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In Love With You Tonight

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Cornwall is nice, Bob decides, as Roger pulls out of the driveway and starts the long drive back to London. Bit quiet, maybe, but after everything that life’s thrown at him Bob has come to appreciate moments of quiet.

For a little while, at least.

Neither of them were in any rush to leave Cornwall that morning. They dawdled around Roger’s house, taking their time packing their bags and enjoying lunch out in the garden, before finally forcing themselves to get moving. Now that they’re on the road, though, Bob finds that he’s starting to itch with a desire to get back home.

Part of it, he thinks, is just because he misses his girls. It’s still a bit hard to be away from them after all the shit they’ve been through, even if he knows that Debbie is more than capable of keeping an eye on everyone in their absence. And of course once he starts thinking about that, he remembers everything else waiting for them back in London - their work and friends and the normal bustle of celebrity life in the city - and he’s eager to dive back into their normal routine again.

And, yes, part of Bob’s impatience to get home is simply because they’ve been gone all weekend and haven’t fucked once.

That didn’t bother Bob at the time, because as it turns out Roger is surprisingly good at wearing him out just by dragging him back and forth across the entire Cornish countryside for three straight days. But Bob isn’t tired anymore and with little else to distract him on the long drive he’s starting to think, Fuck, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?

“Well what d’you think, Bob? Next vacation out in Dún Laoghaire?” Roger asks, flashing Bob a teasing grin.

His face is bathed in the warm light of the setting sun, his sunglasses glinting as he turns his head to face the road again, and Bob finds himself struck by an odd sense of gratitude that he gets to know this Roger, in particular: older and more comfortable in life, but not yet complacent either.

And usually up for a fair amount of excitement, at least if Bob is the one suggesting it.

With that in mind, and confident that Roger already knows the answer to his question (because half the fucking world seems to know every opinion that he’s ever held about Ireland), when Roger glances at him again and prompts, “Bob?” he decides to change the course of the conversation. Just a little bit.

“I wanna fuck you,” he says, and he laughs when Roger visibly startles and jerks the wheel a little at the unexpected, and intentionally blunt, statement.

“Not much you can do about that until we get back to London,” Roger tells him. His voice is even but there’s a bit of a flush rising along his cheeks that he can’t hide, and Bob knows that he’s not not interested.

“You could always pull over,” he suggests lightly.

It’s Roger who laughs this time, and he says, “And get accused of dogging? No, thank you, I think I’ll pass.”

“It’ll be dark enough soon, and the roads have been empty so far,” Bob says. He doesn’t know why he’s actually pushing on this but there’s just something about Roger that lights him up inside, makes him want to be a little stupid and reckless in a way that he hasn’t been since before he became a dad.

And right now, that entire feeling is channeled a burning need to fuck Roger Taylor in the backseat of his overpriced BMW on the way back home from Cornwall.

“Neither of us are flexible enough to properly fuck in a car anymore,” Roger points out.

Annoyingly, he has a point about that - but it’s not an outright no, which means that Bob at least has room to negotiate.

“Blowjobs, then?” he suggests.

“Still need a bit of flexibility for that,” Roger says. “Unless one of is getting on our knees outside the car, but I’m not sure…”

“No, no, whatever we do, we contain it to the car,” Bob says, and Roger nods in relieved agreement. “Handjobs? Not the most exciting, but how much more excitement do you need to add to public sex anyway?”

Roger snorts. “Not much more, I don’t think.” He checks the rearview mirror, blue eyes looking for any sign of human life around them, before he sighs and asks, “So are we really doing this?”

“I want to,” Bob says, honestly. “But if you want to do anything ‘til we get home, I won’t push you.”

Roger smirks at him, knowing. “Oh you won’t, will you?”

“Hey now,” Bob says, laughing, and he slides one hand over to curl around Roger’s thigh. “Teasing is not the same as pushing you!”

And he would stop, if Roger asked him to, but he’s known Roger for long enough now to feel confident that if he moves his hand it’s because he’s grabbing Roger’s cock instead.

Roger snorts and shakes his head, before checking the road around them one last time. “Ah, fuck it,” he mutters and, ignoring Bob’s triumphant fist-pump, he pulls over to the side of the road near a copse of trees that can hide the car.

Once the car is parked Bob tightens his grip on Roger’s thigh and grabs the front of his shirt, pulling him immediately into a kiss. It’s awkward, with the gear shift and console between them, both of them still wearing seatbelts, their angles all wrong and the kiss more fumbling than two men with their experience have any right to be. But Bob doesn’t care one fuck about any of that, because he can feel Roger grinning against his lips and Bob thinks that even if they do get caught, it’ll be worth it just for every second they have before then.

“Backseat?” Roger asks, the word almost lost in the messy press of lips against lips.

Fuck, Bob would love that… but they can’t, they can’t, and he forces himself to break the kiss and say, “No. If someone does come up we can pretend you got a call or something and had to pull over.”

“A call that ended with both of us having our cocks out and no phones in sight?” Roger jokes.

Bob rolls his eyes and digs his phone out of his pocket, setting it down on the dash and saying, “There. Can I please get into your trousers now?”

His tone is impatient but it’s not sincere, and he makes sure to meet Roger’s eyes, confirming that the drummer is still interested in this little game.

Roger grins at him, immediately soothing Bob’s worries. “Yeah. Yeah, get on with it, then,” he says, and Bob doesn’t hesitate to unbuckle them both and do just that.

Roger is still only half-hard and normally that wouldn’t be a problem, because god knows they’re both of an age where that’s rapidly becoming the norm, but it is a bit of a problem tonight since they’re technically in public. It makes Bob wish that he could make this a bit better for him - lube instead of spit, a blowjob instead of just being jacked off - but those thoughts quickly fly out the window when Roger groans at his touch.

Bob moves as close to him as their tight quarters will allow, chasing that sound and swallowing it down as his lips capture Roger’s again. He relishes the feeling of Roger’s cock growing harder in his hand, and he’s so focused on trying to coax more of those delicious noises out of him that he misses Roger reaching for him until he feels the drummer’s calloused hand against his cock.

“Fuck, Rog…” Bob mumbles, appreciative. He’s been hard and aching in his jeans for a while now, ever since he first thought of getting Roger off in this car. He’s sure he’s going to come first but he can’t be arsed to care, not when time is of the essence anyway and Roger’s touch feels so fucking good as he starts to stroke Bob off in earnest.

Roger noses along Bob’s jawline and teases his clever fingers along his frenulum, finally wrenching a proper moan out of Bob. “That feel good?” he asks, as he repeats the movement.

“‘course it does,” Bob says. “I’m close already, I’m-” He groans, and his hand fumbles over Roger’s cock, caught off-rhythm as his own pleasure rapidly builds. “Oh, fuck me,” he curses as he tries to hold back his orgasm for just a little bit longer…

Roger laughs, a little breathless, and teases, “Thought you wanted to fuck me?”

It’s such a stupid joke for him to make, the sort of thing he might mutter in Bob’s ear when Bob’s patience is starting to run thin at some event, just to lighten him up and make it worth his time to stay good and not make a scene.

It’s not something Bob is used to hear when Roger is stripping his cock, and Bob’s mind immediately conjures up an image of just that: Roger pressing him down into the bed, opening him up gently and only picking up the pace when Bob snarts snapping at him to just fucking get on it with already-

Bob’s orgasm takes him by surprise, washing over him before he has a chance to warn Roger. They both swear, Bob as he rocks up into Roger’s hand to chase every drop of pleasure that he can, and Roger as he quickly fumbles to contain as much of the mess as he can.

“Sorry,” Bob apologizes, once he gets some of his breath back. “Wasn’t expecting to come that fast.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Roger assures him. He lets go of Bob’s cock, eyes his come-covered hand for a moment, and then licks a stripe up his palm to clean up the mess.

Bob wrinkles his nose. “That’s disgusting.”

Roger just licks up more come, only this time he opens his mouth to show Bob the mess pooling on his tongue. Bob pretends to gag and, over the sound of Roger’s cackling laughter, he says, “You’re disgusting, actually. God, why do I put up with you?”

“Because I’ll give you a handjob on the side of the road and I don’t care that you’re just about the only poof in England who won’t swallow,” Roger teases, as he pulls out his handkerchief to finish wiping his hand clean. “Now are you going to return the favor, or not?”

“To a point,” Bob says as he reaches for Roger’s cock and starts teasing his fingers around the head. “Will I make you come? Yes. Will I lick come off my hand like you just did? Absolutely fucking not.”

“Oh my god, just get on with it!” Roger says, half-laughing, half-groaning, as he tries unsuccessfully to buck his hips up into Bob’s touch, despite the tight quarters that they’re working with that hinder his movements.

Roger is fully hard even before Bob starts stroking him in earnest again. He’s a sight to see, properly flushed and starting to go heavy-lidded as Bob gets him off, and there’s a part of Bob that feels smug and self-satisfied in knowing that Roger got there just from watching him come undone under his hands.

And the fact that he knows exactly how to make Roger fall apart as well makes Bob feel like he’s burning up inside. There’s something electric in knowing another person like this. His hands move of their volition, wrenching the most gorgeous of noises out of Roger, while Bob’s eyes remain fixed on his face, committing this image to his memory, despite the darkness of early evening settling around them.

Fuck,” Roger swears, panting heavily. “Fuck, Bob-”

“Yeah, c’mon,” Bob says, and he leans in and kisses Roger just as the drummer comes, swallowing down his groan and doing his best to contain the mess as Roger spills over his hand.

“That good enough for you?” he asks, teasing, once Roger has started to come down from the high of his orgasm.

“Oh, fuck off,” Roger mumbles, but his contented smile doesn’t fade. He pushes Bob gently away, and then he gets his own back when he smirks at Bob and asks, “So how exactly are you planning on getting cleaned up, anyway?”

“Rog, you fucking-” He rolls his eyes, barely holding back a fond laugh, and nods towards the handkerchief that Roger is still holding onto. “Please?

Roger pretends to think about it for a moment, but he caves quickly and nods. “Just let me…” he says, and hurriedly cleans himself off before passing the small square of cloth over to Bob.

Bob wipes his hands clean as best he can and finishes the job off with a few napkins wedged at the back of the glovebox. He tosses the garbage (and the handkerchief, which might as well be garbage with how much come is on it now) into the backseat, and kisses Roger before the drummer can voice any complaint about that.

“Thanks for this,” Bob says, when he finally pulls back from the kiss. “Bit like being a teenager again, wasn’t it?”

Before Roger can answer, the inside of the car is suddenly lit up with a bright flash of light. It’s only the headlights of a passing vehicle, but it’s still enough for Roger and Bob to jump apart in surprise and quickly rush to make themselves presentable again.

“I think this was riskier than anything I did as a teenager, actually,” Roger says as he carefully pulls back out onto the road.

“But worth it though, right?” Bob asks, despite the way his heart is still hammering in his chest from the rush of adrenaline that came with thinking they’d been caught.

Roger glances over at him, and even in the near-darkness of a rapidly-falling night Bob can see his wide smile. “Yeah, I suppose it was,” Roger says.

And then his grin turns wicked, a bit of mischief shining through, and Bob can already feel himself instinctively starting to grin in return, even before Roger teasingly asks him, “So how are you going to top this when we go to your hometown?”

Bob laughs. He knows that the question doesn’t need answer… but nevertheless, as they resume their journey home to London, Bob finds himself thinking about the sort of trouble he could manage to get up to in Dún Laoghaire these days.