ACT TWO - NIGHT
"Everything is more intense at night."
Chapter 8
November 1974, Rainbow Theatre
Your hips swayed at the sound of Jailhouse Rock as you watched from the side of the stage, concerned as Roger hit the drums with anger. You knew he was stressed from the way he played the drums; you overheard Freddie complain to Mary as he changed his outfit, saying how the camera crew was getting on his nerves and making him unable to really connect with the audience, but you knew Freddie would keep his calm, at least on stage. He was the most excited for today, the day they've been preparing for months: the recording of Queen Live at the Rainbow '74.
They all arrived at the Theatre in a separate car, and you, Veronica (John's girlfriend), Chrissie (Brian's girlfriend) and Mary (you never really knew where she was with Freddie, but you supposed they were doing fine at the moment. You always thought of her as Freddie's person, not really a girlfriend, but something like that). You felt weird in the band's girlfriends car, almost as if tonight you were playing a role, that role being the classy and quiet rockstar girlfriend.
When you got there, the crew filmed them in the dressing room, so you were all discouraged of really interacting with them. So your last memory of talking to Roger was when you both separated, right in front of your shared flat as the cars arrived to pick you up. You were holding his hand, both of you quiet since you knew he was nervous, his striped blazer shining against the streetlights. You knew you'd barely be able to see him again before the show, so as you saw the first black limo getting closer to your house, you squeezed his hand to get his attention. "The cars arrived. In case I don't get to talk to you again before the show, good luck, Rog", you said, pressing your lips against his. The car lights shined through your closed lids, and you broke up the kiss.
"Thank you, Y/N. See you later", he said, moving to his limo. You couldn't see the boys inside the car; the limo tinted windows were too dark. But you waved at them, and you hoped they answered. Roger gave you a quick smile as he opened the door, and you smiled back at him.
You knew he was stressed. They all were, with Trident, their studio, keeping most of their earnings. And now that they are recording their show tonight, they're a pile of nerves.
The second limo showed up in your street, and you moved across your front yard to get to it. It was too cold for November, your deep red satin dress and black tights didn't really protect you against the cold wind. The clicking of your heels on the cement calmed you down a little. It would be okay. Everything's gonna turn out alright tonight.
You got inside the limo, making small talk with the other girls. You were actually quite close to them; they were the only ones who understood what you went through: the long weeks without seeing Roger, the occasional cheating. But you also felt a bit uncomfortable with them; you saw the boys with other people that were not them when you visited Roger on tour - and you knew things were more complex between Mary and Freddie, but Chrissie and Veronica were in a serious relationship, just like you. You sometimes wondered if they thought the same about you, if Roger cheated on you more times than you knew.
But you didn't want to think about anything stressful, especially things that are already sorted out. So you all talked about your outfits and complained about Trident and easy stuff like that. You felt like they were all better rockstar girlfriends then you; they all had jobs, but they would feel complete if they were only wives and mothers. You knew you wouldn't. But you didn't want to think about stressful things, so you laughed as Mary told a story about a funny german lady, talking about how she bought an entire closet worth of clothing with her at her shift at Biba, the store she worked at. And you hoped the show would be good, with little to no problems.
But it wasn't. The camera crew constantly invaded their personal space and shyed them away from interacting with the fans as much as they'd usually do, and the lighting staff missed cues constantly. You could see the boys anxiety turn into anger as the show progressed, Brian and John's shoulders becoming more tense, Freddie's movements becoming more charming and quick - as if to compensate for the rest of the show's problems. And you noticed how Roger was hitting the drums with anger, flicking the drumsticks constantly, his concentrated frown turning into an enraged one.
And then John got a bit closer to Roger and you read his lips saying "Back off", and you stopped dancing to their Elvis cover. Roger finished his part of the song and started kicking and pushing his set off the drum risers, a cymbal missing Freddie's hair by an inch.
He barely looked at you before moving to the dressing room, and you exchanged a quick look with Veronica - the one you were the closer to - before following him, the rest of the band also running to the dressing room.
"What the fuck was that? Why was the camera crew in our way? Why did you change the lighting crew? What the fuck was that?" Freddie screamed at the producers, and the rest of the band just looked at them with anger.
Freddie continued to scream at them, and after the producers left, he turned around to look at the band. "Thank you for having my back in this conversation, all of you. It seems as if I'm the only one angry at this fucking mess", he said, looking at Brian and John, who sat in a couch with their girlfriends caressing their arms.
"And you! What the fuck! You missed my head by a fucking millimeter! Are you insane?" he turned at Roger and screamed at him. He was sitting alone at an armchair, his head between his hands.
"C'mon, Mary. Let's get to this after party already", he said, and they both left the room. Brian shot a death glance at Roger, visibly annoyed at him for throwing the drumset, probably thinking it could've hurted someone, and then left, Chrissie following him. "Good luck, Y/N", John said, getting up from the couch with Veronica, who smiled at you as she left the dressing room with Deacy.
You were alone with Roger. You knew he was angry, but you could now hear his heavy breathing, and you noticed as he furrowed his eyebrows in pain after throwing his shoulders back and his head up. He probably hurt a muscle playing.
"C'mon, Rog", you said, offering him a hand, and he accepted it. You guided him through the backstage, following the signs until you got to the stage door. The boys already left, and there was only one car there, waiting for the two of you. You got to to the car, and Roger opened the door for you. "Thanks, Rog", you said, as he sat by your side. He just nodded his head, still to annoyed at the situation to smile at you.
"Where to?" the driver asked, and you turned to Roger. "Do you feel like going to the after party? I don't mind skipping it today", you told him, and he nodded, agreeing with you. "We're going to our place", you told the driver.
The ride home was quiet. The silence wasn't comfortable; you wanted to distract him from the horrible night he had, but his body language was still tense, and you respected his time. You thought about the first time you had an uncomfortable silence with him.
It was the summer of 1973, last year. He confessed through the phone thathe cheated on you in an after party in America. He felt guilty. But you didn't answer him; you put the phone down, got your keys, went outside the house and started walking away from the it, from his house, the one you moved to a few weeks before, away from Roger's smell in your bed, away from his jacket, still in the hanger by the door.
You wanted to walk to New York, back to your parent's apartment, the Metropolitan Museum of Art visible from your window. You'd go around the museum and into the Central Park, and walk to Cleopatra's Needle, and cry on the bench between the thousands of years old obelisc and the glass wall of the museum.
That was your favourite spot in the world, the one you'd always feel safe in, and it was a thousands of miles away. Hell, Roger was closer to it in Las Vegas than you were in London. You only realised you walked all the way to your old apartment in London when you got there. You looked up and found a light in your window, a shadow moving around.
The only things you really had in England were your place and Roger, and now they were both used by strangers. He insisted you moved into his place, because he had a private backyard and you didn't, and because you spent most of the time in his place. You moved right before he went touring, being left with an empty house and a cheating boyfriend.
When he got back to England a week later, you felt less angry at him and angry at yourself. The day after he admitted his cheating, you put on his favourite dress on you, his favourite lingerie, and went to the closest pub. You met a blonde guy there, and went to his place after a few drinks, but it was Roger's name you moaned as the guy went down on you.
When he arrived in a humid, rainy day, his hair was frizzy. You were waiting for him on the couch. He said sorry and started moving closer to you, but you stopped him. "I'm sorry, too", you told him, as he gave you a confused look. You told him what happened, and his legs got weak; he had to sit down. He looked at you in deep pain, tears on his eyes, his face getting red, and you thought he was about to scream at you. But he just looked guilty and hurt after the red got away from his face. It would've felt better if he screamed, so you could scream back at and release your anger and frustration at your relationship. But he didn't.
So you sat by his side on the couch, not knowing what to do. You felt guilty, too. You didn't know how make things right. Then he turned his head back at you, and looked at your lips. You looked at his. And when you crashed your lips together, before getting undressed and fucking in the carpet, you could feel the salt of someone's tears in the middle of the kiss. You didn't knew if they were yours or his.
But now it was less uncomfortable; you knew he was angry at himself for the pushing the drum kit, and for making you feel uncomfortable. He was having a bad day, but you still loved him. You would try to make it better, because you knew he would do the same for you. You've been through enough together.
So when you got off the car and into your house, you opened the door. He sat on the couch, the lights still turned off, but you didn't turn them on. You got the lighter from your purse and lit the candles sitting in the coffee table in front of him.
You then got upstairs, and picked up an essential oil to massage his shoulders. Lavender. He looked at you as you got downstairs, a small smile on his lips. "You don't have to-", he whispered, but you cut him "I know I don't. I just want to", you told him, moving around the couch.
He took his shirt off at the end of the show, and only had his blazer on before you left the venue. You put your hands on top on his shoulders, moving your head down and pressing a gentle kiss on top of his head. His hair was sweaty, but you didn't really care.
You then thought of something that was missing. Music. You moved to the stereo and looked through your collection. You had a lot of music, but it was Abbey Road in your mind. You found it after a few seconds. You decided to put on Something.
Something in the way she moves
Attracts me like no other lover
Something in the way she woos me
I don't want to leave her now
You know I believe and how
You moved closer to him, and got back behind the couch. You started sliding his blazer off his shoulders, and he helped.
Somewhere in her smile she knows
That I don't need no other lover
Something in her style that shows me
I don't want to leave her now
You know I believe and how
You put some drops of lavender oil in your hands, and started to massage his shoulders, then moved to the sides of his neck, the to his back, then his biceps.
You're asking me will my love grow
I don't know, I don't know
You stick around and it may show
I don't know, I don't know
You could feel as if he was play dough under your fingers now, his tension going away as you touched him. He let out a sigh, tired, but satisfied, as he moved his hands up your arms.
Something in the way she knows
And all I have to do is think of her
Something in the things she shows me
I don't want to leave her now
You know I believe and how
"Thank you, Y/N", he said, grabbing your hands and pressing a kiss onto them. "C'mere", he said, and you moved around the couch. He hugged you, still sitting on the couch. You sat by his side, turned in his direction, and started to brush his sweaty strands of hair away from his face. He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry for being so moody today", he said, and you chuckled.
"It's okay. I think the boys are the ones who are mad at you", you told him. "I know. But I want to apologize to you, first", he said, opening his eyes and gazing into yours.
He moved one of his hands to your jaw, sliding his thumb across your cheek, and he kept looking at you as he moved closer to you, his lips finally touching yours.
You kissed him back slowly, the scent of lavender keeping both of you calm. Your hands went to his bare chest, then moved up to the back of his neck, as he started to kiss yours, and then moved his lips down your chest. His hands went down your body, and one of them sat at your waist while the other one squeezed your breasts. He pulled your dress down to get access to them, and moved his kisses there as well. You moaned when you felt his warm lips on the sensitive skin of your nipple.
His free hand then went down under your dress, and his fingers pressed against your wet core through your underwear. You let out a sigh as he did it, and you felt his smile against your skin. He then moved his hands to the waistband of your lingerie and pulled it down. You moved your legs so the underwear would fall to the ground and then separated them, in order to give Roger more access to you.
He massaged you before sliding two of his fingers between your folds, and earned a moan from your lips. He fingered you for a while, but it was too slow. You opened your eyes moved your hands to his zipper, pulling it down, and then pulled his pants down to the middle of his thighs.
You touched him through his boxers, and he let out a small growl, moving his own underwear down. You moved on top of him, and his hands pulled your dress up, bunching it on your waist, and then slid to your ass, squeezing it.
You put your head on the curve of his neck, and got your hips down. As you started riding him, you could still smell lavender off his skin.