John Deacon x Reader x Roger Taylor (BoRhap)
Summary: reader goes to a queen concert. Then to an after party. John gets busy. Roger comes to the rescue. Roger and reader go to his van. Things get steamy. from this concept i posted here.
Note: grammar errors. ******SSSMMUUUTTTSMMUTTTTSMUTTTTSMMMUTT with rogerrrrr****** and some language
Words: 8.6k+
"You guys were amazing!" you squealed, running up and jumping into John's arms.
"I - Sorry I'm sweaty," John awkwardly spoke, setting you back down and releasing his grip from around you, trying to wipe away his smudges of sweat that tainted your arm.
You swatted his hands away, not minding the sweat.
"Don't worry about it. You just killed it out there, John! They all love you. It's so beautiful. The music. The fans. I was actually able to enjoy it this time without any groupies standing next to me saying, 'He's a bassist. Heard they do it deeper," or 'I want him to bang me like he bangs those drums,'" you rolled your eyes with disgust.
"That'd be rough," Roger chimed, peering from behind John as his arm lifted to pamper away the sweat dripping down his neck from his indeed rough drumming ways.
And it didn't help that he was wearing a silver choker and an open vest - his toned physique more prominent from his sweat and the drips of alcohol that bounced up from the drums he was just playing - a trick of his. His veins in his neck and arms were more noticeable - strained from his hard taps. And his blonde hair was slightly frizzy and wild from the humidity - but matted at the ends.
He was fit.
And Deaky was cute.
With his long brown wavy hair and shorter height. And he wasn't showing off his body, but rather wore a designer black suit coat with a white shirt underneath. He nonetheless looked good - sweat dripping down his neck. Mainly from dancing.
But you didn't know why you were looking at John, (who was making a weird face at Roger).
So you looked back at the drummer.
"Thought you were the groupie who said that anyways," Roger smirked, running his hand down to dab the towel against his damp torso, your eyes following with.
You knew what he was hinting at. That you were speaking of him. But you didn't want to feed into it.
"What? That bass players do it deeper? That was indeed me, John's groupie," you snarked, friendly patting John's shoulders.
"So then you'd know if John was a good shag or not," he toyed back.
Your heated cheeks matched the tone of John's.
"If he's not, maybe you should try out a drummer next time," he shrugged. "If you need something a little rougher," his lips lifted up into a cheeky grin before walking away to leave you alone with Deaky.
"Sorry about that," Deaky apologized.
"It's alright," you blushed. "You really did do a good job, John. You're so beautiful out there," you chuckled. "Bit of a weird statement. But I do love seeing you out there like that. I've never seen you so happy. It must be an amazing feeling. To have people listen to you - sing with you."
But John's feelings of being happy when on stage were similar to how he felt when being with you. Almost exactly the same even.
You never noticed.
"Thanks for letting me come here and everything. I really enjoy it. Being here with you guys," but as you said the last statement, you looked at Roger who was flipping a drumstick between the crooks of his fingers with a bottle of beer in his other as he spoke to a crew member.
John caught whom you were looking at and remembered what he told Roger: "She's all yours."
And he saw the way you looked at him. As if you wanted to be all of Roger's.
"Yeah, he likes you being here as well," Deaky gave you small nod, encouraging the situation - even when it was the last thing he wanted.
Your heart fluttered at his words. The implication.
"Not my type," you shrugged, a playful smile on your face. "I prefer brunettes," you giggled. It was opposite as to what you had told Freddie when wanting to set you up, whether you preferred blondes or brunettes: your answer being blondes.
Deaky couldn't help but smile at the thought. The concept.
But he knew your long history of dating guys with gold locks.
***
"Hi, Annie!" you chimed, giving her a big hug just as she arrived to the after party. She was unable to make it to the show - but wouldn't miss the party for Brian.
"Hi, (Y/N)," she greeted before whispering into your ear. "What kind of dress are you wearing? One wrong move and everyone can see everything."
"Annie!" you gasped, slapping her arm lightly with the back of your hand.
"All I'm saying is that you aren't being exactly discreet in that little outfit of yours," she piped up an eyebrow.
She wasn't wrong. Your red spaghetti strapped satin dress ended just an inch or two below your bum. You didn't plan on bending over that night. So there would be no wardrobe malfunction.
And maybe the outfit was to get some of Roger's attention.
"I like it!" Freddie encouraged, appearing behind you both with a bottle of whisky in his hand. "Don't you, John?"
"What?" Deaky choked on his drink. He wasn't paying attention to the conversation. His hand nervously wiped away the alcohol he had just spit out of his mouth.
"Like (Y/N)'s outfit?"
"Of course he does! He helped me pick it out," you smiled. John actually did help you out. You spent three hours trying on every outfit in your closet - not that you had a hoard of clothes. But you mixed and matched all of your outfits and tried them with different hairstyles. It was a nice fashion show for John.
And he purposely picked out the red dress for his own benefit.
But you didn't need to know that.
"Well it's a darling outfit, I'll say," Freddie smiled, his eyes scanning your outfit with adoration. "But, I came here to steal Mr. Deacon away from you ladies," he said, taking a glance at John. "John, there's a guest I'd like you to meet. It's important."
"Right," John said, giving a small nod. "I'll be back," he spoke to you, taking after Freddie's lead and walking away.
"Have you seen Brian?" Annie asked, standing on her tiptoes as she peered her head above to get a look around.
"No, I-" you began.
"Oh! There he is," she beamed, jumping up and down as she spotted the bobs of curly black hair in the crowd. "And he's with Roger."
You turned around at her observation and just as you did, both the musicians came up right behind you.
"Hi, Bri!" she cheered, a huge blush consuming her cheeks as she jumped into a tight hug around Brian.
He whispered something into her ear, Annie reacting with a huge grin on her face.
It was weird standing next to Roger in that moment. He hadn't looked at you or spoken to you. It was like he was avoiding you - or nervous.
Roger took a step closer, as there was an awkward space between you two. His head leaned in close to yours, saying something. But you couldn't hear him. The music overbore his quiet words.
"What?" you spoke loudly, your nose crinkling.
Just like at the studio when he said, "Cute," and you couldn't hear.
The sound of laughter escaped his lips, his nerves easing at your silly facial expression.
"Would you like to go get a drink? At the bar," he restated.
"I - Yeah, sure," you blushed.
Roger smiled at your words, being persistent as he snatched your hand with his and guiding you through a bouncy crowd of people. Annie winked at you before you left, along with a smirk from Brian.
The cram was hot, sweaty, and booze-filled. Bodies bouncing into each other. It was a bigger after party.
It was intimidating.
You stood behind Roger as you watched him glide his fingers over the tips of the alcoholic bottles - searching for something specific.
Basic vodka.
He turned around saying, "Here you go," but just as he did, a guest bumped harshly into your back, pushing you forward into Roger's hands with the glasses.
You were soaked.
"Shit. 'M sorry," Roger rushed out to apologize, his hands fumbling to set the glasses down as he searched for anything that could dry you off.
"It's okay," you giggled, swatting away the drips of liquid from your arms. "It's not your fault."
Roger began dabbing at your dress and arms with the napkins, trying to fix the mess. But it was when his hands began dabbing the wet stain on your breast that things became awkward.
He was a nervous mess - and felt really bad. He hadn't noticed his action as he fumbled to clean the wet stain.
"Roger, I..." you embarrassingly spoke. Your eyes met with his and led them down to where exactly his hand was placed.
Completely cupping your boob, holding the napkin over the stain.
It was something John would do.
It was something John had done.
You had never seen John blush so hard when it happened.
It happened a few years ago at a family party. It was your dad's birthday, held at a banquet. He was turning 50 years old.
You and John went over to the table to get some food. John grabbed some drinks - punch specifically. And when he turned around, he walked right into you, the food and drinks colliding.
He didn't notice that you were done grabbing food - or that you were standing right behind him.
And your white dress turned red. John felt terrible for what he did, grabbing handfuls of napkins and pressing them harshly all over your body in a nervous panic.
"John," you whispered, trying to cut him out of the panic - and the fact that his hand was cupping your boob with the napkin.
"What?" he asked, completely oblivious. And then he looked at his hand. And napkin. And your boob.
And it was the perfect moment for your dad to walk by, clearing his throat and giving John the stink eye before walking away.
John apologized multiple times for touching you and for destroying your dress. You just laughed at his words, your way of saying it was fine.
But now it was Roger.
"Oh, shit. I didn't notice..." he rushed, whipping his hand away from its original placement before stuffing it into his pocket.
You could tell Roger was nervous. You didn't know why he was. Only an hour ago he was teasing you. Now he could barely function.
"Are you nervous, Mr. Roger Taylor?" you teased, a stream of confidence radiating through your body. You wouldn't have said it, something so bold. But you liked flirting with him.
"Me? Nervous? Never. Roger Taylor doesn't get nervous," he boasted, his playful ways returning.
"I don't know..." you joked, shrugging your shoulders before letting out a small chuckle. "But I do know that I'd like another drink," you perked up an eyebrow.
"As you wish," he grinned, turning around once more before handing you another glass filled to the rim. You threw it straight back to your throat, the strong liquid sending tingles down it.
"Your turn," you spoke, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
Roger did as you commanded, his veiny arm flexing at the lift of the glass to shoot it back to his throat just as you had done.
And he looked good doing it. Leaning back on one leg as he threw his head back, his vest partially opening to reveal more of his naked skin underneath.
And you said it before even thinking about it.
"Do you - Do you want to get out of here, Roger?" you nervously asked, your fingers twiddling at the unknown of his answer. You really wanted to be alone with Roger. Even if it was just for this once. You wanted to get to know him better. After all, you did kiss him for the dare.
"You want to go somewhere?" he asked, wiping the dripping liquid from his chin with his thumb. He was surprised at your suggestion. He had just ruined your outfit seconds before.
"Doesn't have to be far. Just to be alone. Unless you don't-"
"No, we can go somewhere," he beamed, holding his hand out to yours. "I have a place in mind. It's not far."
You obliged, placing your smaller hand in his rough one, letting him guide you once more through the rowdy crowd.
John could see you and Roger. He saw you two sneaking out. Hand in hand. He ignored every word the man had been saying to him - the guest Freddie introduced him to. He didn't care. It was something about a deal. A terrible deal that didn't interest him or the other boys.
Deaky's eyes moved in sync with your movement - trying to see just exactly where you two were headed off. But the crowd was too big. And he couldn't get very far.
"So what do you think?" the bearded man spoke to the three of four Queen members, John's focus returning to him.
***
"Your van?" you asked, Roger opening the back of it to let you both get in.
"I know it's not romantic or anything-"
"It's fine, Roger," you smiled. "It's private. It was too loud and hot in there. Couldn't even think."
"That's how they usually are," he shrugged. "But," he rasped, hopping into the back of his van, "you get used to it," and held his hand out to help you up.
You hopped right up, using your left hand to cup the bottom of your dress in hopes it wouldn't rise up.
Roger shut the trunk of the van before leaning his back against the passenger seat to sit down. You sat next to him, in a way that wouldn't reveal anything underneath your dress, behind the driver's seat.
"Sorry 'bout the cold temperature. Heater's broken. Have to get it fixed," he spoke, getting on his knees to bend over and rummage around the passenger seat.
"You can wear this." He held out a fur coat to you - his fur coat. It was black and perfectly matched your outfit.
"And what about you?" you shivered, crossing your arms to create some heat.
"I'll be fine, love. I can see the cold air leaving your lips and your shivers. You need it more than I do," he laughed.
"But you're not wearing anything underneath your vest. Aren't you freezing?" You cupped your hands around your mouth, huffing warm air into them.
"Do you want the coat or not?" he sassed, shoving it closer to you.
"Thanks," you chuckled, looping your arms into the holes and wrapping it around yourself like a blanket. It was too big for you - but it smelled just like him, your nose dancing at his scent and butterflies swarming in your stomach. It was a good scent.
"Do you mind if I..." he trailed off, raising his cig up to show you.
"Go ahead," you smiled, bundling yourself up even more with the fur.
He rolled down the passenger's window, he said that it was for the smoke. A gust of wind spread out into the van, the cold air creating goosebumps on your legs.
You watched Roger intently. The way he rested the stick between his lips, his thick hands hovering over it to not let the flame go out as he tried lighting it. The silver rings on his fingers glistened from the moonlight.
You really were beginning to like smoking. Because it was a part of Roger. He made it look cool.
"Led Zeppelin?" you asked, picking up a record that was lying on a messy pile of more records placed a few inches from your feet.
"Oh, yeah," Roger said, releasing the fumes opposite of you.
"A fan or something?" You pointed at the cover.
"Something like that," he shrugged. Not actually. More of jealousy.
"You listen to them?" he added, raising the smoke to his lips.
"Sometimes. But I don't know. The band Queen is kind of growing on me. Drummer is kind of cute," you shrugged, avoiding eye contact with him as you set the album down.
Roger didn't say anything, he just cooly smiled, the sides of his lips pulling into a teasing grin before taking a puff of the smoke, his knees piking up to rest his elbows lazily on them.
"I noticed Deaky calls you 'Bo.' 'S that a pet name or something?" he asked, twindling with the roll.
"Just a name he threw at me once years ago. It kind of stuck," you shrugged.
"How long have you been friends?"
"I think since 6 years old. My family was new to town and his family lived down the street. Our parents met then we met, the rest is history."
"All these years you've been friends, and I'm just meeting you now?" he sassed, his eyebrow perking up at his own question.
"Yeah," you giggled. "I went to art school in New York. Wanted to travel. To get away."
"Ah, an artistic girl. The world needs more of 'em," he smirked. "The female anatomy is a form of beauty itself," he finished. But he had said it in all seriousness - with interest. Like he meant it.
And you blushed at the thought.
"A drummer and a poet?"
"A drummer and a writer of music. So same thing I guess," he boasted, a hint of tease behind his voice. A trail of smoke mixed with the cold air that left his lips.
"What did you study? Music? Painting?"
"A mix of everything. But focused more on painting and drawing. That sort of thing," you confirmed.
"Ah, you like to draw." He paused. "Maybe you can draw me someday," he chimed, holding his head high. "I've heard I got that 'pretty boy' forte. Might look good on paper."
You rolled your eyes, trying to hold a smile at his suggestion. But you weren't against it. He was a pretty boy. And he would look amazing on paper - but it would never do him true justice.
"I'm sorry about that night sometime ago. When I kissed you on that dare. It was foolish of me. I don't know what I was thinking-" you rambled.
"Did you mean it?" he cut you off.
"Mean what?"
"The dare. To shag me."
"Oh, no," you groaned, slinking your body down and pulling up the oversized coat to hide your face.
"'S alright," he mumbled from the cig resting between his lips, a small laugh vibrating from his lips as his hands came to wrap around your wrists to pull them away from your hiding. "'S nothing to be embarrassed about, honestly. You're not the first girl who wants to shag me."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" you asked, a pang of jealousy present. Roger noticed.
"Jealous are you?"
"Ha!" you sarcastically laughed, removing the coat from your face as he released his grip around you.
"I do not get jealous."
"Everyone gets jealous."
"Including Roger Taylor?"
"Including Roger Taylor."
"Oh really? When was the last time you were jealous?"
"The relationship you have with John. Seems that you two are more than just friends," he shot at you, harshly blowing out the smoke away from you, but his eyes never left you.
His answer surprised you.
"My relationship with John? He's just my best friend. Nothing more," you firmly stated.
***
"You mean to tell us you've been in love with her since you were 6 years old?" Freddie gawked, slumping down into a seat across from a slightly drunk John.
After John saw you leave with Roger, he decided to get a drink or two. Or three. Or more.
It was time for confessions.
"Yeah," John mumbled, leisurely resting his chin atop of his palm, his elbow resting on the table.
"And you decided to tell Roger that it was okay to pursue her?" Freddie asked, his eyebrow perking up in confusion.
"Yeah," John repeated, his eyes closing and opening slowly as his lips formed into an 'o' to search around for the straw in his drink.
"Are you bloody stupid?" Brian asked, his curly hair moving as he shook his head in disbelief.
"Yeah," John said once more before slurping.
"Were you ever going to tell her?" Freddie barked. "Because right now she may be shagging our bandmate in his van."
"I was going to," he sighed. "I was going to tell her when she came back. But she saw a photo of Roger and-" John made an explosive noise, stretching out his fingers to signify a "boom."
The "boom" representing your instant attraction to Roger.
John went back to slurping his drink before resting the side of his face in his palm.
"But it's too late. Because I'm here sitting with you and Bri while she's probably giving him a blowie," he said in all seriousness.
Brian let out a small grin at the words. They were silly. And coming from John's mouth, they just didn't sound right.
"She's in love with someone else," he shrugged.
***
"Just friends?" Roger asked. "That's what they all say. That's what I've said. Then it became friends with benefits."
"Just best friends. There's a difference," you spoke, nudging his shoulder playfully.
"Ah, right. The 'best' changes everything," he sarcastically spoke as if he wasn't smart enough to know something that clearly everyone knew.
"Whatever," you giggled, rolling your eyes and scrunching your body closer together to keep warm.
But just as you looked back at him, he was looking at you the way he had been looking at the girl at that restaurant. With love.
A goofy grin on his face. His green eyes adoring you. His blonde locks shaping his face perfectly. All his attention on you.
And it made you feel safe and loved. Like you were the only one he ever looked at like that.
And most of all, what you had wanted in that moment, it made you feel warm.
"You alright?" Roger asked, waving his face in front of your eyes and cutting you from your trance.
"What? Oh, yeah," you nervously fumbled, clearing your throat.
"For a second there I thought you might be in love with me or something," he teased. But from the way he said it, you knew there had been some truth behind his words.
"Are you like this with all the girls?" you scoffed.
Roger went to throw the cig out the window before sitting back down and answering your question.
"Just some. Only the ones I like," he shrugged.
But he was being serious. No sense of teasing. Just pure truth. That he liked you.
And you knew it, because he avoided looking at you. Something you do when in fear of rejection. And that was the last thing you wanted him to feel from you.
"You like me?" you whispered.
Roger slowly brought his head to face you, his eyes connecting with yours as he gave you a small nod of agreement.
"You - You barely know me," you fumbled.
"But I'd like to. To get to know you," he licked his lips out of uneasiness.
And you felt in your heart that it was the right thing to do in this moment. To kiss him.
So you did.
Your lips collided harshly against his plump soft ones. And it was needy. Because it had been so long.
And he kissed you back hard. His hand instantly coming to your waist to grip as he slipped his tongue out, meeting with yours.
A linger of vodka stained his tongue along with the cigarette. But coming from Roger, you loved the taste.
His rough hand snaked down to between your legs, gripping on your inner thigh as he continued to deepen the kiss before pressing firm, wet kisses to your neck. Your lips partly opened from the feeling.
And you could tell from the way his fingers gripped around you, he was hesitant to touch you in the way that you wanted him to.
He was so close to you. To your heat. But he wasn't doing anything about it.
"You can touch me, Roger," you winced in delight, your hand wrapping around his wrist to confirm it was okay.
He moaned against your neck at your needy words, the front of his pants getting tighter.
Your eyes closed as you could feel his warm fingers burning against your left inner thigh, his rings creating cold strips down it. It was a sensation that you weren't used to. But you liked it.
You were getting ready for him to touch you, your legs partly opening at the touch. But nothing could get you ready.
"Roger," you winced out loud, your lips falling open to his touch. His thumb applied pressure to your bud through the thong you had been wearing. He began to massage small circles around it before sliding harshly up and down your slick folds.
"Please, Roger," you whimpered, your hand gripping harshly around his wrist, telling him that you wanted more.
Your breathing became unstable, your head fallen back as you bit your lip and closed your eyes.
But your head flew forward just as he slid over your damp panties with his thumb, allowing skin to skin contact.
You let out a loud, wincy moan, your eyes clenching tightly as his thumb teased your walls, sliding up and down the dampness. He never stopped kissed you - your neck, your face, your lips.
"Why didn't you let me touch you sooner?" he mumbled against your neck. But you couldn't answer him. You were too lost in his touch.
He slipped in his middle finger before adding in his index finger, pumping in and out as his thumb massaged you.
You forgot what it felt like. To be touched like this. It had almost been a year.
You let out a loud cry of pleasure at his pumps, his thick, calloused hands hitting you in all the right directions. You could feel yourself clench around him, your hand that was on his wrist moving up to his bicep to grip.
"God, Roger," you breathed out, grinding your hips against the pumps of his fingers as your eyes shut tight. You could feel that you were almost there. To being finished. And it was because it had been so long. But you wanted it to last.
But Roger continued with his fingers, his hand coming up to drag down the fur coat off your shoulders to kiss your shoulders. His wet lips against your skin and the pressure of his fingers between your legs had you swooning.
"Lie down," he rasped, pulling his fingers out from your heat. You obliged, your back hitting the floor as you kept your legs parted.
Roger didn't hesitate to mimic his previous actions, getting on his knees and bending over as his harsh kisses attacked your neck and his fingers moved in and out of you.
"Wait," you spoke, sitting up and removing the coat from your body. As cold as it was with the winter air, the feeling of Roger against you made your body temperature rise. You instead lied down on it for comfort.
His fingers went back to touching your slits, but only his middle finger pumped in and out of you. Applying less pressure to tease you.
"Open wider," he rasped into your ear, his other hand pushing down your thigh. You shook off your heels to give yourself more comfort, and because of how hard you had been crinkling your toes.
You bucked up your hips lightly, causing his finger to push deeper into you. His hand came to grope your breast through the thin material. Your whimpers became louder at this point, your eyes closed the entire time. And from your harsh breaths, the constant release of cold air was let out from your lips.
Roger pulled out his finger, his arm laying flat at your right side as he hovered himself over you. He brought his other hand to your thigh, wrapping it around his bum as he grinded his hardness against your damp area.
He let out a loud groan at the feeling, digging himself deeper against you from the amount of pleasure he felt.
You let out a loud wince, your hands digging into his back as your back arched up, your chest hitting against his.
You brought your hands down to grope his bum, harshly pushing his bulge against you to feel more of it.
He grinded harder against you, both arms now lying flat at your sides.
His fingers felt nice, but what you felt in his pants felt nicer. (((omg wtf,,, tea)))
Roger lifted himself up from you as he brought your hand from his bum and down to his bump, his hand atop of your small one as he made you feel him. How much he wanted you.
"Shit," he winced, his eyebrows crinkling at the feeling and his eyes closing tight. You rubbed your hand against it, squeezing lightly to apply some type of pressure against him. To get some kind of reaction from him.
His body lowered down at the touch, weak at the feeling of your hand groping his wood. His hand came to grip your shoulder, grinding himself against your hand as he let out small moans against your neck. And the sounds that escaped his lips turned you on even more. Knowing how good you made him feel.
You hadn't touched a man like that in so long. And you missed it.
But he released himself from your touch, standing up on his knees as he began to unzip his pants.
And your heart raced at his actions. At what he was doing. Because you weren't ready. As much as you wanted to.
"Roger, Roger I've never..." you stuttered out of pure shame.
His hands stopped fumbling.
"You've never...?" he asked in complete shock, his eyes wide.
"I - I should go. I should go find Deaky," you rushed out, sitting up and pulling your dress down to compose yourself. You were embarrassed. "He's probably looking for me or something. Or wants to leave. I should go-"
"You're a virgin?" Roger asked with intrigue. He completely ignored your bundle of words.
"My love life doesn't concern you-"
"Or lack of," he chimed.
You rolled your eyes, wondering why you even joined Roger in his van.
"Hey, hey. It's alright if you are. No need to be embarrassed-"
"I'm not embarrassed!" you fumed. "Just want to do it with someone that I love."
"Ohhh," Roger said, emphasizing the long "o." "You're that kind of girl."
"Just let me out, would you?" you hissed at him, throwing your heels back on in annoyance.
"It just surprises me that Deaky," Roger made a distasteful face at the sound of the name, "has done it and you haven't."
"Leave John out of this and let me out," you spat, getting your last shoe on.
"I - I'm sorry," he nervously fidgeted, his hands wrapping around your wrists that were fixating your heels around your feet. "I've just - I haven't been with many virgins in all honesty. I mean, I get girls. But most of 'em are experienced and they-"
"You think I'm prude?" you spat. "Roger, I've done everything there is to do except that. And yeah, maybe I haven't done it a whole lot, or with a lot of people, or in a long time-"
"How long?"
"That doesn't matter-"
"Like a week?"
"Try ten months."
"Ten months!?" Roger gawked in shock.
"You are such a prick - Roger, what are you doing?" you asked, his body making its way over to you.
"Just lie down and open your legs for me."
His words made your heart skip a beat.
"Roger, I am not shagging you in your van-"
"This isn't it," he said, licking his lips.
He licked his lips. Something you had seen a few guys do before they all did the same thing. Something they did before french kissing you between your legs.
And Roger had just given you the sign.
"I-"
"Only if you want me to," he assured. He wanted to make you feel comfortable, just as much as he wanted you to let him "kiss" you. Pleasure you.
You did. You even thought about what it would be like during nights you couldn't fall asleep.
"Yes," you nodded, Roger's hands shooting forward to cup your cheeks, placing a harsh kiss against your lips before his hand came to your stomach to push you down against his coat and resuming positions.
Your hands gripped his chest, your feet moving against the floor in a way to remove your shoes once again before opening your legs to give Roger space.
"Can I?" he mumbled against your neck, yanking on the thin material of your thong.
"Yes," you barely mumbled, bucking your hips up to allow Roger's snaky fingers remove the material.
You piked your knees up around the sides of Roger, letting him lean harder against you.
He began to place more kisses against your neck before going up to give you a deep kiss, biting your bottom lip lightly to tease you before trailing kisses.
It started with your chin, to the middle of your chest, to the crease of your breasts, down your stomach, past your belly button, and right where you needed him most.
His hands wrapped around your thighs, bringing down your satin dress to reveal yourself to him.
And he teased you. You could feel his hot breath fan against your thighs, tickling your skin.
The sound of a whimper escaped your lips right before biting them, your eyes closing as he continued to taunt.
He began to softly kiss your heat, making small pecks up and down.
Your body instantly reacted - a loud cry of his name escaped your lips as you brought your body to sit up and your hands digging into his hair, but his hand shot up to your chest, pushing you back down slightly and leaving it there for a few moments.
"Got to stay down," he mumbled between your legs, the ruffle of it vibrating between your thighs.
Your hands lazily fumbled in his hair, gripping at it tightly as his hands gripped your thighs, his head just subtly moving up and down with the movements of his tongue.
His tongue was warm against you, the coldness of the outside temperature completely disappearing.
"Rog," you winced out, biting your lip harshly and your eyebrows crinkling as you looked down at him. A glorious sight was he. Right between your legs. Giving you his love. Completely devouring you.
But your eyes closed at the feeling of his nose poking into your skin, right above your wetness. And the pressure sent a line straight down your spine, your back arching up as your hips shoved your lower body into his mouth.
Your head fell to the side as you began grinding your hips with his tongue - your hips going down while his tongue went up, repeating a pattern.
You let out raspy moans at the feeling, white dust leaving your lips from the what was to be cold wind. Your breasts rising up and down from your harsh breaths of pleasure as you gripped the side of Roger's fur coat, your other one traveling up and down his hair to grip it all over.
Your mouth fell further open, loud, breathy whimpers gushing from your throat as the side of your face dug into Roger's perfectly scented coat that only made you feel more of him against your skin, your eyes clenching tightly. Your legs began to shake all the way to the tips of your toes that dug into the floor. You usually weren't loud. But this time, it was different.
Roger's tongue began to form loops around your bud before placing a soft kiss on it then nipping. Your legs squished against his head, trying to cross in some way to bring him closer as your heels dug into his back.
Your hand that had been gripping his hair moved down to right above where his tongue had been working you, massaging your sides with your index and middle finger to give yourself an extra boost. Your head turned to face the ceiling instead of his coat, your head arching back and digging harshly into the fur.
But Roger didn't like that, he wanted to take care of you.
His hand that had wrapped around your thigh moved to swat your hand away as he murmured, "Don't." You whimpered at his words, at the loss of the extra pressure, thinking he wasn't going to give that to you.
But he soon made up for it by unwrapping your legs and pushing them far apart, as wide as they would go, both hitting the floor of the van, allowing the frosty weather to mix with in.
It made you ache for Roger's warmth which he had removed from you in the process, and he could now see you. The way your eyebrows furrowed, your mouth agape as your chest rose up and down, sweet moans and whimpers escaping your lips all because of him.
It had been ten months. You deserved this.
His hands slid down from your knees, applying a harsh pressure to your legs before his thumbs swiped roughly up your wet folds, slipping in his index finger first then his middle, pumping in and out of you as he tongued your nub.
And you could feel in the pit of your stomach that you were almost done. Almost at your release.
From the pressure of his thick fingers and the tickles of his wet tongue against you, your legs felt like jello, shaky and weak. Delicate to break.
But it was a nice feeling. Something you hadn't felt in almost two years.
Yes, you had been with other guys before. But most of the time, you had to fake it. The feeling of pleasure.
And this time, you didn't. It was real.
And as much as you had been jealous of the other girls Roger had slept with, you were thankful for them in this moment. Because he obviously knew what he was doing.
Your legs began wriggling around, smashing against his ear and him reacting with a hurtful groan.
"Need'ta stay still," he mumbled.
Your hands pulled up on his hair before pushing his head away as you felt your release coming, you weren't sure exactly what to do when it happened. Or what the guy did.
So you warned him.
You spoke through heavy pants, "Roger, I'm going to cu- oomph," you moaned out loudly, your body sitting straight up as his tongue poked deeper into you, his thumb massaging circles around your nub.
Resting your body weight against your hand behind your back, eyes closed, head fallen back, your mouth agape as sounds of pleasure left your mouth, your other hand fiddling with Roger's hair, his tongue tasting you with bliss, and your hips dancing with it - it was a beautiful view.
Seeing Roger between your legs all for your benefit - for you.
It was a dream of yours. And it was happening.
"Let me taste yah," he rasped, and after a few seconds of his command, you gave him exactly that.
Your juices releasing themselves all over his tongue with a loud cry of his. Your toes curling, your legs spazzing, and your breathing at its peak.
A whole reaction coursing through your body just from Roger's tongue.
It wasn't even the real thing.
And you wondered just how that would feel.
You let out another moan at the thought.
Your body fell against the coat from the heavy release, feeling too weak and hazy to sit up straight. Your head buzzed from Roger's continuous swipes of his tongue, making sure to taste every bit of you. You smiled at the feeling.
Your body began to calm down, heavy puffs of air still leaving your lips, but a weight had been finally lifted from your chest.
You could feel Roger leaving a love bite against your inner thigh, your skin tingling at the light sucking from his teeth. But he lightly pecked it to put the small pain at ease before abandoning it to bring himself away from your thighs. You couldn't see him for your eyes were closed, but he was smirking at you. How you had completely come undone for him - eyes closed and breathy puffs of air that your heavily rising chest pushed out.
He could see how 10 months had taken a toll on you. And he was glad to be the one to fix the problem.
A small chuckle left his lips as he thumbed his bottom lip to clean it, just as he had done with the girl in the bathroom.
He hovered his body over you, both hands resting at your sides as he surprised you by placing gentle kisses against your neck - the after care. You let out a small giggle, what your heavy breathing would allow.
His lips trailed down to your chest, his fingers looping around the thin dress strap as he pulled it down slowly to tease you before pulling it down completely, revealing your bare breast.
His large hand slid over to it, groping it before placing soft kisses then sucking. But it wasn't rough, it was loving.
Your fingers danced against his back, flailing up and down at the sweet gesture.
He reattached his lips to yours, the final kiss before pulling away and resting on his knees.
"You alright, love?" he asked.
"Mhm," was all you could manage to hum.
And you looked at his pants - still unzipped. And poking out. He was still hard.
"I can-"
Roger laughed at your words - he had seen you looking at him. At his pants.
"Nah, I'm alright, love," he said, kissing your temple.
Was he suddenly not interested in you? Did he doubt your ability-
"It's nothing like that," he assured you, seeing the confused look on your face. "I really like you. But I'm alright. Ten months is a long time... just thought you deserved to feel good. But I'm fine. Really."
"Yeah, yeah, no. It's fine. I get it-"
"You can make it up to me sometime, though. I'm not letting you get off so easily," he smirked, piping his eyebrow up. "See what the virgin can do," he made fun, handing you your heels.
"Please don't say that," you huffed.
"'M just teasing you."
"Does it - Does it bother you?" you asked.
"Does what?"
"Me... being a virgin."
"Why would it bother me?"
"Because I'm not like those other girls, Roger. The fans. The groupies. I can do stuff, but I don't know any crazy tricks. And you might find me boring or -"
Roger bursted out into a loud laughter, his hand gripping the side of his lower torso.
"Piss off," you huffed angrily, sliding your shoes on.
"No, no. I'm sorry," he said, opening his watery eyes caused from laughter. "Woah, woah, woah! What are you doing?"
"Leaving you, you arsehole," you spat, searching for your thong.
"'S here," he said, lifting up his bum and reaching for the thin material. It was indeed your thong. And he had been sitting on it.
Your cheeks burned a deep red and you snatched it away from him without a "thanks."
But he caught your wrist, your hand opening wide open and dropping the cloth. And what he did next made your eyes bug open.
He placed it right on top of his pants. Right on his bulge.
He perked his eyebrow up and whispered, "Feel that? I think you're doing just fine. No tricks. Nothing crazy. And you still got me hard for you."
His eyes never left yours, while yours stared at where your hand was placed. But the last statement made you look at him, earning a small gasp. Your cheeks and nose were now rosy - partially from the cold temperature that began taking a toll on you.
"But I got a few tricks up my sleeve that I could show you - teach you, if you'd like. Just needs practice," he boasted. The practice meaning - it would happen multiple times.
You gulped at his words. At his suggestion that this wasn't over. It wasn't just some heated fun in a van for one night. It was more than that.
But you weren't able to give him an answer. Because the loud roar of Brian's laughter sneaked through the cracks of Roger's van.
"Shit, I think that's Brian," he spoke, releasing his hold on you, allowing you to hastily put on the thong (inside out). You were in a rush and it was dark.
Roger looked back at you as he made his way to the back door, making sure you were ready. But you were frozen.
"Something the matter?" he asked, a confused facial expression on his face.
"Your coat-"
"Wear it."
"But it's yours."
"'S fine," he smiled. "You can wear it. Don't want you to be cold." He handed you the jacket, encouraging you to wear it. You happily obliged, throwing it around your shoulders like a blanket.
Roger didn't want to tell you, but seeing you wear his jackets was just part of the reason his pants felt tighter.
He shoved the doors open, revealing a slightly drunk Brian holding a guitar with his other arm wrapped around a sober Annie, who was supporting his body weight.
Behind him was Freddie with a huge smirk.
And trailing a few feet behind him was John.
And you hadn't noticed John just yet. Freddie and Annie were in your view. But John could see you.
And he noticed the way Roger hopped out of the van, quickly holding his hand out to help you hop out of the van as well, which you took.
And he noticed the way Roger swiped his lips with his thumb, as he always did after going down on a girl. It was a signature thing of his.
And he noticed the way Roger zipped up his pants. And his crazed hair - only created by tugging and gripping. And his red stained lips that only came from lipstick. It matched the tint of the lipstick you had been wearing.
And he noticed the way you shimmied down your dress. And your smudged makeup.
And most of all, he noticed the fur coat you had been wearing. Roger's. It was another trick of his.
When he wanted to see a girl again, he'd give her his coat and tell her that she can give it to him later. It'd give them an excuse to meet again. To continue their activities.
And Roger was doing that with you.
And John could see that. That Roger wanted to see you again.
It crushed his heart to see this. As drunk as he was, he suddenly felt sober. As if a drop of liquor hadn't spiced his tongue in ages.
He didn't know what happened. He didn't want to know. Or think of it.
But there was too much evidence not to assume the worse.
And his nose stung - matching the sting in his eyes from the water that began to poke its way through. But he sniffed back the tears. Ignoring how he felt.
You were in Roger's van because of John. Because John said Roger could. That he was all yours.
"Well, look at you two. All snuggled up," Brian slurred, giving you two a goofy grin as he pointed his finger at both of you.
"Piss off," Roger huffed at Brian with annoyance.
"Oh, grouchy," Brian chuckled, throwing his guitar into the back of the van.
John continued his steps towards you two, trying to not look at either of you. Because it'd give away that he knew. That he knew what you two had just been doing.
But you could see it on John's face. The way he avoided his gaze at you. The way his hand awkwardly ran through the back of his brown hair and rubbing against his neck, his other one fiddling in the pocket of his leather coat.
He knew. He wasn't oblivious.
"Are - are you ready to go?" John stuttered.
"You sure you can? Didn't have too many drinks?" you tried to play, to make light of the situation. But there was an awkward tension exchanged between everyone. As if they all knew something (except Annie) that you and Roger didn't.
And the fact that they also had an idea as to what you and Roger had just done.
"Bloody fine, thank you," he hissed. But it was rude in the way that he spoke. His emotion completely changed within mere seconds.
"I guess this is goodbye... everybody?" you awkwardly spoke, giving your friends a small wave. Roger just gave you a small smile with a nod.
"Will I see you at home, Annie?" you asked, walking after John but still facing her.
"Yes-" she began.
"We'll see about that!" Brian slurred, closing his eyes with a silly grin. "Or maybe she'll come home with me and we'll finish off what you and Roger started in there," he teased, pointing to the van.
"Yes, you'll see me at home," she laughed, earning a loud drunken, "Hey!" from Brian.
You laughed and walked after Deaky.
***
"John, are you sure you can drive? You keep swerving out of the lane," you shrieked, sitting straight up in your seat.
"'M fine!" he huffed, his grip ferociously stabbing into the leather of the wheel.
"I can drive if you-"
"What did you and Roger do in his van?"
"What?"
"You and Roger. You get on your knees for him-" John sounded bitter.
"Oh my God. I am not answering that."
"He get on his?"
"What I did with Roger is none of your concern."
"Oh, so now your shy about your sex life? Always so open but now suddenly so quiet."
"You're being ridiculous-"
"And he gave you his coat?" he scoffed, pinching at the fur coat on your shoulders that was indeed Roger's.
"I was cold and-"
"Just a trick he does with all the girls. To see them again. I'm sure he didn't really care that you were cold-"
"I am not having this conversation with you. Not when you're drunk."
"I'm not drunk."
"You're not sober."
He rolled his buzzed eyes, blinking at the road.
His emotions surprised you. He usually wasn't snappy or aggressive. But he was drunk. And maybe he said some things he didn't mean to - or maybe some truth came out. You weren't sure. But it still concerned you.
"I'm sorry," he apologized. But he never looked at you. Because he remembered what he had told Roger that made all of this okay. That Roger could pursue you.
And Roger was.
And John could see.
He saw it when you opened your legs just slightly to move your position in the seat.
He saw the red circle between your thighs.
The love bite.
And it made him gulp and his jaw clench.
Maybe the liquor made him see things. But then he saw your hand dig at your dress to pull it down to hide the red mark. Because you caught his glance.
And he knew who it was from. What it meant.
It answered his question.
Of Roger being the one to get on his knees for you.
Because it was something John had dreamt of for years.
Getting on his knees for you just as Roger had.
And you know what they say...
Dreams do come true.
***