Queen One-shots

Get Down

Roger & Deaky
Set in 1976
Pics above for reference 🖤

-Roger's POV-

The stage under my feet felt like it was trembling, partly due to the amplifiers shaking my insides and everyone's bodies, but mainly because I haven't been able to sweat out the fever I've been harbouring for the past three days. Between Freddie's constant reminders to hydrate and Brian telling me I'm a "daft son of a bitch" for even performing with a temperature of 101°, I haven't heard  anything of interest this past week.

By Somebody to Love my drums were spinning and I was given glances from John that seemed to ask me if i needed to step off for a moment. He looked concerned enough to get my head straight, and once the last beat played, I was hit with a tremendous wave of nausea and heat. Pushing Brian out of the way, I gripped the edges of a tin trash bin filled to the brim with plastic cups and ash, emptying the contents of my stomach into the half-full can.

"Oh, darling. That's just revolting, isn't it? Good thing you waited until the end of the set to get that nasty business done." Fred patted my upper back and bri only walked on. Vomiting wasn't an uncommon attraction in the band, and when one of us had too much liquor, it was inevitable. Especially Brian, who's almost always fun to be around when intoxicated.

"Rog, are you alright? I could tell you were feigning sickness for hours now," Deaky spoke quickly and his words were abrupt and bitten, and I felt his hands reach to pull my hair up and above my ears.

I tried to groan out a quick, "You don't have to do that," But instead, I wretched forward and spat up the last of the bile in my gut and only uttered, "Youh don--" before cleaning out my stomach again.

John reached to signal a young woman, presumably here as either a fan who's snuck into their quarters or an owner of the venue. He exchanged a few words with her that I couldn't hear, and suddenly, I felt a soft material on the back of my head and my cool air traveling up the nape of my neck.

"What's that?," I whispered weakly in an attempt to stop my upset stomach from getting any more angry with me, and, Before John could answer, Brian came around the corner and spoke for him. "It's a scrunchie, Rogerina. I'm sure you don't want the rest of your lunch to end up in your golden locks." He spoke sarcastically and walked towards Freddie, but Deaky stayed behind me. My blood boiled at the fact that I didn't have the strength to return the snide comment. Curly bastard.

After a few minutes, my hands and knees stopped shaking and I felt comfortable enough to stand up straight, so instead of running my nightly tour routine of grabbing a drink and any eager women wanted, I slumped off to the tour bus and collapsed into the bathroom and onto the floor just in case the scraps left in my body decided they want to make an appearance.

By now I was drenched in sweat, from the show and the elevating fever steadily knocking me off balance- so a shower seemed like the best possible option. I peeled off my leather pants that now felt like a sweaty second skin and my legs gasped for air, which immediately inproved my physical state and, for the most part, let my dick breathe. Jesus, tour has taken a lot out of me, but nothing compares to how brutal those damned leather pants are. Deaky calls them vasectomy pants, it always makes me laugh.

Once I took my shirt off and stepped into the running water, my head began spinning again but the nausea was less noticeable- instead, I felt weak from the quick change in temperature. I decided to shake it off and reached for the red scrunchie keeping my hair off my shoulders. I'll have to find that girl later to return it...  It's actually really cute. Maybe I should just keep it.

A few minutes into my shower I noticed a few waves of dizziness hit my whole body and what I thought was water droplets on my cheeks turned to be swest dripping from my face. What looked like a black screen enveloped my vision from both sides and my knees buckled, leaving me on my knees fighting unconsciousness.

Then, a voice sounded from the dining area of our tour bus and I felt the last of my vision go black while cold water poured down onto me from above.

-John's POV-

Since this morning I've been keeping an eye on Roger, since he's looked like a living corpse the past few days, so, when he ran towards a bin after out last song I was ready. His body was quivering and I wished I could do something other than just hold his hair back. Situations like this make me feel helpless, especially with Rog. He makes me feel like I belong in Queen, really, and whenever I'm near him I know i fit with them.

When Roger slumped into the bathroom, I waited outside for him just in case anything went wrong, and when I heard the thud of something falling in the shower, it was obvious that he was much worse off than he'd made it out to be.

"Rog? Roger, what's wrong?"

No response

"Oi, Roggie, are you alright? Answer me!"

Nothing.

"I'm coming in!"

The door wasn't locked, which surprised me, so without thinking I ran to the shower. He looked dead and his face was flushed. I clasped a hand over my mouth and my breath felt shaky, shuffling all over the room to grab a towel and turn the water off. I wrapped him with the towel around the waist and lifted him up. He was surprisingly light, so I picked him off of the ground and laid him on my bed quickly. God, he really does look like a corpse, but I can tell he's breathing.

Once I have him in a safe place, it suddenly hits me that one of my best friends is passed out naked with only a small towel over his waist on my bed, completely exposed. I realise how humiliated he'd be if anyone walked in and found one of my heaviest blankets to drape over his still wet body. There's nothing to do now but wait and look after this overheated child for the rest of the night.

-Roger's POV-

'God, what happened to me? Am I dead? Fuck, if I'm dead, I must be in hell.. Hell looks a lot like the tour bus.' thoughts like this circled my head for a few minutes before I saw John and felt his hand on my forehead. He had a gentle look of confusion and his long fingers almost caressed my face.

"Hasn't gone down.." He spoke to himself, and quickly saw that my eyes were slightly open.

"Oh, Roger! You're up! How do you feel?" He sounded startled like a child caught with something forbidden.

"Cold.. And drunk. Or high? Both." I managed to mumble and smiled at Deaky.

"That's normal, I think. You're sweating out this bloody fever once and for all. I'll get you anothet blanket then."

He stood up and stretched his back out, raising his arms a little bit. Before I knew it, a thick red blanket was laid onto me and Deaky started looking more and more like a guardian angel, taking care of me like this. "You saved my life, Deak.."

His head whipped around and long brown locks followed. "No, I just scooped you out of a shower and threw you on a cot. You're mental, Rog."

My arms feel so damn heavy and under the blanket, I know I'm sweating- though my body is screaming for warmth. Am I wearing pants? No. That's fine.

"Oi.. I'm still freezing. Are there any more blankets? Could you perhaps shove me into an oven?"

"No, but I can give you a great big hug, does that sound nice?" He was being sarcastic, obviously, but John always was like a human radiator. Maybe it's just the fever talking, but I wouldn't mind it.

I stretched an arm out and he looked on in disbelief. "You're joking." I was not. "Wow, alright. You're going to love hearing about this tomorrow."

He sat down next to me and I immediately clung to his side, craving the warmth John gave off. "My god, you're like a heated blanket...". He reached an arm around my shoulders hesitantly and, putting my masculinity and sanity aside, I pushed closer to him and gripped his shirt. He smelled like spearmint, cigarettes, and sweat. And to me it was, regrettably, nice.

Really nice.

♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪♪

Part 2 "Make Love" will be out in a couple days!