Body Language. Queen

Treading On Eggshells.

Brian's P.O.V.

I watched the other two leave with smiles plastered over their faces as if I should be thanking them, as if I should be happy that they'd left me alone with Freddie in such a foul mood.

I know they were only trying to help in getting our relationship to the next level but did they really think now, of all times, was the best time to try and initiate that?

Besides, I knew the real reason was because they couldn't be arsed to listen to him grumbling any longer and because I was his boyfriend, I should be the one to deal with him. Yeah, thanks guys.

Freddie was unapproachable and untouchable right now, he was pacing the dressing room, mumbling under his deep breath, his eyes wild with an angry fire burning through them and his fists clenched by his sides when they weren't throwing something.

The floor was pebbled with broken glass from the several bottles Freddie had picked up and thrown in his rage.

I shouldn't be shocked, I'd seen him like this multiple times before, he often threw such a tantrum when something didn't go right on stage, I'd learnt quick that when something tiny happens, he'll keep his cool and appear brilliantly happy until the moment he steps off stage and all hell breaks loose.

The first time he was like this was scary as I'd never seen him so angry, I tried to stop him but it just made him worse. I quickly figured out that this was going to be a recurring theme for when something goes wrong and to just let him get on with it, to let him get it out of his system.

But now the other two had left me alone with him I couldn't just stand there and watch him brew in his anger, as much as I wanted to.

And, as much as I didn't enjoy him being in this mood, I did enjoy him in that harlequin jumpsuit...I had found it rather difficult to keep my eyes off him when he was prancing about the stage, it fit him to perfection and was so tight.

I wanted to peel it off his body.

I watched as he sat down in a huff and he kicked over a stool in a strop. He looked like a mardy teenager who hadn't gotten his way. It was rather cute, actually.

I slowly walked over to him where I stopped when I was in front of him, crouching down and putting my hands on his thighs, I looked up at him.

He looked down at me looking distant and empty, his eyelids heavy, his face emotionless. This tantrum along with a full day of rehearsing and an actual show had completely wiped him out, he looked exhausted.

"Okay?" I whispered cautiously, bracing myself for another angry outburst.

He looked down and shrugged, being stubborn.

"What can I do? What do you need?" I offered, wanting to make him feel better and see that stunning smile he had.

"Perfection." He whispered.

I rolled my eyes at him playfully and squeezed those tense thighs, "Well, you know that's very hard to achieve. Everybody did the best they could tonight. And tiny mistakes aside, the audience loved us. Especially you." I smiled. Tapping him on the nose.

A minuscule side smiled broke out onto his lips and I stood up again, taking his hands and pulling him up from the chair.

I held him in a ballroom dance position as I gently swayed our bodies, "Anything else?" I smiled.

He exhaled loudly and suddenly a cheeky grin appeared on his face, "A fuck would be nice." He said with a playful tone of voice.

I almost dropped his hand from mine and I stopped swaying suddenly, silently gasping as I stared at him wide eyed.