John Deacon x Reader x Roger Taylor (BoRhap)
(gif is of deaky and reader in the beginning)
Summary: this chap leads to reader losing her v card to either john or roger.
Note: grammar errors. This chapter is a bit wonky. Sorry. But i wrote it like that for a reason. Also, hello!!! Im back from hiatus. Also,,,,, this chap ended up changing and is not how i originally imagined it.... THEREFORE THERE WILL BE A CHAP 11.1 AND CHAP 11.2
Mentions of light smut....
Words: 6.9k+
It was the first time you felt butterflies around your best friend John Deacon.
You could feel them in your stomach flying all around.
And they came from the boy standing right in front of you. The one with his hands wrapped around yours.
He was standing close.
Standing close because he was leaning in to kiss you.
But you took a step back to set down the honey behind you, your hands losing the touch of John's. He took it as rejection, but you only did it to invite him in more.
You had set it down in order to free yourself from any distraction that might take you away from John.
But John didn't understand, taking a step back himself.
You let out a light giggle, taking a few tiny steps forward, swooping your arm around his neck as your chest collided with his before bouncing back to give some space between you two.
But the close proximity, the feeling of your hand against John's neck, and the way he looked down at your lips - your lips parted at the realization that he had always looked at you like this.
And your eyes closed while you let out a breathy giggle as you could smell the familiar scent of John. Still peppermint and after shave.
In that moment, it was your favorite scent. Not Roger's expensive cologne that lingered in the fur coat he let you keep.
But you then found yourself looking at his lips. Slightly open as yours were.
You never noticed how pink they were. Except for the one time he had to wear light pink lipstick for a photoshoot, which you admitted to him looking good in.
But at this moment, he wasn't wearing lipstick and there were no cameras. It was just you two in his kitchen, your back up against the rim of the counter with John's hands wrapped around your waist.
Your thumb skimmed over his bottom lip from left to right, his eyes watching you do so. You smiled at his acknowledgment of watching you.
And his lips were soft. And very different from Roger's.
"John," you whispered quietly, his eyes closing at the sound of his name coming from the sound of your voice.
And he remembered how he had pulled away that time you kissed him on New Year's. And how he wouldn't do that now. He would kiss you this time.
You leaned your face closer to his, your hand returning to the back of his neck as your other placed right against his chest. Right where you could feel his heart beating.
If things were different, you would've thought he had just finished running a few blocks from the rate his heart thumped.
You were about to speak before Deaky quietly confessed, "'S cause of you."
His eyes were still closed as he waited, but one of his hands was now encompassing yours over his heart, thumbing small circles around it. You watched him do so.
"'S always like this when I'm with you," he finished softly, opening his eyes to look down at yours.
A small gasp escaped your lips at his truth just as he took a step closer, closing the gap even more.
Your eyes along with his closed because it was going to happen. At this moment.
Your face leaned against his, giving room between your lips that were both parted.
And you could feel your hands become sweaty. The nerves.
But John's hands were worse.
They always were.
Both of you nudged your faces slightly closer, trying to get the other to make the first move. It made you ache. The tension. The waiting. Because you could feel his light puffs of breath. And you could practically feel his soft lips that you had kissed years ago.
"John," you whispered once more, the word that made him finally make his move.
He leaned in, his lips just a few centimeters from years.
It was going to happen.
If it wasn't for the phone.
The screeching "Ring ring ring."
"You don't have to get it," you spoke under breath, praying - begging he wouldn't. You nudged your lips closer to his, trying to convince him to stay. But his jaw clenched at the options of kissing you or getting the phone.
He only got important phone calls.
But you were more important.
And so he brought his hand up to caress your cheek, bringing your head up higher to give him easier access to your lips.
"You know, John. I was thinking about Emma and I was wondering if-" Annie barged in, both you and John jumping and pulling away. You turned around to face the honey, your hands yanking at the cap to act casual. Like nothing happened.
But it wouldn't budge. You were too nervous.
John watched you struggle before saying, "You're supposed to untwist it."
"Right, course," you rushed out, untwisting it and dropping the cap to the floor, followed by a loud huff.
"Here," John spoke, picking up the cap and handing it to you. He noticed your shaky hands, pausing to give you the cap.
"Thanks," you mumbled, not taking a single glance at him and snatching it. But he was watching you the entire time. The way your hands fumbled just as they skimmed over his.
You were, for some reason, humiliated.
"What's going on in here?" Annie smirked, taking a quick glance between a blushing Deaky and a flushed you.
Her arms were crossed as she leaned against the doorframe. It reminded you of something Roger would do.
Annie scanned her eyes at you fumbling with the tea to Deaky who was leaning against the counter at the other end of the kitchen, his hands covering where his zipper was.
Annie knew why, her eyes scanning up from where his hands were awkwardly placed to meet with his. He blushed even harder as Annie squinted her eyes at him, letting him know she noticed.
But you hadn't. And he was hoping Annie wouldn't say anything.
"I- Nevermind," Annie smiled, taking a step back. "Forgot what I was going to say," she chuckled. "If you need me, I'll be in your room, John. Unless, you two need it-"
"I have to finish folding," you interrupted before she could make the situation even more awkward.
John's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his attention now all on you. He honestly thought you two would finish what you started. But now you were going to finish folding?
"I can do it-"
"No need to," you bitterly spoke in annoyance, pushing past Annie's shoulder, leaving John and Annie alone.
***
Everything took a turn from that point on.
You rarely saw Annie as she soon returned to her consistent traveling ways.
The kiss between you and Deaky never happened. And it was never spoken of.
Well, Deaky tried mentioning it once. Something about "before Annie interrupted us in the kitchen..." But you brushed it off and changed the subject to "how has the tour been?" The tour being Queen II.
And the topic of what you and John could have been was lost.
But between tour breaks, after parties, concerts, and any type of free time - Roger was always at your side. More than John was.
And you began to feel the butterflies. Well, they had been there since the beginning when you were with Roger, but now they never left. Even when he wasn't by your side. Just the thought of him made your heart skip a beat.
And sometimes when he went to hold your hand, you'd pull away, and he'd respond with, "Mine are sweaty too."
So he held your hand. Right in front of John.
John always noticed, but turned his head away. Or drowned it out with liquor.
And when things got rough - especially with your job and money - Roger was the first person you'd call to rant to. . And late at night when you couldn't fall asleep, Roger was the first person you'd call - if he hadn't called you first.
John had been replaced.
You even declined some of his calls or said, "Sorry, Roger's on the other end of the line. I'll call you later." But you rarely did. So John stopped calling and only answered for the few times you actually did call him back. He'd never miss an opportunity.
But the best part about calling Roger was when he was practicing the drums. He'd set the phone next to his drum set and yell through the phone, "What do you think of this!?" and he'd begin to bang on the drums - some new song he came up with.
You'd always giggle and say, "It sounds good!"
And he'd reply with a loud, "What?" before scooping up the phone and bringing it back up to his ear.
But sometimes there'd be nights where'd you call him and you could hear him breathing heavily with a few faint feminine giggles in the back. You were almost positive that a girl had even said, "Rog, come back to bed."
He would then apologize and say it wasn't a good time and that he'd call you the next morning - he always did. Every single time it broke your heart but you always responded with "ok" and pretended that you weren't hurt. You couldn't be hurt - Roger wasn't yours and you weren't his, even if you had felt the opposite. Even if both of you acted like you belonged to one another.
But he'd always make up for it with a few goofy, drunk phone calls late at night or early in the morning - depending on the time zone. He usually jumbled or slurred words about nonsense. Something about drumsticks.
But you loved it. He wasn't a mean drunk. He just became more mischievous. And honest. Sometimes too honest. Especially as time continued, you tried to go to more shows to support the boys - mainly John and Roger. And experiencing a drunk Roger in person with his honesty, he became to open about what you and him had done in the bedroom. And would go into detail about the things you did for him that he liked.
And even more of what he did that you liked. Kind of bragged about it even.
John usually left in a haste when Roger got like that, even after you scolded Roger multiple times to stop. But you can't argue with a drunk.
And sometimes, John did stay to listen. Gave himself ideas to think about at night to let off some frustrations after a show.
Or it helped him think of what could have came if you two did kiss in the kitchen. What it could have led to. What he would've done for you.
What you would've done for him.
But even with the butterflies. The nerves. The sweaty hands. The calls. The signs. You weren't sure if Roger saw you in that way. You weren't sure if you saw him in that way either.
Yes, there was constant flirting and fooling around - the night in the van even repeated itself in his dressing room before one of his bigger shows - but it was you who returned the favor.
You could tell he was nervous from the way he paced back and forth, nibbled on his fingernails, ran his fingers through his hair multiple times. You wanted him to feel at ease.
So you told him to sit down. And you got on your knees.
And a few weeks later, Roger confirmed his feelings for you when he returned home for a short break during the tour. He had invited you over to catch up on life - even though you spoke on the phone most nights.
You both had been lying on his couch caught up in a heated make out session. Both shirtless, you began to trail a line of kisses down his soft skin right below his belly button where your hands began fumbling with his button.
"Wait, wait, wait," he spat out, sitting straight up.
"What?" you smiled, sitting up with him.
But he just stared at you and looked nervous. Hesitant.
"What's the matter?" you nervously giggled.
His hand dug around the pocket of his pants before pulling out a gold necklace.
"What's this?" you asked, staring at the jewelry with intrigue. It was beautiful. Two small gemstones hanging at the end.
"A small gift," he confirmed, your eyes meeting up with his that had been watching you in awe. It was his way of confessing.
"A small gift?" you chuckled, a blush consuming your face as you understood, your hands analyzing the accessory.
"It's your birthstones. Didn't know November babies had two of em,'" he shrugged. "John helped me out," he awkwardly spoke, scratching the back of his neck.
He looked cute being nervous. His cheeks red, lips swollen - and a dark red from your lipstick that smudged them, and his pokes of blonde hair sticking out. It was cute.
"Thought your birthday was in May for some reason. John rolled his eyes when I told him. He said it was the eighth of November. Said you would prefer the topaz over the citrine. I got you both of them on the same necklace anyway."
You did prefer the topaz over the citrine.
"I can take one of them off-" he anxiously continued, seeing as your face look dissatisfied. You weren't at all. But the mention of John and all the details he knew about you. Not many people knew those miniscule facts about you. Not many people cared to. Except for John.
And now, maybe Roger.
"Don't, I love it," you smiled sweetly, letting out a small laugh as you thumbed away the red streak of lipstick from the corner of his mouth. He smiled under your touch before saying, "Turn around," in which you obliged.
"Kind of cliché with the birthstones and all-"
"Roger, I love them," you gushed, lifting up your hair.
But nothing happened for a few moments, Roger just staring at your neck and the chain already wrapped around it.
"Something the matter?" your voice peaked.
"Uh- the necklace. You're wearing one already. Is it alright if I take it off?" his hands reached for the small clip but didn't continue, waiting for your answer.
John's necklace.
The butterfly necklace.
John's small gift.
The gift that would soon be replaced with Roger's.
And for some reason, you hesitated. That by maybe taking it off, you were letting go of something else.
Clearing his throat, Roger said, "Well, you don't have to wear it now-"
"You can take it off," you confirmed, nodding your head lightly.
"Alright," Roger half smiled, happy that you were accepting instead of rejecting.
"How does it look?" you turned around, holding the small stones in your hands as the chain lay flat around your chest.
"Cute," he smiled. "Where'd you get this necklace from?" he asked. "The butterfly," and placed it down onto the coffee table.
"John," you gave a short smile. "Small gift..." you lightly nodded.
***
The end of the tour came - cut short due to Brian's illness. But Queen rocked out one last show in which you came to support them.
Brian immediately returned to his room after the show, Freddie invited a crowd of people to his hotel room, while you, John, and Roger stayed at the after party for a bit.
But Roger couldn't keep his hands off of you, neither could you. And John just wanted to get some sleep - and away from wishing it was him that touched you the way Roger did.
"I'll see you later, John?" you asked, hand in hand with the blonde drummer as you two walked down the hallway of the hotel.
John nodded at you with a forced smile as he glanced down at your hand that was wrapped around Roger's, while his hand was wrapped around the door handle of his room.
"Wake me up for breakfast tomorrow?" you smiled, trying to pay attention to what John would say, but Roger began kissing your neck as his hand slid down your back to squeeze your bum.
You let out a small giggle, pushing him over with a scold.
Roger was too lost in you to notice his surroundings, but you noticed the way John looked you. As he always did. But it wasn't hopeful anymore. It was sad. Hurt.
"Not here," you pressed, pushing on Roger's chest.
"Sorry," he rasped, taking a step back. He was surprised you still didn't let go of his hand, almost asking him to continue. He smirked.
"I can come in with you. Just for a little bit if you'd like. I know you're tired-" you spoke with hope.
Roger rolled his eyes in annoyance.
"No, I'm alright," your friend nodded, noticing Roger's facial expression. John didn't want to be bothersome.
"You sure? We can make it into a sleepover. Watch a movie, eat food, girl talk," you teased.
"What else do you girls do during sleepovers?" Roger slyly spoke, a taunting smile on his face as he brought you closer into his chest.
You giggled at his silly question, swatting his wandering hands away before composing yourself.
"There's only one bed," John replied stoically, killing the playful atmosphere.
An awkward tension arose between the big hallway that now felt thin.
Roger stood straight up, his hands both digging into his pockets. Your heart fluttered at the many implications "one bed" meant.
"...I'll wake you up for breakfast tomorrow," John finished, giving you a small nod as his hand dug around his pocket to search for the key.
"Okay," you smiled, Roger ending the conversation there as he dragged your hand in his over to his hotel room.
"Bye, D," you waved innocently, trudging behind a persistent Roger.
He wanted to wave back. To smile back. To act like a friend in that moment.
But it was hard for him to. Because he saw how oblivious you were. How naive you were as Roger pulled you away and to his room.
What was happening now was a repeat of the night before. And a few nights before. Just with different girls.
And he knew what was going to happen behind those closed doors. And he knew that you didn't.
But since the moment you threw that memory away with John in the kitchen - the one where John finally took his chance to kiss you, he knew it wasn't going to be him. Doesn't mean he didn't have hope it would be him. But he knew.
He knew you'd give yourself to someone else. To Roger. Whether you loved him or not.
He knew. He just didn't want to believe it.
And he watched you and his bandmate standing right in front of Roger's door, both of you giggling at anything the either one said. Didn't even have to be funny.
The guitarist walked into his room before he could witness anything else, slamming the door behind him in disgust.
***
"Well, this is me," Roger beamed, looking down at you with his hand still holding yours.
"Your hand is sweaty," you whispered, your fingertips covering your mischievous smile as you tried not to laugh.
"As are yours," he snarked with a half smile. "But where's your room? I can walk you down if you want-"
"Where's your key?"
"What?"
"Your key."
"My pocket."
Your fingers poked themselves through both of his pockets, digging around for the key. You felt a wrapper of some sort but ignored it. The key was your priority.
"Woah, woah, woah. What are you doing?" his voice cracked as he took a step back, his hands wrapping themselves around your wrists to pull them away.
"Getting out your key. I don't want to go to my room," you huffed.
"But there's only one bed..." he trailed off, remembering what John said.
"Never shared a bed with a woman before?" you taunted, squinting your eyes playfully and puckering your lips as you held the key out in front of his face exclaiming, "Aha!"
"Plenty," he spoke with pride.
Your hands were shaky from excitement. From adrenaline. And nerves. And the door wouldn't budge because your frantic hands kept missing the hole.
"I do mean it, (Y/N)," Roger spoke quietly from behind you with his chest pressed against your back, his palm resting atop of your hand. "There's only one bed."
"I know," you whispered back. You turned your head around slowly, your throat swallowing a small gulp before glancing up at Roger's lips that were so close to yours. And your heart fluttered once more at the implication.
And he could see that you understood it too, taking a step back to give you some space.
But you weren't sure when these things happened. If it was going to happen. You were clueless. And you had been in Roger's hotel rooms many times where there was just talking or other types of activities.
But never that.
So you didn't know if it was going to happen that night. So you played it off.
"Which means you can take the couch and I can take the bed," you snarked with a pursed smile, sliding the key in and out as you watched Roger roll his eyes in defeat.
"It's my room," he huffed.
"Fine, we can share the bed."
Roger smirked with victory. But it was too soon.
"With a pillow between us because of your wandering hands," you hissed playfully, dragging him into the room with you.
***
"You alright in there?" Roger called out from the bedroom, lazily trying to rip off his shoes. You had been in there for ten minutes just thinking.
"'M fine," you grumbled, scanning around the large bathroom.
Roger and the rest of the boys stayed in their own suites. Expensive suites. With expensive soaps, an uncountable number of towels, couches of brand names you've never heard of, a huge bar with a full refrigerator, and the shower. The amount of room in the shower. It was definitely too big for one person.
And the bed. Pillows upon pillows. Fluffy blankets. And like the shower, definitely too big for one person.
You didn't know what Roger had planned for the rest of the night. What other events would take place. But you knew Roger's wandering hands would eventually get to you. And after all the dancing and sweat you put yourself through, you had to hurriedly clean yourself up.
"Get lost in there or something?" he called out once more, followed by a thud that came from the throwing of his shoe at the ground.
(ok this part may be weird but it happened in the movie "a star is born" with lady gaga cleaning herself and i thought it was funny so this part in the bathroom should be taken in a humorous way as its taken from that inspo)
You ignored his words, too lost in trying to doll yourself up as much as you could. You snatched one of the towels, drenching the corner of it with warm water before swiping under your armpits.
But Roger wasn't as concerned about that part of your body.
You looked down at the dress you were wearing right between your legs before pulling it up and quickly swiping your lower region and throwing the towel at the ground.
Digging around your purse, you pulled out a small bottle of perfume. Roger's favorite one on you. You sprayed it a few times surrounding your body, and twice near your panties.
Setting it back into your purse, you noticed you were out of mints. A necessity you always had by your side until this time.
You resorted to the toothpaste that lay right next to the sink handle. But it only caught your eye for a second. Next to it took your entire attention.
A box of condoms.
Your heart skipped a beat. It almost seemed invasive, so you looked away and back at the tube of toothpaste. You used your finger to scrub the toothpaste against your teeth before quickly rinsing your mouth with mouthwash, your eyes scanning back and forth between the box and the sink.
It was too tempting. The box. It was asking you to check it out. And you honestly wondered what he used.
Your eyes stayed on the box this time. And you noticed more details. It was open. And a few closed wrappers were off to the side of it. Snatching it up, you read how many were in there.
It said 15. But you only counted 6.
He had already used 9.
And he had only been at the hotel for 2 days.
Maybe he had the box for a few weeks?
Highly unlikely.
You didn't care to read the rest of the details after only counting 6. You were jealous and annoyed.
And over it.
Rolling your eyes, you washed your hands before trying to fix the flyaways in your hair. But looking at yourself in the mirror and how hard you were trying to look good for Roger and how the box was already open - it was no use. He was finding it elsewhere. Maybe that's why he stayed around you so long. He could only stand you if he was at least getting it from someone else. The real deal.
You went to recount. Trying to defend Roger in someway. Maybe you counted wrong. Missed one. Dropped one?
But you lost count when the bathroom door swung open, revealing a shirtless, messy-haired Roger with a thin gold chain perfectly lying atop his prominent collarbones - still tense from the performance .
Your head whipped around, your cheeks flushing red and your eyes becoming wider.
A frightful gasp escaped your lips at the realization of what Roger caught you doing.
"Found my condoms, I see," Roger smirked, crossing his legs and arms as he leaned against the doorframe in a teasing manner.
"I - uh - I was just... looking - I thought..." There was no reasonable explanation or excuse, each word causing Roger's grin to become wider. He enjoyed seeing you nervous. Flustered. Because of him.
"There's six," you nodded awkwardly.
Six?
Even better answer.
Roger didn't understand.
"Fifteen..." you pointed at the little font on the box.
Roger lightly chuckled at the realization.
"Nosy one, aren't you?" he squinted his eyes playfully as he made his way over to you. He grabbed the box out of your hands to read the label for himself then poking his eye around to count just how many, plus the ones still on the counter.
"You're right. There are six. Good at math," he complimented before walking into the bedroom, your footsteps right behind his.
"Guess you weren't lying about Queen having lots of groupies," you piped, seeing what he would reveal.
"The groupies aren't all mine," he affirmed as he set the box down onto the nightstand, your eyes looking up at him. "Still got Brian, Freddie, and John..."
"Got the box about a week ago," he began to explain. "Gave one to a guy last night down the hall. Emergency type thing. Gave one to a friend of mine that came to the gig last night. Then Mary and Freddie," he grinned, taking a step closer to you. "One in my pocket," he dug into his pocket before pulling out the squared wrapper between his index and middle finger and throwing it next to the box.
You blushed realizing that was the wrapper you had touched when searching for his key.
"That's four so far," he clarified.
"And the other six?" you persisted, opposing his step by taking one back.
"Two were for John," he crinkled his eyebrows, almost shocked at your question as if you didn't know.
Two? John?
"John asked you for condoms?" you squeaked with surprise.
"Yeah," he answered. "Been seeing a girl lately. Just think it's a hookup though. Said he's been interested in another girl for a while now, but something happened. So now there's the new girl, I guess. He didn't tell us anything else. Kind of odd, though. Freddie wouldn't stop smiling when Deaky told us. Neither would Brian. Think I was missing something, I'm not sure," he spoke sincerely before shrugging.
"What does she look like?" you gulped.
"Scared he'll replace his best friend?" he joked.
But something hit you in the heart when he said those words. You felt as if you had switched the roles of Roger and Deaky. Replacing your best friend.
And the thought of John doing that to you.
No. Not possible. You denied it.
"You all right?" He broke you from your trance.
"What does she look like?" you repeated, more quiet this time. You tried not to sound sad. Or nosy. As if you cared. Even though you were sad, nosy, and did care.
"Can't really remember. Her hair was about your length and maybe a little lighter. Kind of reminded me of you, but I couldn't really tell as the room was dark and John was... in a rush," he winked. "He needed one before a gig a few nights ago. Then the next morning as well. Saw her one more time after that but I think John got his own by then." And after some thought he added, "Think her name might've been Maddie. He doesn't really bring her to anything. You know, privacy and all."
"And how come he hasn't told me?" your voice being defensive, and jealous. You were his best friend. And you believed as his best friend, you were supposed to know these things.
"I don't know..." Roger spoke with confusion. "Probably a groupie like I said. John isn't very boastful about those things. You should know. You're his best friend."
You nodded your head in agreement, giving up the conversation. Roger shouldn't have been the one to bicker with. It was John.
But then you realized the numbers still didn't add up. Three weren't explained. And you didn't want them to be.
Because looking at the drummer with a goofy smile on his face, gold hair sticking out from taking off his shirt, his tempting toned physique, the tight veins that ran through his arms that came from his hard taps of the drum, and the box of condoms waiting patiently behind his back - it all aligned perfectly. And looking at him, you felt at peace. Calm. Relaxed. Even with the butterflies that seemed to multiply in your stomach within that moment.
But it didn't help that the moonlight made its way through the window - something of a movie to put a spotlight on him and the box.
You didn't need to use one, though. You had been on the pill for a while now. Since things started getting more heated with Roger.
It was for a moment like this night.
"Everything okay?" he rasped, almost like a soft coo as he took a step closer.
"Mhm," you nodded, looking down.
"Hey," he coaxed, his hand reaching around the gems of your necklace. "You're still wearing it," he smiled. "The necklace I gave you."
"Course, why wouldn't I?" you wrapped your hand around his.
"Thought you might've found something better," he confessed with a small grin. "Or taken one of 'em stones off."
"I told you I loved it. Been wearing it everyday since you got me it. Two weeks," your fingers looping around the gems.
"Two weeks? Think you can go longer? Think it looks good on you," he bargained, squinting his eyes as if he were analyzing the necklace and your features.
"Depends..." you blushed.
"Depends?" he furrowed his eyebrows, removing his hand from your grasp. "On what?"
But you didn't know how to say it. If it was even right to say. You'd probably scare him away. This wasn't the time.
"Nothing, um," you cleared your throat, preparing to turn away.
There was a pause.
"...If I love you?" he asked as his hand wrapped around your wrist, his question being the answer you needed.
"Roger, you don't-" you fumbled, avoiding his gaze, but his fingertips came to caress your chin, lifting your face up to slowly look at him. "You don't have to say it. I didn't - I don't know what I-"
"Think I have for a while now," he whispered. "Think I did before I even got you the necklace. It's why I got you it anyway. Because I thought - because I did. Because I do," he admitted, his thumb scanning over your bottom lip.
A small gasp escaped your lips at his declaration.
Your hand brought his to caress your cheek as you looked down at the floor, taking everything in. Because Roger did sound sincere. The way he looked at you. Confessed to you. A sweet symphony.
Your eyes trailed up his body, zigzagging all around his torso and chest in shock as your heart raced. And your fingertips couldn't help but feel this beautiful man who claimed to love you, your thumb tracing the lines of his physique up and down, and brushing near his belly button before both of your palms trailed up to his chest, your thumbs lightly brushing against them.
He was soft. And warm. And you could feel his heart beating. But it wasn't like John's. Wasn't as fast.
Your lips parted at the feeling of Roger's skin. His touch.
"You're so beautiful, Roger," you spoke softly, your eyes still mesmerized at the sight in front of you. But you weren't just referring to his physical features. Because it was so much more than that.
He was beautiful as a person. Inside and out. His personality. Music talent. Smarts. Great humor. Pure affection. Mischievous, outgoing manners.
He was a very charismatic person. And everyone always seemed to admire him. To want to be with him. Or be him. To talk to him. He always had everyone's attention. The center of attention. But even with all of that, his attention had always been on you in a crowd of people that gawked over him. The way he'd hold your hand. Guide you through parties. Never left you out when someone important wanted to talk to him privately - he'd take you with if he could.
And his looks were just a bonus.
But all of it was beautiful.
And you loved it.
You loved him.
You loved Roger Taylor.
And what he said next confirmed the small doubt whether you should or shouldn't.
"I love you, (Y/N)," he whispered, almost so you wouldn't hear him. Reject him. "God," he looked down shyly before looking back up to your eyes. "Fell in love since the moment I saw you standing at the side of the stage. Then I found out you liked fur coats. Think that sealed the deal," he tried to make light of the situation.
You smiled softly at his words. The three words. The three words that cleared the doubt. It was the confirmation. And you felt light. And hazy. Because this was the moment.
With the trail of your index finger right down his chest, over his belly button, down his torso, and landing right atop of the belt of his black leather pants - you asked him to do the one thing you had been waiting for for so long.
"Show me, Roger," you breathed. "Show me you love me."
Roger slightly squinted his eyebrows before realizing what you were asking of him, his lips parting and his soft green eyes looking at you with love.
And the love you saw in his eyes turned into a mix of lust when you said the words he dreamed you'd always say to him.
"Make love to me."
***and thus, major smut and angst commence in chap 11.2***
***
end note: fight me. also, the very last quote is a major quote in this series. the last quote will be compared to a super similar quote that reader says in the future —- and it's a big deal with a lot of meaning behind it. SO BASICALLY THE LAST QUOTE HAS SOME MAJOR PARALLELISM IN THE FUTURE. ****THIS CHAPTER WAS WONKY BECAUSE I HOPPED AROUND THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN ROG READER AND DEAKY JUST TO SHOW THE PROGRESSION. I ENVISION MY BOOKS AS MOVIES AND MOVIES HAVE A LOT OF TIME SKIPS. IF YOU R CONFUSED ABOUT ANYTHING, ITLL MOST LIKELY BE EXPLAINED EVENTUALLY***