the waistband.

“Can I touch you?” he whispers, and Brian can’t nod fast enough, his tongue swiping over his lip.

The first touch of Roger’s hand on his cock makes him practically buck into Roger’s fist, the blond leaning in and leaving hot kisses along his collarbone and jawline as he grips him, giving it a few steady strokes.

He lets go to take three of his own fingers into his mouth, generously coating them with saliva. The sight makes Brian’s knees weak, exhaling shakily. Roger’s hand is back on him, working his hand easier up his length with the added lubrication, and he leans in for another kiss, closing his eyes as the feeling overwhelms him.

Slender fingers grab the edges of Roger’s shirt, teasing the fabric before reaching up inside, running his hands over soft, warm skin. Brian grazes a hard nipple and Roger’s other hand is covering his, moaning into his mouth.

It doesn’t take long before Brian is fully hard, throbbing in Roger’s palm. They kiss hungrily for a few more moments, Roger’s hand gently stroking his length, nudging into Roger’s stomach through his shirt. He continues moving his hand lazily on Brian as he sucks two hickeys into his neck, right beneath his jaw. Brian can feel Roger’s arousal through his pants pushing into his thigh.

Brian stops kissing him. “Tell me what you want, Rog,” he says against his lips.

Arms are around his neck again, hands snaking into his hair.

“You know what I want,” Roger whispers. He means for it to come out confidently but his voice wavers, mind reduced to static with how hopelessly turned on he is.

Brian leans in and smells his hair, taking in the scent of shampoo and distinctly Roger, trying to control his breathing.

“You want me to fuck you?” He says it low, barely audible and Roger’s dick jumps, mouth parting as he nods.

“God, yes. Yes. Please.”

Brian’s face is in his neck, leaving soft, lingering kisses on his blazing flesh, making him shiver. “Want me inside you, hm? You want it so bad, don’t you,” Brian mumbles, and Roger is panting, hand reaching down to grab himself and strokes lightly. He’s starting to lose control and his entire body is on fire, coming apart in Brian’s arms.

“Hold on,” Roger swallows hard and pulls himself away from Brian, rushing to open his bag to grab a bottle of lube.

Brian’s notices Roger’s hands shaking as he gives it to him.


Roger's face is against the wall, breathing harshly against it as Brian's fingers work into him roughly, slick and rushed in manner, both of them a bit beyond impatient. Brian’s free hand steadying him at his waist are a strong contrast to how his fingers move inside him. The hand at his waist is gentle and cautious, fingertips barely touching his skin.

For both of them, it’s not their first time with another man. It’s obvious to Roger the way Brian’s fingers search for his spot, scissoring into him until Roger tenses and lets out a desperate whine. The way Roger pushes back on him, Brian doesn’t think it’s Roger’s first either.

Lips and teeth tease the nape of Roger’s neck and he moans, Brian trailing up to his ear. His lips move across his skin and he shudders at Brian's low voice.

"I want you on the bed, love."

Immediately, Roger nods, letting out a small noise at Brian pulling his fingers out. He makes his way to the bed on shaky legs, Brian pushing him up on his hands and knees. He feels him settle behind him, hand gripping the back of his head and pushing it down onto the sheets. He's aching all over, mind swimming at how Brian is handling him. He lifts Roger's hips up as Roger lets his arms fall on the covers.

Roger's fingers twitch against the duvet and a wave of arousal makes its way through him at how exposed he feels.

Heart pounding in his chest, Brian’s hand trails over Roger’s back as he looks at him, so ready and willing underneath.

"You’re so beautiful," Brian breathes. "Rog... fuck." Roger bites his lip at the words of praise coming from Brian’s mouth, the sound of Brian’s voice going straight to his cock. He's never been this fucking hard, so fucking gone for anyone in his life.

The bed dips as Brian gets on top of it, Roger hearing Brian slick himself up and it makes him throb between his legs.

A moment passes and Brian is lining up at Roger’s entrance, asking him if he’s ready. He already sounds a bit breathless.

Roger nods, tells him yes, yes and his mouth opens at the head pressing against him, body tensing slightly at the feeling. It’d been a while since he’d had sex this way but he was more ready than anything, and his body was able to catch up with his head fairly quickly. He moves his hips back slightly, encouraging Brian to keep going. Brian does, and once the tip breaches they both pause for a moment to adjust. It doesn’t take long before Brian is inching steadily inside, letting out a small Oh when he bottoms out.

It’s so hard to keep still, and Brian’s lips part at how good Roger feels around him, how tight he is.

Roger is breathing heavily, the fullness of it making his entire body feel edged out unlike anything he's felt before.

When he lets him know it’s okay to start moving, Brian starts slow, pulling out and pushing back in at a measured pace, kissing down Roger’s back.

It’s nice, really nice, but Roger is thrumming with the need to feel Brian deep inside him, wants to taste it in the back of his throat. He starts moving his hips once he’s completely adjusted and comfortable, and soon every one of Brian’s thrusts inside him is met with Roger pushing back against it and Roger is quickly falling apart, eyes heavy with want and moaning softly in the crook of his arm.

“Bri, can you... Harder.” His voice sounds incredibly high to his ears, and it makes Brian’s chest constrict, kissing Roger’s neck as everything that'd been building between them for the past couple months rises with Brian inside him, and Brian soon sets a frantic pace, fucking into Roger with hard, shallow thrusts.

Brian's left hand grips Roger’s thigh while his right moves to the back of Roger’s head, grabbing his hair as he roughly slams into him. Roger's babbling a string of nonsensical words, a mess of Brian's name and various curses. Brian's moaning and mumbling under his breath how good Roger feels and Roger turns to look behind him, watches how Brian’s cock disappears inside his body.

Brian is hitting just against Roger's prostate, and Roger feels high, starts to lose control of the sounds he lets out of his mouth, hanging open on the sheets, eyes hooded and hair sticking to his face as Brian fucks him so thoroughly he can hardly breathe.

"Fuck, yes," Roger whines. "Yes, yes, yes…”

Roger gasps as he feels Brian reach under and grab his balls, massaging them with his skillful fingers. Brian's hand lets go of his neck to grab his waist, gripping hard with both hands as he pulls Roger back against him, the sound of their skin together making Brian faint. Brian is so, so close and his eyebrows knit together as he tries to stave off his orgasm.

Brian's hand reaches underneath and grabs Roger’s dick, hard and leaking with pre-come. He starts squeezing and pulling and running his thumb over and over on the head and Roger feels it, building hot inside him, body starting to shake at how hard he knows he's going to come.

Each slide of Brian's cock inside him is divine, and he feels his thighs starting to shake.

"Bri... Brian,"

Brian hums, continuing to fuck into him while he rubs his cock and every part of his skin is overheated and slick with sweat, all consumed by the guitarist above him.

"S'so fucking good," Roger gasps.

Brian's thrusts get sloppier, erratic as he tries to match Roger's frenzied movements against him.

"You close?" he manages, fingers trembling at his hip.

Roger nods, arm reaching down to cover his hand on Brian's at his cock. Brian is still struggling to get a proper rhythm back, and Roger suddenly feels something in the air switch.

Brian leans up and grips Roger's thighs as he angles him differently, pulling out halfway before he slides quick back inside, pounding deep into Roger's body and Roger has just seconds.

Brian is talking to him in that sinfully sweet voice, telling him to come, come for me and Roger grabs a fistful of the duvet, panting open mouthed against it.

He shudders, eyes filling with tears.

"Fuckfuckfuck Brian I’m… I’m," Roger chokes out and his knuckles are white as he squeezes the covers underneath him.

Roger whines high in his throat as he comes, shaking with it and sobbing into the mattress as his orgasm washes over him. He grips Brian's forearm as he fucks him through it, Roger's body going limp and pliant. He hears Brian bite back a moan as he pulls out gently, spilling over his hand a few seconds later.

They both just stay there for a few moments, trying to get their breathing to slow.

“I’ll be right back,” Brian says gently, and he walks into the bathroom.

Roger’s legs are still shaking as he rolls over on his back, his hand coming up to rest on his stomach. He feels like he could doze off right here, eyes heavy with exhaustion and body wonderfully sated.

They clean themselves up, and Brian collapses next to Roger, nuzzling into his neck. He pulls the covers up over them and looks at him, Roger turning to his side and facing him, a blissed out smile on his face.

“You’re unbelievable,” Brian tells him, and his voice is so soft and he’s smiling, his lips still swollen red, hair an unruly mass around his head. Roger can’t help but to lean in to kiss him. It’s slow and gentle, Brian’s hands coming to rest in Roger’s hair as he pulls him closer.

There are still questions that hang tentatively in the air, something new they know they have to figure out now. In the present moment, though, things feel good. Better than.

Their foreheads touch when they pull away, Roger’s fingers playing with the ends of Brian’s curls. He traces circles in the side of his neck and they fall asleep like that, wrapped tightly in each other.


The next morning, Brian and Roger wake up late, starting to panic when they realize they have five minutes to get downstairs out on the tour bus. The two of them brush their teeth, frantically tripping over each other as they get dressed and pack (stuff) their things inside their suitcases.

They make it downstairs, trying not to breathe hard as they meet up with Freddie and John, waiting outside for them.

Freddie’s mouth is open before they even come out the front doors, his shock fading into annoyance.

Brian knows they’re caught by the look on Freddie’s face, and he blushes as Freddie openly stares at him.

“Look in here, darling,” Freddie says, moving to the side so Brian can see his reflection in the windows of their tour bus. Brian swallows, cheeks burning as he looks at himself, eyes widening in horror at the purple marks that litter his neck, varying in shade.

Roger can’t help the smirk that comes across his face, making eye contact with John as the bassist falls into a giggling fit.

Freddie rolls his eyes, reaching into his bag and pulling out a tube of foundation. He throws it to Brian.

“You might want to cover those up,” Freddie says.