the scent of heat → r . taylor ( COMPLETED )

twenty three

"Oh my god, you're all turtles," Adeline said, laughing as she walked over to one side of the couch.

"Addy, help," John pleaded.

"Oh, all right. C'mere, Rog." She extended her arms, and he took her hands, allowing her to pull him up a bit. Cecelia did the same for Brian, and at the first chance, John got up from the couch. And while Cecelia was able to pull Brian off of the couch, Adeline let go of Roger's hands with a smirk, making him fall backwards onto the couch.

"Oi! That was cruel, woman!" he said, sitting up a bit.

"Oopsies, slipped," she said, setting her hands on her hips. He huffed and sat up, grabbing her arms and pulling her down on top of him, hugging her tightly so she couldn't escape.

"Roger!" She squirmed in his grasp, then squealed as he began to tickle her sides. He laughed as she tried to free herself, hiccuping and gasping for air between laughs. When he stopped, she rolled off of him and onto the floor, curling up into a ball as she caught her breath. She heard Roger move behind her, and she felt his arms under her, gently lifting her up into the air.

"Love you, pretty girl," he whispered, kissing her forehead gently.

"Love you, too, prettier girl."

***

It was a few weeks later, and Adeline had joined the others at Freddie's lavish mansion once again. She was a bit hesitant going inside, her stomach flopping at the thought, but Roger gently coaxed her into it, letting her sit on his lap as he sat in his chair. She had her head resting on his shoulder, and when Freddie came into the room, she offered a smile, but he ignored it. Instead, he poured himself a drink, yet kept his back to everyone.

"MTV banned our video. The youth of America. We helped give birth to MTV," he said.

"It's America. They're Puritans in public, perverts in private. Isn't that right, Addy?" Brian asked, glancing to his friend.

"As the leading voice of American expertise, I can concur," she said, nodding slowly.

"I'm never touring in the U.S again," Freddie chuckled, "and I'm the one being blamed for it. Not you, dear, whose idea, I believe, it was to dress up in drag." Freddie motioned to Roger, and his grip tightened on Adeline ever so slightly.

"Now that's not fair," Adeline said, sitting up a bit, but Roger settled her back down.

"Not even you, who wrote the bloody thing," Freddie said, rounding on John. "No. Crazy, cross dressing Freddie. Freddie the freak. Freddie the fag." He paced around the room, and Adeline looked back at him.

"This isn't like you, Freddie. When have you ever given a damn what other people thought of you?" she asked.

"I'm tired of touring. Aren't you?" Freddie asked, ignoring Adeline once again. "Album, tour, album, tour. I want to do something different."

"We're a band. That's bands do. Album, tour, album, tour," Brian argued.

"Well, I need a break. I'm sick of it."

"What are you saying, Freddie?" John asked. Adeline shared a look with both him and Roger before getting up from her husband's lap to sit on the couch, curling up at the other end, with her head resting on the arm.

"I've signed a deal with CBS Records," Freddie said quietly. The others all perked up, and a strange silence filled the room.

"You've done what?" Roger asked.

"Without telling us?" Brian gripped the back of the couch, his wedding ring glinting in the light.

"What kind of a deal?" John asked, stroking his chin.