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#queen fanfiction
ilovejohnsbeefylegs · 10 months
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John study cuz I luv him
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rogertaylorshbb · 1 year
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"after concert" roger Taylor x reader imagine
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hi, this is just a short imagine I have been working on. I've been trying to work and get better on my smut writing skills. the smut I've written in the past has been Absolutely horrible, don't know how anyone actually even read it. if you wanna tell me your thoughts about if its good smut or not, please comment!! but anyway enjoyy!!♥♥
Roger came up from behind you, his loud footsteps and heavy breathing making his presence known. You could see his sweat dripping down his chest as he whipped his sweat with a towel. Roger groaned, staring at you, he walked over to you gently placing his hands on your shoulders. “You look nice,” “Mhm, you like this outfit?”. “Yea, makes you look so fuckable” he groaned desperately. Roger smiled, his tongue grazing the top of his teeth. “Hey, why don't you be a good girl for me?” he whispered. You nodded, guessing what he had in mind.
Roger slowly started to undo the buttons on your shirt, his hands sloppy with frustration but once he got the buttons undone he was fast to cup your breast desperately as he softly let his fingers wander passionately. You moaned over the sensation of Roger's overworked hands gripping at you. He Lightly took your nipple between his teeth as he trailed down your body.
You slid your skirt off and Roger smiled.
 “Good girl,” 
He reached for the sides of the chair you were on, kneeling to the floor.
Roger sensually glided his fingertips along the inside of your thigh, a shaky gasp escaping your lips.
“fuck-”
“Already so wet,” Roger groaned.
roger let his hands grip your things sucking on the soft skin, you could feel there was gonna be marks the next day
You whined because of his teasing. 
“Don't worry, by the end you'll be a soaking incoherent mess” 
Roger then slid two fingers into your cunt slowly, then Sucking harshly over your sensitive clit. 
You moaned uncontrollably. 
His perfect stamina and speed makes your drip onto his hands. 
He smirked seeing you frantically gasp and tremble. 
You could feel his fingers pushing into you as his swollen lips and wet tongue roughly sucked at your clit. 
You could feel yourself reaching climax but to your disappointment he moved his mouth away from your clit, and pulled his two fingers out from you as a wet sound followed.
“Roger please” you desperately begged. 
“Don't worry I'm not gonna stop, just figuring out what way I should let you finish”
You tilted your head back. “God” you breathed.
Roger placed his hands on your hip-bones pushing himself up. You melted yourself into the chair as he looked deeply into your eyes. 
“Please, roger, just fuck me”. 
“sit on the make-up desk”
You quickly stood up propping yourself up onto the desk.
He carelessly took his clothes off. 
As he walked close to you, you ran your fingers over his hard penis. “Uh uh” he tutted “you can suck me off after if you want to, but now, I just wanna be inside you”. 
Roger looked into your eyes.
He grabbed you hips needlingly and slid himself into you, your loud gasp making him chuckle. 
Roger's head fell forward to your chest, his hair falling in front of his face as he closed his eyes in pleasure.
He started to pound into you recklessly but still so loving at the same time. Letting his hair fall onto his face and he groaned louder. 
“I- fuck- it feels so- jesus christ” you stuttered. 
Roger roughly grunted as his fingertips dug into your hips.
You reached your orgasm, your fingernails digging into his back as his warm breath breathed into your shoulder.
Roger then jolted as he came into you, his soft groans and whimpers.
“Fuck, your so amazing” he whispered his eyes scanning your body.
He slowly slid out of you, his fingertips touching your wetness. Roger examined your cum covering his hands. “I'll get you a towel”.
Roger picked up a clean towel and carefully whipped all the mess off you including his cum. After he picked up his pants and underwear sliding them back on. 
You walked over to him. 
“Are you tired?”
“A bit” Roger chuckled, “why?”
“Well remember what you said earlier? About me being able to suck you off…..only if your still-” 
“y/n, i'm never too tired for that”
He slid his pants back off falling into the chair. 
I've tried my best with this, but I still think it feels a bit awkward 😭. I hope it is good to the person reading this. I'm also gonna write part 2! anyway, again, hope you enjoyed!!
@sarcastic-sourwolf
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johnica-weeks · 4 months
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Johnica Week 2024
When is the event? 📆
This year's Johnica Week will start on Thursday 18th January and end on Sunday 21st January! For the first time the event will START on their wedding anniversary and continue throughout the weekend 🥰 But as always, don't worry if you're late! You can keep sending your contributions after the last day, these are simply indicative days to gather all together 💕
Where? 🔎
Here on Tumblr, on AO3 and also on Instagram for visual artists!
💚 Use the tag #JohnicaWeek2024 in your entries here and on Instagram!
📚 > Here is the AO3 COLLECTION where to post your fics! <
💚 Tag @eileen-crys and/or @johnica-weeks in your works so I can read, see and share them!
📚 At the end of the event I’ll make a Tumblr masterlist with all the works!
2020 Masterlist | 2021 Masterlist | 2022 Masterlist | 2023 Masterlist
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The Theme 🎁
The 49th Wedding Anniversary comes soon before the huge milestone of the 50 years together, and it's usually represented by various symbols that I added to the prompts: Zircon, Orchids, the color Purple, and luxurious gifts. The main theme of this year's event is GIFTS, the act of giving the partner something material or abstract as an act of selflessness, that can have various meanings and various reactions.
Like all the prompts, it’s up to you to follow the theme or not, consider it just as a general theme that you could build your entries around. I chose some prompts that might fit this theme, that are about gifts as physical objects or as ideas for situations or alternative worldbuildings.
How? 🖼
You're encouraged to join with your preferred creative media or challenge yourself with something new! Fanfictions, drawings, comics, poetry, collages and photo edits, moodboards, anything you like! More in the RULES below.
Like all Ship Weeks, this is a fandom event to share love and creativity related to a particular couple, so be sure to engage with the entries and support all the artists and writers that chose to join! Reblog, leave likes/kudos and comment on the artworks to keep the fandom alive! 💜💖💕💜💖💕
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Day 1 • 18 January (Anniversary!)
Flowers: Orchids are symbols of love, beauty, refinement, fertility, strength and resilience, and mature charm.
Surprise gift!
Handmade by the other
Young, poor and happy together
"I've got a loving wife and a couple of kids at home, that'll do me!"
Day 2 • 19 January
The color: Purple can evoke spirituality, mystery, royalty, imagination, compassion, fantasy, wisdom, creativity and sensitivity.
A kinky gift 😏
Concert tickets
Radio interview
“When you love something, you protect it with your entire life. Right now, my guts tell me to do the same.”
Day 3 • 20 January
Gemstone: Zircon zircon is a talisman of travelers. They count on it to lead to a shelter and show the right way. Plus, it is able to protect from injuries. Women used the gem to ease childbirth, drive away evil spirits, enhance health, get wisdom, and attract good luck.
Rejecting a gift
Torn between options
Dreaming and daydreaming
"You remembered something I’d mentioned a million years ago!"
Day 4 • 21 January
Celebration: Luxury the 49th wedding anniversary is the step right before the big 50, also known as the Golden wedding. All the symbols represent the wealth of experience a couple has after being married for nearly five decades. Two people who are willing to work together and compromise and do all the things that make a marriage successful deserve to celebrate with a bit of Luxury.
Matching pyjamas
Spa experience / Pampering one another
Knowing each other like an open book
"Oh my, this must have been expensive!" "Nothing is expensive enough for you, my love."
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What can you do? ✒
You can join with fanfics, edits and moodboards, drawings of all kinds and if you want to sing or play an instrument please feel free to!
The requirements are:
John and Veronica Deacon as the main pairing;
Your love and creativity! 🥰
You can write/draw:
Fics with and without accurate settings and timelines;
Alternative Universes (AU) of any kind and genre, mixed or not with the prompts (ex. Fem!John AU + coffee shop, A/B/O AU + Superpowers);
“What if"s;
Genderswap/genderbending of any kind;
Other Queen members, friends, pairings, family, poly ships (that have to involve both John and Veronica!), OCs, etc…
Fluff, angst, crack, hurt/comfort, action, mystery, sexy times… anything you fancy!
🔥 NSFW is allowed with PROPER TAGS! IMPORTANT note: please interact with NSFW only if you’re +18! 🔞
… and more! If you’re unsure feel free to ask!
We’re here to celebrate John and Veronica Deacon, not to create drama or fights nor to disrespect their privacy. So please be considered about your entries and comments and always try to be respectful to John, to Veronica, to their family and friends, to the people who ship them or ship other couples and to your audience.
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HOW to post? 🤔
You can post your entries here on Tumblr, on AO3 and on Instagram, using the hashtag #JohnicaWeek2024 and tagging me.
If you prefer, you can post anonymously on AO3, HERE is an easy guide on how to do it!
If you’re on Tumblr and want to post a fic anonymously please send me a DM and I’ll post it on @johnica-weeks on your behalf, crediting it as Anonymous author! I will also post fics from Anon authors posted on AO3 here on tumblr on Anon's behalf.
🔥 TAG your work APPROPRIATELY! This includes all potential triggers and smut. On Tumblr you can include the appropriate warnings at the top of the fic followed by a "keep reading” cut (you can add it in desktop version AND on mobile by writing :readmore: in a new line!) Also be sure to tag the rating of your fic, the genre and the themes of your story, enough to help the readers!
✨ If you’re still unsure, HERE’s a useful guide on how to tag your works!
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As a reader... 📖
If you’re a fan of John, of Johnica or simply like to read fanfictions, positive interactions are always much welcomed! Support the authors by leaving likes, a comment (even a little one!) and sharing their work. On AO3 you don’t need an account to leave Kudos and Comments! (Unless the author has willingly prevented guests to comment). To leave a comment on AO3 you simply have to choose a temporary mail and set your email to get a notification for an eventual reply.
If a work is not tagged appropriately, you can reach out to me via DM and I’ll warn the author. If anything makes you uncomfortable, simply close the work! Do not engage by leaving nasty comments or messaging the author!
🔥 IMPORTANT!!! 🔥
During the event, if any of you/your entries gets hateful comments or messages towards you, your entries, the Johnica ship, the event or other creators, please DELETE the hateful comment/message right away with no interactions and let me know! This is no place for haters, just for creativity and love. If you see a hateful comment on other works do not engage, instead leave a positive comment to the same work and support the author! 💜
Realistic or not, remember that fanfictions are, by definition, FICTIONAL and not meant to be a documentary! There are lots of things we don’t know about John and Veronica’s private lives and don’t want to go in too deeply, gossip or speculate about them, so feel free to fly with your fantasy and let your creativity flow! 😊💖 Most of all… have fun, respect each other and support each other’s works!
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Dividers and graphics by @firefly-graphics and @johnica-weeks. As always for any info and question feel free to send an ask or a DM!
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Hormones - Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader FanFiction
Summary/AN: I initially intended this to be smut or implied smut, but it came out rather fluffy. I might write a part two if people are interested. The reader is horny and on her period, and has something to share with Roger.
Warnings: mention of periods and pregnancy (non-descrip.), sexual innuendos, etc. Mainly fluff.
Word count: Aprox. 700
Only four months into your relationship you had a pregnancy scare with Roger. Luckily, it was just your period acting up due to stress, but you still decided to go on birth control. Birth control is more acceptable these days, so you were able to get prescribed it rather easily.
Your doctor said, if you’re lucky your period will stop completely. You still got yours but the pill helped regulate your cramps and lowered your flow a bit. You still had horrendous mood swings. Whenever you were in your period you would get insanely horny as well. Hormones are hormones, what would you expect?
You got your monthly yesterday and let Roger know. He always seems a little bummed when you get it, partly because that meant most sexual things were off the table, but also because it pained him to see you in pain.
Roger was sat on the couch, T.V. on a low volume as he flips through a magazine. “These reporters are rubbish. They aren’t reporting anything!” he scowled as he read through the article about the band.
You walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving his cheek a quick peck. “Whatcha doing?” you ask, and Roger tosses the magazine away.
“Just reading complete and utter lies,” he mumbles, giving the magazine a side eye. He brushes off the ill feelings about the article and turns his head to meet yours, quickly kissing your lips.
“What’s up?” he asks, and you smile. “Nothing much,” you explain. You find your way around the couch and land in Roger lap.
“I know you’re in your period, Y/N,” he says. “You know how I feel about that stuff.” Roger wasn’t entirely grossed out by menstruation, but he felt that you should be taken care of and rest while on your period, not handled like some one night stand.
“Okay, Mr. Jumping-to-conclusion,” you huff. Roger rolls his eyes with a smile. “I’m not saying that you had that intention, but you know how riled up I get when you sit on my lap like this,”
He was right. If you were him, you wouldn’t be able to resist when you had a breathtaking girl straddling your hips who wouldn’t hesitate to start grinding on you at any moment.
You shrug. “Well sorry that I want to show my beautiful boyfriend some love and affection,” you say, crossing your arms in a dramatic way, and Roger laughs. “Don’t be like that,” he chuckled, giving you a kiss which breaks you out of your bit.
“What can I help you with, love?” he asks. You wrap your arms around his neck again, gently gazing into his.
“I want to have a baby,”
Rogers' soft gaze turns wide. “Y-you want to have a baby?” he stammers his words as he confirms your question. You nod and your smile slowly fades. “Do you not want one?” you ask. Roger quickly shakes his head. “No, no. Of course I want a baby. I’d love to have a baby,” his hands slowly move down to your stomach where your child would be resting. “I just- got caught off guard,” he explains.
You smile at his hands on your stomach, imagining you round with his child. “I want your baby.”
“Is this because you’re horny?” he questions. “Maybe,” you say. “But who says a baby has to be made out of pure, non-sexual love, and not lust?”
Roger nods at your point. “Well you’re going to have to stop taking your pills if you’re serious about this,” he explains. “I’m serious,” you tell him.
You've been thinking about this for a long time, actually. Even before you began dating you imagined yourself round with Rogers child, and his strong arms wrapped around to cup your stomach.
His lips suddenly crash with yours. He smiled against the kiss, humming as his hands moved up to grip your hair lovingly. You breathlessly part from the kiss. Roger leans his forehead against yours. “We’re gonna have a baby…” he whispers, and you smile. “Mhm…” you hum as his hands gently hold the non-existence fetus in your stomach. “You’re gonna be the best daddy there ever was…”
You hear a small snicker from Roger. “Trying to get me even more riled up?” he jokes. You hit his shoulder and laugh. “Shut up,” you say. He grins and gives you another kiss. “And you’re going to be the best mommy in the world, I promise…”
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Headlong at The Brixton Academy
This gif set was created by yours truly and is dedicated to @all-thebeans and @bijou-in-another-world 😘😘
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bijouxcarys · 2 months
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Allure (Brian May x fem!Reader)
Masterlist
This has been on my Ao3 since June, but I thought I’d put it on here properly. This is probably the filthiest Bri fic I’ve ever written… I’m proud of it🥲
NSFW, minors dni
Summary: You slip up at work. Luckily for you, Brian May can get anyone out of anything…
Tags: @whothefuckisanja @celestial-dragoness you don’t have to read this, but I thought I’d tag you just in case 🥹
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It started off as any other day. Up at 7am, shower by 7:30am, breakfast by 8am, out the door by 8:30am.
Except, this wasn't an ordinary day. Not by a long shot.
I guess I should have been more prepared for the fact that my job as a journalist meant I'd have to speak to some pretty well-known folk here and there. Granted, I was only an apprentice journalist, but I should have known it wouldn't be so easy.
There I was, stood by my front door, at 8:31, debating whether or not I was right for this career. And I was tempted to turn, disrobe, and bury myself in the covers of my bed until the apocalypse came.
My mentor, Candice, had thirty years on me, and twenty years of experience in the field, so I trusted that she would be blunt and honest with me about what I should expect when interviewing somebody of high status. She just didn't warn me about how important this experience would be for me.
But then again, I'm not sure anybody could have prepared me for what was to come.
I managed to make it to the car park, however, of where Candice and I had set to meet, just shy of ten o'clock. I still wasn't 100% sure where abouts in London we were heading that day, as I was just told to bring an overnight bag due to the possibility of having to stay at a hotel, depending on how long we would be. Turns out, we were going to Germany by the Eurotunnel.
But, man, did I know who I'd be in the presence of that day. I'd thought about nothing else for weeks.
It was June 14th, 1998 – Brian May had just released his second solo album 'Another World' two weeks earlier, and it was my job to assist on the interview he was set to do with Isabelle Brinkman. She wasn't that much older than me, but definitely had more experience. I wasn't at that point in my career yet where I could conduct interviews myself. I just had to sit on the side and naively watch as somebody who could do the job better did it instead. To top it all off, I was merely there to take notes from a translator, as I did not understand a single word of German. That made it all the more terrifying for me. Perhaps they just wanted to see how I would adapt to a foreign setting.
As Candice and I stepped foot into the studio in which TMF conducted their interviews, a sense of anticipation permeated the air. Our rendezvous with Isabelle awaited us, serving as a prelude to the highly anticipated interview. While the interview itself was schedules for later that afternoon, the studio surroundings provided me with ample opportunity to acclimate myself to the dynamic atmosphere that awaited me. It was a chance to familiarise myself with the intricacies of the environment I was about to enter—a world where words held immense power and where every question had the potential to unravel hidden truths.
As the minutes ticked away, my mind oscillated between nervous excitement and a profound realisation. I would soon find myself in the presence of none other than Brian May himself—a legendary figure whose musical contributions had resonated with generations. The magnitude of this encounter began to sink in, and with it came a mix of awe and trepidation. Thoughts swirled in my mind as I pondered the upcoming exchange—how would I react in his presence? Would I have able to articulate myself with the clarity and precision they deserved? Hopefully I wouldn't have to actually speak to him... Just being in his presence was privilege in itself.
Yet, amidst these swirling thoughts, a flicker of determination emerged. I reminded myself that this was an extraordinary opportunity—an invitation to engage with a living legend, to witness him delve into the depths of his creative process, and to extract insights that would captivate audiences around the world. With each passing moment, I sought solace in the knowledge that, despite any apprehension, this experience was a testament to the trust placed in me by my more-established peers. I was being given a chance to contribute, even if it was from the side, to the legacy of Brian May—and artist who, I believed, had shaped the very fabric of music.
As the hours stretched before me, I endeavoured to channel my nervous energy into thorough preparation. I immersed myself in research, diving into Brian May's two albums, and reading through archived interviews he had done before, mostly so I could strike out any repetitious questions Isabelle may have had prepared for him. But I also was just intrigued by him, and I wanted to know what I was going to be in the presence of. Through my research, every lyric, every note, every word, became a mosaic of inspiration.
The late 80s proved to be quite a tumultuous period for him regarding his relationship with the media, and his relationships in general. An intricate dance between his public persona and the unyielding scrutiny of the media.
I wasn't totally naïve. I was acutely aware of the parasitic nature that permeated our realm—a cesspool of opportunistic souls who revelled in tearing down the very individuals they claimed to admire. Yet, I steadfastly refused to succumb to that dark allure. My fascination lay in unravelling the enigmatic tapestry of these extraordinary beings, basking in the brilliance of their craft, rather than dismantling their lives for the mere pleasure of it.
To me, celebrities were not objects to be consumed, but multifaceted individuals with their own joys, struggles, and insecurities. Their private lives, as tempestuous or serene as they might be, had no bearing on the rest of the world. Behind the glamour of their fame, they were simply human beings, not so dissimilar from you and me, navigating the labyrinthine paths of existence.
I approached my work with an unwavering respect, seeking to bridge the gap between the public and these luminaries, offering glimpses into their creative realms rather than prying open their vulnerabilities. I yearned to understand the essence of their artistry, to unearth the inspiration that fuelled their endeavours, and to convey their stories with the reverence they deserved. It was a mission guided by empathy, driven by an insatiable hunger to celebrate and preserve the legacies these individuals were shaping. Not destroy them.
While others revelled in salacious scandals and gossip-laden headlines, I found solace in the sacredness of their artistic endeavours. I revelled in the melodies that stirred souls, the words that painted vivid landscapes, and the performances that transported audiences to ethereal realms. It was this inherent love for the craft, this yearning to explore the inner workings of these extraordinary talents, that propelled me forward amidst the chaos.
So, the public image of Brian May that derived from the late 80s and the scandal involving his affair with his current partner, Anita Dobson—the scandal that whipped the media landscape into a frenzy wasn't of interest to me. I clung to my convictions, navigating the treacherous terrain with a blend of naivety and determination. I understood that the world I inhabited was stained by the shadows of exploitation, but I remained resolute in my pursuit of genuine connection—the kind that transcended gossip and scandal, diving deep into the heart of creativity, and fostering a genuine appreciation for the luminous souls who graced our stages and screens.
However, that changed slightly once I actually saw the man.
As I found myself standing in the formidable presence of Brian May, a wave of energy cascaded over me, leaving me utterly entranced. It was as if the very air crackled with a magnetic force that defied description. In that moment, any semblance of composure or rational thought disintegrated before my eyes. Within the first fifteen minutes of his arrival at TMF, Brian May effortlessly shattered my preconceived notions, transforming into an awe-inspiring figure who commanded attention and reverence.
The sight of him was nothing short of breathtaking—an embodiment of perfection that seemed plucked from the realms of mythology. His chiselled features bore the unmistakable mark of divinity, as if the gods themselves had sculpted his visage with meticulous care. The symphony of his presence reverberated through the room, overpowering every other sensory experience. It was impossible to avert my gaze as he greeted everyone on set; I witnessed the personification of physical beauty in its purest form.
I didn't approach the welcome committee. I stood as far away from them as I could, trying to act inconspicuous and making myself as invisible as possible as I observed.
A cascade of dark curls framed his face and sat, slightly draping, over his shoulders, their lustrous strands captivating the light and casting an ethereal glow around him. His eyes, a mesmerising kaleidoscope of celestial depth and hazel intensity, even from this distance, seemed to hold the wisdom of ages. They were windows into the realm of profound emotion, reflecting a captivating blend of passion, intellect, and sensitivity.
Every contour of his face, every sculpted angle, exuded an aura of strength and grace—a testament to the artistic precision with which he was formed. His strong jawline bespoke of resilience and determination, while his lips, seemingly touched by the same gods that created his being, were etched with a subtle hint of enigmatic allure. And when he smiled, it was as if the sun had emerged from behind the clouds, illuminating the room with an effervescent radiance.
I instinctively lowered my head, trying to blend into the background as he navigated his way through the crowd in the studio, a sea of eager faces vying for his attention. Perched on a small stood, clutching a notebook and pen tightly in my hands, I silently prayed that I would go unnoticed. The last thing I wanted was to embarrass myself in front of him. It was safer to keep my distance and retreat into the safe haven of my own fantasies.
"Didn't fancy joining the rest of them?"
His voice, soft and melodious, pierced through the clamour of the room, sending a shiver down my spine. My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach, leaving me momentarily breathless. Summoning every ounce of courage, I swallowed hard and took a deep, steadying breath, lifting my gaze to meet the man who had taken my breath away mere moments ago. From my seated position, his commanding presence loomed above me, radiating an aura of undeniable power. I had to tilt my head upwards, straining my neck to meet his piercing gaze.
"I'm Brian," he introduced himself, extending his hand towards me. My throat felt dry and raspy, a nervous rasp that I quickly cleared before attempting to speak. I timidly reached out, expecting a perfunctory handshake, but instead, my smaller hand was enveloped firmly within his, a testament to his unyielding determination.
"I know who you are, Mr. May," I managed to murmur, hoping he would perceive my passive greeting, one that he had received from everyone else, as a signal to proceed with the scheduled interview alongside Isabelle, who was comfortably seated on the cream-coloured sofa amidst the orangey décor of the set.
"Don't you have a name?" His low chuckle reverberated through the air, adding an unexpected layer of complexity to the encounter. I could feel his gaze penetrating through me, raising an inferno of sensations within. It was both exhilarating an unnerving.
"What?" I stammered, my voice betraying my awe, caught off guard by his presence.
"What's your name, love?" he inquired, his words laced with a mixture of warmth and intrigue.
"Y/N," I replied, my voice barely audible, resembling a small squeak that escaped from my lips.
He didn't respond immediately, but a final squeeze of my hand conveyed more than words ever could. A smile graced his lips, a smile that could rival the radiance of the sun before he turned to continue his path towards Isabelle.
I quickly realised that resistance was futile. The power he held over me was undeniable, a force that stripped away my inhibitions and left me vulnerable, willingly surrendering to his captivating energy. The sheer magnetism and allure he emanated transcended mortal boundaries, weaving a spell that ensnared me completely. Every facet of his being—the physical, the intellectual, the artistic—melded seamlessly, forging an embodiment of perfection that surpassed the realm of ordinary mortals.
From that moment on, I understood that my perception of beauty had irrevocably changed. Before me stood a true titan, a modern-day manifestation of the gods themselves.
During the course of the interview, Brian effortlessly settled to the plushness of the sofa, exuding an air of both confidence and ease. His body language commanded attention, with one arm casually draped across the backrest, and his other leg bent upon the cushions, positioning himself towards Isabelle with captivating allure. However, my attempts to absorb the content of their conversation proved futile as my gaze became entranced by his mesmerising presence.
From my vantage point, I relished the opportunity to observe him from a distance, allowing my eyes to linger appreciatively on his impeccable attire. A navy-blue two-piece suit enveloped his frame with sartorial perfection, accentuating his refined taste and sense of style. Beneath the well-tailored blazer, a crisp white shirt peeked through, its top buttons undone, revealing a tantalising glimpse of his sun-kissed upper chest. The subtle contrast of his slightly tanned skin against the pure white fabric was a testament to his natural allure and radiance.
Adorning his neck were two carefully chosen necklaces, their delicate details harmonising flawlessly with his complexion. Each pendant seemed to dance in unison, subtly emphasising his features and drawing attention to his undeniable charm. The interplay between these intricate accessories and the warm tones of his skin created a symphony of visual aesthetics, highlighting his magnetic presence.
Amidst the flurry of the interview, my eyes were irresistibly drawn to his captivating appearance. Every intricate detail of his attire beckoned for closer inspection, each aspect a testament to his impeccable style and timeless elegance. The room faded into the background as my gaze became fixated on the contours of his form, the way his clothing accentuated his stature, and the natural grace with which he carried himself. It was a visual feast, an opportunity to savour the beauty that surrounded him, and I couldn't help but be captivated by his magnetic charm.
Fortuitously, a small earpiece nestled in my ear, providing a direct channel to the translation of Isabelle's introduction and any other German dialogue that followed. But more significantly, it granted me an intimate connection to the melodic cadence of Brian May's voice. The mere thought of his voice coursing through that earpiece ignited a surge of anticipation within me. Little did I know that the experience that awaited me would transcend all expectations.
As Isabelle initiated the conversation, a symphony of words flowed through the airwaves and gently caressed my eardrums. And then, there it was—Brian May's voice, like warm butter gliding smoothly across my senses. The velvety timbre carried a magnetic quality that effortlessly captivated the listener. Each word resonated with a seductive charm, a richness that wove a tapestry of emotions within me.
The power of his voice was unparalleled, evoking a multitude of sensations that transcended the realm of rationality. It wrapped around my consciousness, enveloping me in a cocoon of warmth and enchantment. Every syllable held a certain allure, drawing me deeper into his world, where time seemed to stand still.
The boundaries of reason crumbled, leaving only the ethereal essence of his voice, a sonic embrace that caressed the very core of my being. It was a voice that defied age, carrying the wisdom and maturity of a man who had traversed five decades of life. Each information exuded a richness and depth, a testament to a life well-lived and experiences etched into the fibres of his being.
As his words reached my ears, I found myself spellbound, unable to resist the intoxicating allure that emanated from his every utterance. It was as though his voice held the power to awaken desires and emotions that lay dormant until that very moment. The experience was nothing short of transformative.
In that fleeting moment, I could have sworn that Brian's hazel eyes, though perhaps coincidental, locked onto mine from a distance. It could have been a passing thought, a random gaze that happened to intersect with mine, but the impact was undeniable. The weight of his attention, even if momentary, unleashed a surge of emotions within me.
Under the piercing intensity of his hazel gaze, a tempest of sensations coursed through my body, sparking an unfamiliar and overwhelming response. A wave of desire washed over me, as if an invisible force had taken hold of my very core. Unbeknownst to him, his mere presence had ignited a primal longing that rendered me powerless, leaving me trembling in its wake.
In that profound instant, my purpose became blurred, and the world around me faded into insignificance. The boundaries of my job seemed trivial, overshadowed by an insatiable craving to bask in Brian May's dominance and surrender myself to his every whim. The realisation struck me with an intensity that was as terrifying as it was intoxicating.
The clenching of my thighs, an involuntary response to the overwhelming desire that surged within me, was a physical manifestation of the inner turmoil I grappled with. It was a battle between reason and raw passion, where reason ultimately stood no chance against the allure of Brian's commanding presence.
Throughout the unfolding interview, a subtle dance of power and desire materialised between Brian and I. With each passing moment, I became increasingly aware that that gaze that I had noticed before was in fact for me.
It was a captivating display of dominance, a silent declaration that sent a shiver down my spine.
As the questions flowed, Brian's eyes kept meeting mine with a compelling force, even with myself being well-hidden behind the camera set-up. His presence enveloped me, it was a game of seduction, a battle for control, as his penetrating eyes sought to unravel the depths of my desires.
With each subtle shift of his body, a wave of power emanated from him, asserting his dominance over the room. His confident posture and deliberate movements spoke volumes, conveying an unspoken command that ignited a fire within me. I found myself willingly succumbing to his overwhelming presence, yearning to explore the unspoken desires that lingered in the air.
Through the veil of professionalism, his eyes whispered secrets that stirred a primal response within me. In their depths, I glimpsed a hunger, a hunger that mirrored my own, as if he were daring me to embrace the intoxicating allure of submission. It was a dance of power and surrender, an unspoken invitation to explore the depths of passion under his watchful gaze.
He spoke with Isabelle, showing her the album cover, his fingers grazing over parts that he detailed. But the electricity that crackled between us grew more potent with each passing second. His dominant presence commanded my attention, drawing me further into a world where his desires and mine entwined. In the recesses of his eyes, I discovered a realm where control was relinquished, and the boundaries of pleasure were pushed to their limits.
But as the interview continued, I was left with a lingering uncertainty. Was it merely a game of dominance, a tantalising tease to stoke the flames of desire? Or did his eyes convey a deeper truth, an unspoken invitation to submit to his commanding presence? Or, perhaps, I had been utterly spellbound by that man's presence that every little thing he did translated as sexual and intoxicating seduction. The questions lingered, suspended in the air, as the energy between us remained tantalisingly unresolved.
As the interview drew to a close, a lingering sense of anticipation remained. He had created uncharted territory, without him even knowing—unless he did know... I'm still not sure.
Suddenly, the world around me seemed to fade into the background as Brian's presence intensified. Time slowed to a crawl, and every detail of his captivating demeanour etched itself into my memory. Isabelle's closing remarks echoes in the room, yet my attention remained fixated on the enigmatic figure before me.
A mischievous smirk played upon Brian's lips, radiating confidence and a hint of playful intrigue. His eyes, like pools of intensity, surveyed the room with a subtle air of dominance. A glass of water rested in his hands, his long, slender fingers tracing a mesmerising path along the rim, leaving a trail of anticipation in their wake.
It was then that a startling realisation washed over me. Throughout the entire interview, my hand had unconsciously clung tightly to the pencil, rendering it immobile. As I reluctantly tore my gaze away from Brian's captivating presence, I glanced down at my neglected notebook, only to discover its pristine pages untouched by a single word.
A mix of awe and bewilderment coursed through my veins. How had I become so utterly transfixed by his presence that I had neglected my professional duties? It was as if time had suspended itself, and my sole purpose had shifted from capturing his words to capturing the essence of his being.
The blank pages of my notebook served as a stark reminder of the power he had over me, and in that moment, I understood the depth of his allure and the undeniable impact he had on those in his orbit. As the weight of the realisation settled upon me, a mixture of embarrassment and fascination flooded my senses.
An overwhelming wave of panic washed over me as I sat there, paralysed by the realisation of my negligence. The enchantment that had held me captive for the past twenty minutes shattered, leaving me vulnerable to the harsh reality that awaited. Candice, my ever-watchful colleague, would undoubtedly discover my failure, and her disapproval would be swift and scathing.
My heart pounded against my ribcage like a drum, its frantic beats mirroring the chaotic thoughts racing through my mind. How could I have allowed this to happen? The dream of advancing my career, of one day becoming a renowned journalist, now seemed like an elusive mirage, fading away before my very eyes.
Self-recrimination echoes through my thoughts like a relentless chorus. The weight of my own stupidity bore down upon me, squeezing the air from my lungs. I berated myself for succumbing to the allure of Brian's presence, for allowing it to eclipse my responsibilities. The consequences of my foolishness loomed over me, casting a shadow of doubt and regret.
The sound of Candice's voice calling my name snapped me back to the present. Her stern tone pierced through the haze of my thoughts, jolting me to action. It was time to face the consequences, to confront my failure head-on, and accept the repercussions of my actions.
I watched as Candice approached with an expectant expression. Dread coiled in the pit of my stomach, knowing all too well what awaited me. With every step she took, my heart sank deeper into the depths of remorse.
Candice's sharp eyes scanned the notebook in front of me, her gaze narrowing in disbelief. The realisation hit her like a tidal wave as she noticed the pages, void of any lead reflections from the interview. A mix of disappointment and fury twisted her features, and I braced myself for the inevitable scolding.
The room seemed to hush, the air thick with uncomfortable tension, as Candice's voice boomed through an angry whisper. "What on Earth is this, Y/N?" A collective murmur rippled through the small bunches of people that surrounded us as curious eyes turned toward our direction.
Heat rushed to my cheeks, my gaze dropping to the floor, unable to meet the accusing eyes of my colleagues. Shame wrapped around me like a suffocating shroud, tightening with every word that spilled from Candice's lips. Her reprimand echoed in the silence, a blistering reminder of my failure, and I swallowed hard, my throat constricted by a mixture of guilt and embarrassment.
"I-I'm sorry, Candice. I got caught up in the moment, and I just... completely forgot to write anything down, I promise it won't happen agai—"
"You were given a responsibility, and you let it slip away because you were too mesmerised by the answers? This is not acceptable, do you understand how poorly this reflects on our team?" Her eyes narrowed, and her voice was laced with irritation.
"I know, I'm truly sorry. It was a lapse of judgement."
Candice's scolding continued, her words filled with a mixture of reprimand and concern for my professional growth. The weight of her disappointment pressed upon me, intensifying my remorse.
A peculiar sensation tingled at the back of my neck whilst my supervisor continued to reprimand me in the corner of this studio, drawing my gaze elsewhere and hoping she would stop soon so I could just go home and bury myself in the covers of my bed. I met the intense gaze of Brian May, who hadn't left yet, much to my demise, and watched the scene unfold from a distance. His eyes held a mix of curiosity and intrigue, remaining an observer, captivated by the drama playing out before him.
It was a moment of profound humiliation, and yet, there was something strangely captivating about the way Brian watched. His silent presence added an extra layer of tension to the already charged atmosphere. It was as if he recognised the vulnerability within me, the weight of my mistake, and found a fascination in the spectacle.
As Candice walked away, her words lingered in the air, mingling with a mix of determination and self-reflection. I felt the stinging of tears in my eyes from the sheer embarrassment of my lack of competence. I rested my elbows on my knees, bringing the notebook up to my face and burying my head in it in shame.
I stayed there for as long as I could, not wanting to meet the judgemental gazes from those around me, and it had cleared out somewhat by the time I decided to actually stand up and gather my things. The bottle of water I had with me had been completely dried out from the constant sips I had to take whilst watching Brian's interview. My mouth was dry from Candice's scolding, and I whined under my breath just from the thought of anything else going wrong today.
It can't have been that far after four in the afternoon when I was collecting myself in the hallway of the studio, preparing to get a taxi back to the Euro so I could fuck off home and never emerge from my bed ever again. But before I could make my hasty exit, a soft voice called out, interrupting my thoughts.
"Excuse me?" the voice said, drawing my attention. I looked up, my eyes still slightly watery from the threats of tears, only to lock gazes with the very person who had inadvertently disrupted my responsibilities. It was none other than Brian himself, standing a few paces away, holding out the empty notebook towards me. "Sorry to disturb you, but, uh, you left this in the studio."
Confusion mingled with surprise as I furrowed my eyebrows, my emotions still raw from the earlier events. Taking a deep breath, I cautiously reached out, accepting the notebook from him. My voice quivered slightly as I murmured my thanks, unable to meet his gaze for more than a fleeting moment.
Concern etched across his face, Brian leaned against the wall, hands tucked casually in his pockets. The audacity of his next words caught me off guard, a mixture of bluntness and subtle insult towards Candice.
"Are you alright?" he inquired, his tone laced with genuine curiosity. "I couldn't help but notice you being lectured by an old sow earlier."
My surprise turned into astonishment, my eyes widening at his audacious remark. The unexpected camaraderie in his words momentarily eased the weight on my shoulders, and I met his gaze, finding solace in his directness.
"I... I'll be fine," I replied, my voice steadier now. "Just one of those days, you know?"
Brian's expression softened, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The air between us crackled with a silent understanding, as if he knew the struggled that came with navigating the industry.
"May I ask what happened?" Brian inquired, his gaze fixed on me. The mere sound of his voice sent a shiver down my spine, leaving me at a loss for words. How was I supposed to hold a conversation with him when his presence alone had already rendered me speechless? I felt the weight of inadequacy pressing on me, threatening to unravel any semblance of coherence I had left.
It's nothing," I managed to squeak out, my eyes involuntarily darting downwards to take in the details of his attire illuminated by the strip lights in the hallway. "Just some... technical issues," I lied, my voice betraying the fabricated story. I couldn't let him know that I had been so foolish as to let his allure overpower my ability to do my job.
"Oh," he responded, briefly averting his gaze. "So, why were you being told off? That's what it seemed like, anyway." He shrugged, shifting his weight on his feet.
A blush crept across my face, and I found myself unable to meet his eyes, instead fixating on the flawlessly polished surface of his shoes. "I... I never wrote down the notes I needed to..." I mumbled, embarrassment washing over me once more. "By this time tomorrow, I'll probably be back in assistant mode, fetching coffee for everyone..." My voice trailed off, the reality of my prediction causing it to waver with distress. I felt the sting of tears welling up again, and I averted my gaze, desperately seeking solace in a different direction.
The internal self-deprecating thoughts echoes within me. How unprofessional, crying in front of Brian May. I couldn't help but feel the weight of my own perceived inadequacy crushing my spirit.
"Hey... I'm sure that won't happen," he smoothly assured me, his voice like velvet. In that moment, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder, sending a thrilling shockwave through my entire being. Turning my head, I found myself face to face with Brian, his hand extending toward me, offering a pristine handkerchief. His warm, non-judgemental eyes conveyed a silent reassurance as he lightly waved the handkerchief, inviting me to accept it. With a shaky hand, I reached out and took it from him, mustering a feeble thank you. Although my mind should have been consumed with thoughts of potential demotion, I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of using Brian May's handkerchief, to dry the tears over something he had inadvertently caused.
A rueful laugh escaped my lips. "No, it probably will happen," I nodded, my gaze fixed straight ahead. "It's a joke."
Brian let out a slight huff, as if in agreement, clicking his tongue and crossing his arms. He allowed a pause to hang in the air before speaking again. "Where are you staying? You can't be that old, I don't want you to be wandering about on your own."
"I am twenty-two, thank you very much," I chuckled. "I was supposed to be at the hotel down the street, but... after everything that's happened today, I think it's best if I just get on the Euro and head home," I replied with a somewhat wistful smile. "I don't really want to be around everyone right now. I can already imagine the judgemental looks they'll be throwing my way all night." I let out a sigh of resignation.
"Is it really that bad?" Brian raised an eyebrow inquisitively.
"You have no idea..." I trailed off, my voice tinged with a mix of frustration and vulnerability.
"I don't know about that," he smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I toured the world with three other drama queens and had to spend nights in hotels with them," he said, giving me a pointed look.
I met his gaze with a shy yet genuine expression, a smile slowly spreading across my face. "You've got me there."
"What was it that you were supposed to take notes of, if you don't mind me asking?" he inquired curiously.
"My job was to note down your answers in shorthand," I replied, a hint of disappointment still lingering in my expression as I recalled the embarrassment of my failure. "For the British papers," I shrugged.
He hummed, his gaze shifting as he pondered for a moment. I couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope as his eyes seemed to briefly sweep over me, but I dismissed it as mere wishful thinking.
"Well..." he began, his voice dropping slightly lower, his eyes still locked with mine, a mischievous glimmer dancing in their depths. "I have an idea that might just solve your predicament."
My heart skipped a beat as I waited, captivated by his words and the magnetic pull of his presence. There was an unmistakable air of authority and confidence about him, and allure that made it impossible to resist.
"Why don't you come back to my hotel with me?" he suggested, his voice laced with an irresistible charm. "We can sit down, go through the interview together, and you can take your notes directly from me. That way, you won't have to worry about losing your job over a simple technical glitch."
His proposition hung in the air, tantalising and daring. The thought of being alone with him, in the intimate setting of his hotel room, sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine, despite the lingering knowledge of the committed relationship that was awaiting him back in London. It was an offer I couldn't refuse, despite the lingering doubts and fears that swirled in my mind.
His gaze held mine, an unspoken challenge conveyed through the subtle arch of his eyebrow. He exuded a domineering aura, a man who was accustomed to taking charge and getting what he desired, when he desired. And in that moment, I couldn't deny the thrilling temptation of surrendering to his authority, even if it meant stepping into the unprofessional, and the unknown.
I took a deep breath, my voice barely a whisper as I mustered the courage to respond. "Alright," I acquiesced, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'll come with you."
A slow, knowing smile curved his lips, a silent victory that revealed his satisfaction at having ensnared me in his web. With a gesture of his hand, he beckoned me to follow, his subtle dominance asserting itself even in this small act.
The ride to his hotel was a tense affair, filled with a mix of anticipation and self-doubt. I settled into the plush leather seat of the car, my palms slightly clammy as I clasped my notebook tightly, its empty pages a stark reminder of my shortcomings.
Brian sat beside me, radiating an air of casual elegance as he reclined comfortably, his gaze occasionally flickering towards me. The silence hung heavily in the air, pregnant with unspoken desires and uncharted territories. It was as if the car itself had transformed into a cocoon, isolating us from the outside world and intensifying the connection between us.
He broke the silence, his voice low and velvety, filled with a hint of weariness. "You know, these press dates can become quite tiresome after a while," he confessed, his tone tinged with a touch of frustration. "Having to repeat the same anecdotes, answer the same questions—it can feel like a never-ending cycle."
I listened intently, my heart aching with a mixture of sympathy and guilt. His dedication to his craft was evident, yet here he was, taking the time to accommodate my incompetence, going above and beyond to salvage my position.
The weight of his sacrifice settled on my shoulders, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of responsibility for the burden he had shouldered on my behalf. A subtle pang of remorse washed over me, mingling with the lingering excitement that coursed through my veins.
"You didn't have to do this," I murmured softly, my voice tinged with gratitude and regret. "I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused."
He turned his gaze towards me, his eyes filled with understanding and something deeper, something that hinted at a hidden power dynamic between us. "Sometimes, we all need a little help," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of command. "And besides, it gives me an opportunity to spend some time with someone who appreciates the nuances of my work."
His words hung in the air, charged with unspoken implications. The car journey continued, each passing moment bringing us closer to his hotel, to an encounter that held the potential to blur the boundaries between professional obligations and personal desires.
As the city lights streaked past us in a mesmerising blur, a wave of apprehension washed over me. The weight of potential consequences bore down heavily, my mind conjuring images of disapproving glares and lectures from Candice. The thought of her disapproval and the potential damage to my professional reputation loomed like a dark cloud over this impulsive decision. But also... there was something in the back of mind that found that danger enticing.
I glanced at Brian, his profile illuminated by the passing lights, a captivating blend of charisma and enigma. The subtle shift of his features hinted at the complexities that lay beneath the surface. Yes, he was a renowned musician, an idol to many, but he was also a man with his own commitments and responsibilities.
My thoughts veered towards Candice's hypothetical reprimands, reminding me of the line I was treading. I wrestled with the inner turmoil, questioning my judgement, and yet, the allure of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, the chance to glean insights from the man himself, called to me like a siren's song. The boundaries of reason blurred, and the forbidden fruit of possibility dangled temptingly before me.
I couldn't deny the excitement that coursed through my veins, even if we were simply going to talk about the interview. But something told me that he wouldn't have invited me to his hotel room if he only wanted to repeat what he'd told Isabelle. But reality, too, had its grip on my conscience. Brian's relationship status, thought not conventional in the traditional sense, added another layer of complexity.
The conflict within me intensified, the battle between reason and desire waged in my mind. And as the car whisked us closer to the hotel, I knew that a pivotal moment awaited me on the other side of those doors. A moment that would test the limits of my self-control and challenge the very fabric of my professional identity.
As the car pulled up in front of the grand hotel entrance, I couldn't help but be awestruck by its opulence. Towering pillars adorned with intricate carvings framed the entrance, while a cascading waterfall nearby added a touch of serenity to the bustling city surroundings. The lobby, with its marble floors and sparkling chandeliers, exuded an air of sophistication and exclusivity.
Brian stepped to get out of the car, his presence commanding attention as he glanced back at me, his eyes inviting me to join him on this adventure. I took a deep breath, my heart fluttering in anticipation, and followed suit.
The moment our eyes met, a magnetic connection sparked between us. A subtle exchange of glances spoke volumes, conveying unspoken desires and hidden depths. It was in those stolen moments that the tension between us grew, the unspoken understanding that something powerful was unfolding.
As we stepped into the lavish lobby, the plush furnishings and hushed atmosphere enveloped us. Brian's hand brushed lightly against my lower back, a simple gesture that sent shivers down my spine. The touch was fleeting yet deliberate, a tantalising hint of the electricity crackling in the air.
We made our way to the elevator, managing to be inconspicuous to the very few people who were actually in the lobby, the soft chime signalled its arrival. The enclosed space became our private sanctuary, the air thick with anticipation. The mirrored walls reflected our proximity, capturing the unspoken intensity that hung in the air.
In the confined space, Brian's scent enveloped me, a heady combination of musky cologne and a hint of adventure. Every moment felt deliberate, every breath carried a weight of anticipation. Our eyes locked in the reflection, mirroring a depth of connection that defied words.
As the elevator ascended, our proximity grew, the space between us closing with each passing floor. Brian's voice, laced with a husky undertone, broke the silence. "I must say, the view from my room is quite breathtaking," he remarked, his voice a seductive whisper that sent shivers down my spine.
I leaned in slightly, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can only imagine," I replied, the innuendo hanging in the air, adding a subtle layer of flirtation to our conversation.
A playful smile tugged at the corners of Brian's lips, his eyes holding that same mischievous glint as earlier. His hand casually brushed against mine as the elevator came to a halt, the touch electrifying and tantalisingly brief. The doors slid open, revealing a corridor bathed in soft, warm lighting.
We walked side by side, the click of our footsteps echoing in the hushed ambiance. The anticipation between us was palpable, a dance of desire and restraint. The subtle glances exchanged spoke volumes, carrying a shared secret that only we understood.
Arriving at his room, Brian fumbled for the key, his hand brushing against mine once again as he unlocked the door. The room's interior exuded luxury, with plush furnishings and a panoramic view of the city skyline. The atmosphere was charged with an undeniable energy, as if the room itself held its breath in anticipation of what was to come.
Brian motioned for me to take a seat on the plush sofa, while he made his way to a side table adorned with crystal glasses and a sparkling bottle of water. His movements were controlled, each action carrying a subtle authority that commanded attention.
He poured a glass of water, the liquid cascading effortlessly into the glass. With an almost calculated grace, he handed it to me, his fingers grazing mine ever so slightly. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through me, and I found myself captivated by his commanding presence.
Settling into a nearby armchair, Brian's gaze fixed upon me with an intensity that made my heart race. He picked up my notebook, his fingers tracing the empty pages as he glanced back at me, his eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and dominance.
"Let's go over the interview, shall we?" he suggested, his voice laced with authority. I nodded, my voice momentarily escaping me in the face of his dominant aura.
As we delved into the conversation, his proximity grew, our arms occasionally brushing against each other's as we gestured or reached for the notebook. Each touch was a subtle reminder of his control and my vulnerability.
His gaze never wavered, his eyes piercing into mine with a sense of ownership. He dissected each question and response with precision, his tone firm yet enticing. The atmosphere crackled with an undeniable tension.
Brian's hand occasionally found its way to the small of my back, a subtle gesture of possession that left me breathless and wanting more.
As we concluded our review of the interview, an unspoken understanding passed between us. Brian's gaze held a hint of satisfaction, as if pleased with my progress under his guidance. I couldn't deny the thrilling allure of his dominance, the way he effortlessly took charge and led me down a path of unexplored sensuality, purely in the way he spoke and answered the questions.
Once we'd finished, a sense of relief washed over me. I placed my pencil down on the coffee table, grateful for the notes I now had to present to Candice. But little did I know that the night was far from over, and the dynamics between Brian and I were about to take a new turn.
As I sat back on the sofa, taking a sip of water from the glass Brian had graciously given me, he caught me off guard with an unexpected question.
"Why don't you ask me about my relationship?" His words hung in the air, laden with a mix of curiosity and challenge.
I nearly choked on my water, my eyes widening in surprise. His question was so sudden and unexpected that I struggled to find the right response. "W... What?" I stammered, my voice betraying my confusion as I carefully set the glass back on the coffee table.
"Everyone else does. Why don't you?" Brian rose from his seat, striding over to the armchair across the room. He reached up, gracefully removing his navy-blue blazer and draping it over the back of the chair. His movements were confident and self-assured, his hands casually returning to his pockets.
I watched him in awe, captivated by his every gesture. The way he carried himself, the slight tilt of his head, the way he rolled up his sleeves to reveal his forearms—each detail seemed to heighten his allure. His hair, with its enchanting allure, seemed to beckon to me, and I couldn't help but feel a magnetic pull toward him, yet again.
Feeling a heat rise in my cheeks, I cleared my throat, crossing my legs in an attempt to steady myself. I hoped he wouldn't notice the effect he had on me, even though the atmosphere had been charged with flirtation throughout our time together thus far. Deep down, a small voice whispered that it was all in my head, that Brian was simply being accommodating.
"I, uh..." I began, my voice slightly shaky as I took another sip of water, hoping to steady my nerves. "Well, I don't see why I should ask about your relationship," I replied, attempting to sound nonchalant but failing to hide the perplexed undertone in my voice. "It's really nobody's business, right?" I added, my brows furrowing.
Brian's lips curled into a partly playful, partly impressed, smile, and he moved closer to me, now stood right in front of me, like he was when we first met eyes earlier that afternoon. His eyes locked steadily onto mine. The air once again crackled with anticipation and unspoken feelings.
"That's true," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "But sometimes, it's intriguing to delve into the depths of someone's personal life, don't you think? To understand their desires, their secrets..."
His words hung in the air, charged with an undeniable seductive energy.
"So, I'm going to ask you, Y/N..." Brian's voice drew me in, his words laced with a magnetic allure. He moved away slightly, only to settle beside me on the sofa, his body angled toward mine. I couldn't help but feel a surge of prospect as I realised that he had remembered my name, speaking it for the first time since he'd met me.
"What about you?" his voice was a seductive whisper, gently coaxing me to reveal the depths of my own desires. My breath caught in my throat, the intensity of his presence almost overwhelming.
"What about me?" I managed to whisper, my voice betraying a mix of nervousness and curiosity.
Brian let out a low chuckle, a sound that sent a rush of heat coursing through me. As he shifted his position, resting his arm casually across the back of the sofa, he mirrored the way he had sat with Isabelle during the interview. But this time, his proximity to me was closer, his energy more focused. It was as if the space between us had become charged with an unspoken understanding.
His hand reached out, deliberately smoothing over the slight ruffle in my black skirt. The touch was gentle, but its intention was unmistakable. I couldn't help but feel the electricity that surged through me as his fingertips lingered on my knee. A wave of desire washed over me, causing my thighs to clench and a quiver to run through the depths of my being. I briefly closed my eyes, my senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating tension that enveloped us.
But my eyes snapped back open, meeting his gaze when he finally responded. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation, and I hung onto his every word, eager to unravel the depths of this enigmatic man before me.
Brian's eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint as he locked his gaze with mine. He had seen through my feeble attempt to divert the conversation and now he was toying with me, like a skilled predator playing with its prey.
"You know, Y/N," he began, his voice dripping with subtle amusement, "I can't help but wonder if those technical difficulties were just an excuse. Perhaps there's something else that prevented you from taking those notes." His words hung in the air, laden with implication.
I felt a blush creep up my cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and fascination. How did he manage to see through my façade so effortlessly? It was as if he possessed an uncanny ability to unravel the truths hidden beneath the layers of my carefully constructed lies.
"You're quite perceptive," I admitted, my voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. "There might have been... other distractions that prevented me from fulfilling my duties."
Brian's lips curled into a knowing smile, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. His hand, still resting on my knee, exerted a subtle pressure, a silent reminder of the power dynamics at play. It was a gesture that sent a jolt coursing through me, making me acutely aware of his commanding presence.
"Well, Y/N," he murmured, his voice lowering again, "if you were indeed distracted, perhaps its time we address that distraction head-on."
I swallowed hard, my heart once again pounding in my chest. It was as if the world around us had faded into the background, leaving the two of us locked in this exhilarating dance of desire and power. I was drawn to him, unable to resist him, and he knew it.
"What do you suggest, Brian?" I exhaled, my voice a velvet whisper that teased the air. I teetered on the precipice of desire, my every fibre ready to succumb to his captivating dominance, yearning to explore the uncharted depths of passion that enticed us both.
His piercing gaze intensified, a searing ember of authority glowing in his eyes, beckoning me further into his world. "Y/N," he purred, his voice a sultry blend of command and invitation, "Perhaps it's time we plunge into the depths of these tantalising distractions. It would be such a waste to let them slip through our fingers, wouldn't it?"
He meticulously grazed his teeth against his plump lower lip, his predatory eyes descending upon my body with a swift hunger. "Are you seeing somebody?"
I took a deep breath, my eyes locked on his hand resting on my knee. It felt like an anchor, grounding me in the midst of the swirling emotions that Brian had effortlessly stirred within me. I shook my head slightly, my voice barely above a whisper. "No..."
His grip on my knee tightened ever so slightly, a subtle display of dominance that that sent a jolt of excitement coursing through me. Tense, the weight of his question hanging in the silence. Brian's gaze continued to bore into mine, his eyes filled with an intensity that made it hard to look away.
"But I'm assuming you have," he prodded gently, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and desire. As he spoke, his hand shifted, his fingers tracing a path of electrifying warmth up my thigh. Every inch of my skin burned under his touch, igniting a fire deep within me that I struggled to contain.
My thoughts became hazy, a cocktail of longing and forbidden fantasies swirling in my mind. The allure of Brian's commanding presence was overwhelming, captivating me in ways I couldn't resist. Rationality wavered as I found myself yearning for his dominance, for him to physically take control and guide me into uncharted territory.
I mustered the strength to respond, my voice trembling with a potent mixture of apprehension and desire. "Yes," I finally confessed, my admission punctuated by a shuddering breath. The confession hung in the air, a tangible invitation for Brian to delve deeper into the depths of my past and desires.
"Of course, that was a silly question for me to ask you." Brian's laughter, a melodic symphony, echoed in the room, mingling with the charged atmosphere that enveloped us. That mischievous glint in his eyes danced with a hint of desire as he playfully taunted me.
"A pretty thing like you... No way a man hasn't approached you. No way you can't have experienced such things that come with it." His words, dripping with seductive confidence, sent shivers down my spine, awakening a dormant fire within me. As he continued, his hand embarked on a daring expedition, traversing the landscape of my thigh with deliberate intent. The tantalising proximity of his touch ignited a flame of exhilaration, intensifying his charm.
"Is this okay?"
Caught in the magnetic field of his presence, my breath hitched. His audacity, his audacious exploration of my boundaries, both thrilled and unnerved me. His question, whispered like a forbidden secret, hung in the air, enticing and provocative.
My gaze met his, locked in a fierce battle of desire and restraint. His head tilted ever so slightly, offering a glimpse into a world of untamed passion that lay just beyond my peripheral vision. It was a challenge, a temptation I couldn't ignore.
"Yes..." I gasped, a delicate confession of my yearning. The room seemed to pulse with the rhythm of our shared anticipation, each heartbeat echoing the unspoken desire that had been crackling above us since he asked me if I had a name back at the studio.
With every fibre of my being attuned to his touch, I met his piercing gaze, a hunger ignited within myself. The anticipation hung thick and heady in the air, as my body responded to his unspoken desires, yearning for the raw intensity that lay just beyond our fingertips.
His hand, once resting on the back of the sofa, now ventured into the depths of my hair, fingers dancing through the strands with an almost possessive tenderness. My breath hitched, a mixture of excitement and anxiety coursing through me veins.
His voice, a velvety caress, laced with his characteristic authority, penetrated the atmosphere. "You said you were twenty-two?" he asked, his touch a sensory symphony that sent shivers cascading down my spine to the fullest. I nodded, my lips instinctively finding refuge between my teeth, an unconscious response to the mounting tension that enveloped us.
"So young and full of life," he mused, his words a tantalising invitation into a world of hidden desires. The weight of his statement settled upon us, passing through us like a current. "You do understand what I'm trying to do right now, don't you?"
I knew exactly what he was attempting to do, and the thought alone could have caused me to climax on his sofa right then and there.
A barely contained breath escaped my lips, as I chuckled and shifted my body to face him fully as an answer. The crossing of my legs changed, creating an open pathway to explore our proximity. As if attuned to my movements, Brian's hand left my leg momentarily, only to reclaim its rightful place on my thigh, a possessive declaration of his intent.
Curiosity burned within me, emboldened by his unabashed dominance. "Do you do this a lot?" I ventured, resting my arm on the back of the sofa, a subtle invitation for him to delve deeper into the intricacies of his world. The revelation of his true intentions liberated me, allowing me to respond in kind, the allure of the forbidden dance consuming my thoughts.
Brian seemed a little taken aback by my question, but his initial surprise quickly dissolved into a low chuckle, a hint of intrigue glinting in his eyes. His gaze momentarily shifted to his hand, which had settled on the back of my thigh, his thumb tracing tantalising circles against the soft skin, exerting a gentle tug.
"I wouldn't say a lot... but every now and then, I stumble upon someone I really, really like," he confessed, his voice descending to a husky whisper as his eyes flickered up to meet mine. "Someone I simply can't resist," he added, his words resonating with an intensity that left no room for doubt. "And you, my dear, are the most captivating creature I've encountered thus far."
His compliments reverberated within me, causing me to sink deeper into the plush embrace of the sofa, my face suffused with a bright crimson blush. "Am I?" A small smirk danced on my lips as I raised an eyebrow, my inquiry carrying a weight that went beyond the surface. Unintentionally, I had invoked the presence of Anita, his partner, and now the unspoken tension lingered between us.
His eyes narrowed, the spark of recognition igniting in his gaze. But instead of letting the unspoken words bloom, he chuckled once again, his grip on my thigh tightening with a tantalising force. In one swift motion, he pulled me forward, until I found myself ensconced upon his lap. The unexpectedness of the action electrified the air, sending waves of desire coursing through me, my core pulsating in eager anticipation, yearning for the layers of clothing to vanish, to feel the raw heat of his skin against mine.
"You're asking too many questions, darling," he mused, his voice laced with a mixture of amusement and desire. His hands boldly found their place at my hips, sliding beneath the thin fabric of my blazer, their touch sending a jolt of electricity through my entire being.
A mischievous smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I playfully retorted, "I thought that was my job," my lashes fluttering in a seductive display. Yet, my attempt at teasing seemed to have an unexpected effect on Brian. His hands clamped around me with a vice-like grip, the sensation of his fingers pressing through the fabric of my skirt sending a thrilling jolt through my body.
A low, almost predatory growl rumbled from his throat as he spoke, his voice a dangerous blend of desire and authority. "You're a bit mouthy, aren't you?" he murmured, his words laced with a hint of reprimand. "Just as I thought you were so innocent... sitting there on that stool with this little skirt almost exposing you to the whole world, not knowing a thing about it..." With each word, he pulled me down onto him, the force of his action making it clear that he was taking control. "Thinking I didn't notice that you were staring at me the whole time," he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "And here you are, now sat on my lap, all shaky and needy."
His gaze roamed over my face, observing my every reaction to his sudden shift in demeanour. This was precisely the dynamic I had been seeking, a captivating dance between dominance and submission. The air hummed with an electrifying tension as I found myself entranced by him, surrendering to the intoxicating mix of vulnerability and desire that pulsed between us.
Brian's subtle manoeuvre in his lap caused me to instinctively cling onto his shoulders, seeking stability in the midst of escalating desire. His self-satisfied smirk revealed his pleasure at my reaction, fuelling the fire that raged between us. "There's a few things I want to go through with you before we go any further, sweetheart," he hummed, his hand firmly grasping the back of my neck, drawing me tantalisingly close to his face, our lips hovering inches apart. The anticipation was palpable, my breath hitching in anticipating of his next words. "Have you every been with anyone older before?"
I exhaled softly against his mouth, my eyes half-lidded with a mixture of nervousness and longing. I shook my head slightly, my hands finding solace in the firmness of his shoulders. "Maybe, like, a thirty-year-old, but..." My voice trailed off, the unspoken admission hanging in the air.
"Nobody as old as I am?" he finished my sentence with a knowing smile, fully aware of my unspoken answer. I nodded, my teeth earnestly biting down on my bottom lip, a nervous habit that betrayed my inner turmoil.
"Well, Y/N, I should warn you," he began, his hips abruptly surging against mine, stealing the air from my lungs. The intensity of his touch sent chills coursing through my body. "As an almost-fifty-one-year-old who knows what he's doing, I can guarantee that you will cum at least five times tonight," he purred, his fingers encircling my throat in a gentle yet possessive grip. "And with any luck, you'll struggle to walk out of that door in the morning."
With a swift, decisive movement, our lips finally connected, a torrent of pent-up desire exploding within me. The metaphorical fireworks ignited, their radiant bursts cascading through my body, kindling a symphony of tingles and shivers that coursed from my stomach to my throbbing core. The long-awaited contact between our lips unleashed a tempestuous passion that left me yearning for more.
"Stand up for Daddy," he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of desire and possessiveness. The unexpected pet name he bestowed upon himself sent a surge of excitement through me. It was a name I had imagined slipping from my own lips, and now that he had uttered it, I felt an intoxicating thrill. His eyes fluttered open, meeting mine for a brief moment. "You don't mind that, do you?" he asked, his grip on my throat loosening. Even in the midst of our escalating passion, Brian remained considerate and a gentleman.
"I'm more than okay with it," I replied, my voice laced with eagerness. I nodded, a spark of anticipation igniting within me. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he bit down on the lower one, an expression that hinted at the wild desires swirling in his mind.
"I knew you would be perfect for me, you naughty little thing..." he growled, his words laced with a primal hunger. He pressed his lips against mine one last time, a fierce and demanding kiss that left me breathless. With deliberate yet cautious movements, he guided me to stand in front of him. His legs were spread out, and his hands firmly settled on my waist, grounding me in his commanding presence.
"Let's get those clothes off of you," he breathed, his voice husky with anticipation. Sitting up, he leaned back slightly, creating a space for me to step between his legs. His hands roamed my waist, teasing an exploring, as he revelled in the sight before him. "I bet you look mesmerising, you sweet thing," he murmured, his words stirring a fire deep within me.
With Brian's guidance, I slipped off my blazer, letting it fall carelessly beside him on the sofa. My attire consisted of a form-fitting long-sleeved t-shirt, neatly tucked into a sleek black skirt. The fabric of the shirt clung to my body, accentuating every curve and contour, and I could sense Brian's gaze lingering on the enticing view before him.
"Keep going, love," he smoothly instructed, his voice laced with command. With his arm casually draped over the back of the sofa and his other hand resting suggestively over his own clothed arousal, he watched intently as I continued to undress, gradually revealing more of myself.
I slowly unbuttoned the top few buttons of my shirt, exposing a teasing glimpse of the soft skin nestled between my breasts. The fabric parted, revealing a tantalising V-neckline that halted just at the beginning of my cleavage, leaving much to the imagination. Brian's eyes darkened with desire, his focus fixed on the seductive reveal.
Encouraged by his unwavering gaze, I continued to undress, peeling the shirt from my body with deliberate grace. Each movement involved in unzipping and shimmying down my skirt was accompanied a subtle sway of my hips, a deliberate invitation to indulge in the forbidden desires that simmered between us. The shirt slipped off of my shoulders, pooling at my feet, leaving me standing before him in nothing but my underwear, vulnerable and exposed.
Brian's hungry eyes drank in the sight, savouring the contours of my body outlined by the delicate lingerie that adorned it. His breath hitched, and a primal hunger flashed across his face.
"My, my, my..." he mused, his voice a low, throaty rumble. Leaning forward, he focused his gaze on my chest, his eyes lingering on the delicate white lace bra that adorned me, before trailing down to the matching pair of underwear that concealed the very essence of my being—a part of me yearning to be devoured by Brian's primal desire.
A subtle flush of embarrassment tinged my skin, blending with a tingling sense of prospect as I stood before Brian, acutely aware of his gaze that stripped me with its intensity. It was a an undeniable turn-on, this vulnerable exposure, yet I couldn't help but wonder if he desired something more from me.
"Turn around," he commanded, his tone blunt, his finger tracing an authoritative arc in the air. Without hesitation, I obeyed, pivoting silently on my heel until my back was completely exposed to him. And then, in a split second, a fierce sting erupted across my backside, the resounding slap from Brian's hand reverberating through the room. A gasp escaped my lips, mingling with a mixture of surprise, excitement, and a hint of pain.
Brian rose from the sofa, his presence expanding behind me like a towering shadow, and with a firm grip on the band of my underwear, he yanked me back against him. I could feel the undeniable evidence of his arousal pressing forcefully against my backside, the bulge in his trousers growing with each passing moment. Lowering his head, he released a low growl that sent a shiver up through my core, while his other hand firmly grasped my head, tilting it to the side, exposing my vulnerability.
"Good little girls answer their Daddy," he whispered, his voice a seductive blend of dominance of desire. His hand slid around my lower stomach, applying pressure that coerced me to press my backside more firmly into him. "Don't they?"
A gasp hitched in my throat, a mixture of shock and exhilaration coursing through my veins as Brian spoke to me in such a degrading yet intoxicating manner. "Y-yes..."
"Yes, what?" he demanded, his fingers intertwining with my hair, his fists closing with a possessive grip as his lips brushed against the sensitive shell of my ear. "If you want even the slightest taste of the sweet release you crave, you must address me accordingly, little one."
A quivering smile danced upon my lips, an eagerness to comply swirling within me. "Yes, Daddy."
"Good girl," he praised, his words hot against my ear, his breath fanning the flames of my desire. Resting the side of his head against mine, he directed his gaze downward, his hand venturing lower, ghosting over my core, teasing and tantalising. "I can't wait to feel your cunt wrap around my cock... I bet you're so tight and warm for me," he murmured, a promise that elicited a suppressed whimper from my lips. "Oh, the thought of that excites you, doesn't it?" he tested, his voice wicked.
"Yes, Daddy," I replied, my voice trembling with a potent mixture of obedience and unquenchable longing.
He chuckled, a sound tinged with satisfaction and amusement at my swift adaptation to our dynamic. "That's a good girl," he breathed against the sensitive skin of my neck, his lips claiming me with a fervent, sloppy kiss before abruptly releasing me, leaving me yearning for his touch and craving more.
"Stand back a little," Brian's voice commanded, an authoritative tone that brooked no resistance. I complied, taking a step back, my anticipation mounting as he took control. With a swift movement, he spun me around, his hands asserting their presence on my body, yet withholding any intimate touch. The air crackled with an electric charge, heavy with unspoken desire.
"No touching until I say," he declared, his voice laced with a mixture of authority and anticipation. Stepping back himself, he lowered his hands to his belt, his gaze never wavering from mine as he skilfully unbuckled and unzipped his trousers. The sound of the metal against metal reverberated in the room, heightening the intensity of the moment. His trousers cascaded down to his knees, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his bare flesh, while his shirt billowed around him, hinting at the hidden secrets it concealed. He stepped out of the confines of his restrictive clothes, gracefully kicking them aside, leaving him standing before me in only his partially unbuttoned shirt.
My eyes couldn't help but be drawn downward, magnetically pulled to the sight of his own underwear. His bulge, sizable and still growing, strained against the fabric, a visual testament to the desire that consumed him. Heat flushed through my veins, a mixture of nervous anticipation and a primal hunger to taste him.
"I'm assuming you've given somebody a blowjob before, yes?" Brian's voice cut through the charged silence, his head tilted in a patronizing yet knowing manner. His words hung in the air, a challenge and an invitation entwined. He awaited my response, his eyes burning with a mixture of curiosity and desire, never once breaking our unyielding eye contact.
A tremor of excitement coursed through me, mingling with a tinge of apprehension. I nodded, my voice momentarily stolen by the intensity of the moment, my desire to please him amplifying with each passing second.
"Yes, Daddy," I finally managed to respond, the breathless admission hanging in the air, a testament to the intimate encounters of my past.
A predatory smile tugged at the corners of Brian's lips, a gleam of satisfaction illuminating his gaze. The flicker of dominance danced in his eyes as he took a deliberate step forward, closing the distance between us. The bulge in his underwear pressed against my senses, a physical manifestation of his hunger and anticipation.
"Good," he murmured, his voice husky and thick with desire.
I could feel the excitement bubbling up inside me, and I couldn't help but shuffle side to side to deal with the intense desire to get my hands or my mouth on Brian's arousal, especially when he moved to sit back against the sofa.
"Please can I taste you, Daddy?" I whispered, glancing up at him with an innocent expression.
He hummed, his hand coming down to move some of my hair out of my face. "So good, asking for permission," he praised, lowering his head and biting a little into my shoulder before turning his head and growling back into my ear. "I want you on all-fours, looking up at me with those pretty fucking eyes."
"Yes, Daddy," I moaned just at his response, but was quick to do as I was told, moving back to give myself space to do as I was told, whilst he got to work in removing his underwear from his body. I arched my back, showing off the round of my curves for him like I noticed he enjoyed so much. He took his length his hand, giving it a few strokes before shuffling forward a few inches. I couldn't stop staring at its appearance, pulsating, red, veiny, and everything I dreamed it would be. I took the hint and propped myself up on one hand, using the other to move my hair from my face, before finally leaning forward and licking from the base, right up the pronounced vain on his shaft, and up to the tip. I teased him, glancing up at him as I slowly flicked my tongue over the redness. I could taste the saltiness of his pre-cum already, which only encouraged me to keep going. But apparently, the teasing wasn't enough.
"Oh, you don't want to tease Daddy, little one," he drawled, one hand coming behind my head to tangle his fingers once again in my hair. "I have to feel your mouth all over my cock, alright?" His natural dominance was toned back, and I could tell that he was testing where my comfort level was. But I was too far in my comfort zone here. So, I pushed him.
With a mischievous smirk, I only wrapped my lips around his tip, sucking ever so slightly.
"You really want to play games?" He asked with an amused tinge to his voice. He chuckled, right before he pushed my head further down, causing his cock to slide into my mouth and to my throat as far as it could go, a gag automatically sounding from my throat. It made my core throb yet again.
His grip loosened briefly, in order to breathily ask me if this was okay. I hummed around his cock in confirmation, my eyes peering up at him the best they could. Just like that, he knew where my head was at, and his grip resumed, and his hips drew back, just to thrust back again. He showed me – demonstrated – the pace he wanted, and I was obliged to deliver.
Once I had my head bobbing along his shaft how he wanted, my hand wrapped firmly around the base, my gag reflex had been temporarily diverted, but not completely eradicated. Brian, however, smacked my hand away from him, making me keep my hands down on my knees and allow him to force himself however far into my mouth as he wanted.
As my mouth encased the warm length, my own arousal picked back up, feeling myself clenching around nothing and wishing his cock was balls deep inside me. But that only encouraged me to do a better job on him. I found myself moaning as his taste, the way he grunted and breathed above me. I'd never heard anyone sound so fucking beautiful.
"That's it, baby... Fuck," he groaned, his jaw clenched in sheer ecstasy. "Let me see that pretty face, Y/N." His request fuelled my desperation and desire to please him. With a whimper, I adjusted my position slightly, ensuring that my movements on his cock remained relentless, my lips tightly sealed around him.
As I complied with his command, my eyes flicked up to meet his gaze, aware of the redness that had undoubtedly consumed them. My lips, swollen from our passionate kisses and the way they enveloped him, added to the visual proof of our intense connection. Tears welled up at the corners of my eyes, a mix of pleasure, vulnerability, and overwhelming sensations.
However, what truly pushed me to the brink of desperation was the sight of him. He looked like a god, an ethereal being of pleasure and dominance. His hair fell forward, framing his face as he gazed down at me. His mouth was slightly open, allowing soft moans and growls to escape. His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, a testament to his state of euphoria. His heavy-lidded eyes exuded a mix of desire and satisfaction, capturing me in a moment of profound intensity.
"Such a beautiful little slut, aren't you?" He sighed, running his hand back through my hair to bunch it up at the back, helping me through my pace. "Yeah... such a good girl for Daddy..." He mumbled, mostly to himself as his eyes looked back at my backside. His free hand reached forward and felt over my curves until he reached his destination, grabbing a handful before lifting and landing his palm against the skin with a forceful smack. It sent me moaning and whimpering yet again, the small sting sending shocks to my arousal and shivers to my skin. He did it again, this time a lot harder. He must have been testing the waters beforehand. I flinched this time, my back arching more.
I whined, the hand that was propping me up gripping into the bedsheets as I tried my very best not to rub my thighs together for friction I so desperately needed. Brian took notice and let go of my hair, pulling his cock from my mouth. A string of saliva still connected us, and my face was completely fucked out.
"Look at you, darling," he purred, taking a hold of my face with one hand and pressing my cheeks together. "You enjoyed having my cock in your mouth, didn't you?" With a deliberate slowness, he traced his thumb over my swollen lower lip, savouring the aftermath of our intimate encounter. It was a silent question, a rhetorical inquiry that required no verbal response. Instead, I responded with a breathless nod, my eyes locked on his, conveying my pleasure and desire.
But in an unexpected twist, his hand swiftly left my lip, and a sharp, stinging sensation erupted on the side of my face. A decent slap, delivered with purpose, but cautiously landed, not giving his all in the event that I wasn't into that kind of treatment. Of course, I would let this man do anything to me.
The impact took me by surprise, integrating with the haze of pleasure. Yet, as quickly as the pain registered, he seized me once again, his grip possessive and firm. His actions were a reminder of his control, a reminder that I existed in this moment solely for his pleasure. It was a moment of sharp contrast, the pain mingling with desire, further fuelling the intensity of our connection. "What did I say about answering Daddy?"
"Yes, Daddy—sorry, Daddy," I breathed out, looking up at him with watery eyes. "Can I have more, Daddy?" I batted my eyelashes.
Releasing his hold on me, he sat forward, his shirt clinging to his body, evidence of the sweat that adorned his skin. With a purposeful motion, he discarded the garment, revealing the glistening contours of his middle-aged physique. Rising to his feet, he positioned himself near the edge of the sofa, his foot resting upon the plush surface for support. His hand encircled his throbbing cock, exerting a firm grip as he glided his fist along its length, eliciting a deep groan of pleasure.
"What are you waiting for? Show me what you're capable of," he commanded, his voice laced with a potent mixture of authority and desire. His invitation beckoned me forward, and without hesitation, I eagerly reattached my mouth to him, my lips enveloping his engorged length. Balancing myself on the edge of the sofa so I could reach him, I rested my hands on the sofa, surrendering to the primal rhythm that coursed through us.
Brian's hand gathered a handful of my hair at the back of my head, ensuring a firm grip as he began to thrust into my mouth with abandon. He paid no mind to the reddened hue of my eyes, nor the cascades of saliva that spilled from my lips, consumed by the raw pleasure that surged between us. Each forceful thrust of his hips sent a jolt of ecstasy through my being, a delicious combination of pleasure and submission. The intensity of our connection intensified, the boundaries of control blurring as we surrendered to our most primal desires.
"Do a good job, and then Daddy will make you cum all over his tongue, okay?" He moaned down at me, making me nod, and whine a muffled "Yes, Daddy," with his cock still shoved in my mouth.
I maintained my position, allowing him to forcefully thrust into my throat, my head held firmly in place by his unyielding grip. I looked up at him through teary eyes, my face glistening with a mixture of saliva and tears, a testament to the depths of pleasure and submission I was experiencing.
The sound of his hissing voice filled the air, blending with his deep groans of satisfaction. "Yes... So perfect," he gasped, overcome by the intense sensation of my mouth enveloping him. The mixture of pain and pleasure, dominance and surrender, fuelled the fiery connection between us, heightening the raw, primal energy of the moment.
I felt his thigh shake beside my head, and he pulled my head all the way down onto his cock, my nose pushing into the mass of pubic hair at the base of his arousal. I let out a heavy breath, closing my eyes and relaxing my throat to allow him to slide down it with ease. Then, without warning, he yanked me back, his cock completely slipping out of my mouth. It was glistening with a mixture of my thickening saliva and his pre-cum, matching with the way my lips sparkled with the same kind of adventure.
Gasping for breath, I found myself being pulled up to my feet by the firm grip of Brian's hand, entwined in my hair. The forceful manner in which he yanked me upright only heightened the intensity of our encounter. Our lips crashed together once again, igniting a wild and insatiable passion that consumed us both.
The kiss was anything but gentle. It was a raw display of desire, marked by urgency and need. Our mouths melded together in a feverish dance, tongues clashing and intertwining in a desperate battle for dominance. It was as if Brian couldn't get enough of the taste, eagerly seeking to reclaim a trace of himself on my lips.
Every swipe and flick of his tongue against mine sent electric jolts of pleasure surging through my body. The hunger in his kiss matched the fiery desire coursing through my veins, building an intoxicating tension that threatened to consume us both. Our lips and tongues moved in a frenzy, an unspoken declaration of our insatiable lust. It made me wonder what his lips and his tongue would feel like on my aching core.
With one hand wrapped around my throat, he pulled me back enough to speak to me. "Get on the bed for me, love," he demanded softly, letting me go and pushing me slightly in the direction of the bed.
"Yes, Daddy," I obeyed, swiftly turning and heading for the large king-sized bed. I lowered myself onto the sleek silk, my heart pounding in raging lust as my core continued to flutter and tighten at the pure thought of being devoured by Brian. "You sucked Daddy's cock so well, little one," he praised with a patronising flare, as he slowly made his way towards me, closing in on me like I was some sort of prey for the taking. He stopped right in front of me, leaning down so both of his hands were placed flat on the surface of the bed, and his face was mere inches from mine. "Do you think you deserve to have my face buried between your legs, baby?"
His question stirred a whirlwind of sensations within me, causing my entire body to tremble with a mixture of pleasure and anticipation. My thighs involuntarily clenched, and a breathy sigh escaped my quivering lips. Brian had a way of rendering me speechless, making it nearly impossible to form coherent words as I struggled to catch my breath against his intoxicating lips.
"So precious. I get you this hot, you can't even speak," he hummed, amusement dancing in his voice. One hand found its way back to my throat, asserting his dominance over me. His thumb grazed over my lower lip, teasing it down and allowing it to spring back against my teeth. Leaning closer, he guided me down onto my back, his presence looming over me like a commanding giant.
Once he fully hovered above me, his aura radiating power and desire, he whispered with a menacing grunt that sent shivers down my spine. His words held a primal hunger, a promise of untamed pleasure.
"Would you like Daddy to taste your sweet pussy, darling?"
The question enough made me writhe a little under him, and I whined a small "Yes please, Daddy" up at him, making him chuckle and shoot me that sexy smile of his.
"Stay there," he whispered, his voice laced with a commanding edge. With a swift motion, he pulled himself up to his feet, his strong hands gripping my ankles firmly. I felt myself being effortlessly dragged to the edge of the bed, my legs hanging over the edge. The anticipation prickled across my skin as he took a moment to appraise me, his eyes roaming hungrily over my half-naked form.
His fingers hooked into the band of my underwear, and in one fluid motion, he tugged them down my legs, leaving me completely bare from the waist down. The sudden exposure left me feeling vulnerable, every inch of my body open and ready for his intimate exploration. I could feel the cool air caress my heated skin, heightening my senses and intensifying the anticipation that pulsed through me.
His touch ignited a fiery sensation across my skin as he parted my legs, positioning my knees closer to my chest. The intimate vulnerability of my exposed core made my heart race. The throbbing of my clit intensified, yearning for the exquisite sensation of his lips wrapping around it, ready to be devoured by the force of his desire.
His fingertips trailed a tantalising path down the back of my thighs, leaving a trail of electric sparks in their wake. The pressure he applied against my legs urged me to instinctively open up for him, surrendering myself to his skilled ministrations.
As he lowered himself to his knees, his breath caressed my most sensitive flesh, sending shivers cascading through my body. The warmth of his breath teased and enveloped me, igniting a primal desire that caused my breathing to quicken in sync with the mounting tension.
The realisation struck me with a jolt. Few men I had been with had truly taken the time to explore the depths of my pleasure. But Brian was different. He possessed an insatiable hunger to please me, to delve into the realm of my desires. To show me he was capable, at his age, of making a young thing writhe and arch at his talents. This was not a mere obligation but a ravenous craving that consumed him, a thirst that he longed to quench with my pleasure as his ultimate reward.
I felt a surge of gratitude for Brian's genuine desire to please me. It was a rarity, a precious gift that I would savour with every fibre of my being. The weight of his intention settled over me, heightening the anticipation that coursed through my veins.
His hands moved with purpose, exploring the contours of my thighs, tracing delicate patterned that elicited soft moans from my lips. I felt my body responding to his touch, arching instinctively, seeking more of his caress. The intensity of his focus ignited a fire within me, fuelling the craving for his skilled tongue to explore me.
With a deliberate yet tender touch, Brian's fingers found their way to my most intimate core. His fingertips danced along the wetness that coated my folds, teasing and tantalising, as if he were an artist painting strokes of desire upon my canvas. Each stroke of his touch sent ripples of pleasure cascading through me, building the intensity with each passing second.
The room was filled with an intoxicating mix of our shared breaths and the sound of my own heart pounding in my ears. Every nerve in my body stood at attention, poised for the exquisite release that awaited me. I closed my eyes, surrendering myself to the sensations that enveloped me, allowing the anticipation to swell and consume me.
And then, with a flicker of his tongue, Brian made contact with my swollen, throbbing clit. The jolt of pleasure shot through me, causing my back to arch and a gasp of pleasure to escape my lips. His skilful tongue explored every crevice, every delicate fold, igniting an inferno of sensation that spiralled within me.
I lost myself in the maelstrom of pleasure, my fingers grasping the sheets beneath me as waves of ecstasy crashed over my body. Brian's rhythmic movements, a symphony of pleasure orchestrated by his expert tongue, bringing me closer to the brink of oblivion.
Brian, ever the master of control, sensed the depths of my pleasure and revelled in his power over me. He intensified his assault on my sensitive nub, his tongue swirling and flicking with unrelenting precision. Each stroke, each caress, pushed me closer to the edge of ecstasy.
As the intensity mounted, I could feel the coil of desire winding tighter within me. My body trembled with anticipation, my moans growing louder and louder, more and more urgent. Brian's grip on my thighs tightened, a silent command to surrender completely to the overwhelming pleasure he was orchestrating.
I was teetering on the precipice, my entire being consumed by the need for release. But just when I thought I couldn't bear it any longer, Brian pulled back, denying me that final plunge into ecstasy. The absence of his touch left me achingly empty, my body pulsating with unfulfilled desire.
With a predatory glint in his eyes, Brian rose to his full height, his dominance radiating from every pore. He seized my wrists and effortlessly pinned them above my head, his strength asserting his control over my quivering body. I was at his mercy, my desire reaching a fever pitch as I yearned for his next move.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice a low, commanding growl. "You think I'm going to let you cum that easily, my little plaything?" he whispered, the words igniting a fierce ache deep within me. "No, my sweet, I'm going to make you beg for it."
His words sent a shockwave down my spine, my breath catching in my throat. I wanted to plead, to beg for release, but he silenced me with his dominance. He relished in the power he held over me, revelling in my desperation.
With a deliberate slowness that bordered on torturous, Brian trailed his fingers along the length of my body, tantalisingly close to where I craved his touch the most. Every nerve in my body screamed for his contact, my hips instinctively arching toward him, begging for his release.
But Brian was in control, and he dictated the pace. He continued his maddening exploration, his touch teasingly light as he traced circles on my inner thighs. The anticipation grew unbearable, my need for release becoming an all-consuming ache that threatened to overwhelm me.
Finally, just when I thought I could take no more, Brian yielded to my pleading body. His fingers found their way to my throbbing core, delving deep into my wetness. The penetration was swift and intense, a primal connection that shattered any remnants of self-control.
He moved with an effortless rhythm, his fingers expertly stroking every sensitive spot within me. "How tight you are, sweetheart... definitely need to warm you up a bit before I stretch you out," he moaned down at me, the pleasure coursing through my veins and my body convulsing beneath his touch. I writhed against his unyielding grip, lost in the sea of sensations that consumed me.
"D-Daddy..." I whined, my head pressing back into the silk sheets. "Feels so good..." Was all I could whimper out as his two fingers sloppily stroked inside me, generating the lewdest of noises. I was no longer an individual, but a vessel of desire, completely surrendered to his command. "Yes..." I hissed, my back arching.
"You almost there, angel?" He looked down at me, moving his head to meet my gaze and mirroring my whimpering breaths. "You gonna cum on my fingers like a good girl for Daddy?"
I nodded feverishly at him. "Yes, Daddy, I'm gonna cum so hard... Please, c-can I cum, Daddy?" I plead, looking up at him with innocent eyes. He bit on his lip hard, his gaze averting down to where his fingers connected with my body, enjoying the sight.
"I did promise you at lease five orgasms, didn't I?" He started, each question rhetorical. "I would be a pretty lousy daddy if I let you go without fulfilling those promises, wouldn't I?" He looked back up at me, his eyes as black as anything. "Cum around my fingers, sweetheart."
With a commanding nod from Brian, a surge of desire shot through my veins, compelling me to yield his dominance. My jaw slackened, and my back arched painfully as an intense pleasure coursed through my core, tightening, and pulsating around his lengthy middle fingers.
"God, you feel so good," Brian growled, his voice laced with satisfaction. "Squeeze around me, baby. Show Daddy how much you enjoy it."
A whimper escaped my lips as I obediently clenched around his fingers, my body quivering with mounting pleasure. My thighs instinctively clenched around Brian's wrist, attempting to hold on to the overwhelming sensations that threatened to consume me.
"Relax those pretty thighs, darling," Brian commanded, his voice dripping with authority. "I want you completely open for me. I want to see every tremor of pleasure."
I fought against the instinct to resist, forcing my thighs to loosen their grip, granting him unrestricted access to my pleasure. Waves of numbing ecstasy washed over me, rendering me breathless and lost in a state of euphoria.
I could hear the wet sounds of his fingers moving inside me, the slick friction only adding to the intensity of the moment. Each deliberate stroke pushed me closer to the edge, my body teetering on the precipice of release.
Brian's husky voice filled the air. "Cum for me, baby. Let yourself go."
The words echoed in my ears, igniting a surge of desire and surrender within me. The coil of tension within me tightened to its breaking point, until finally, I couldn't hold back any longer. My entire being convulsed with pleasure as a powerful climax consumed me, leaving me breathless and trembling in the wake of the intensity.
Brian forcefully withdrew his fingers from my throbbing core, causing me to gasp in both pleasure and loss. He didn't waste a second before shoving those glistening digits into my mouth, filling me up and silencing any protest with his dominance.
I moaned around his fingers, my eyes watering with a mix of desire and submission. The taste of my own arousal mingled with the salty tang of his skin, creating a sinful concoction that fuelled my insatiable hunger.
"Open wide, my obedient little slut," Brian growled. "Taste yourself. Show me how much you crave me."
I obediently parted my lips wider, taking my fingers deeper, feeling them brush against the back of my throat. The overwhelming sensations threatened me, my senses heightened by the knowledge that I was at his mercy.
I clung desperately to his wrist, my nails digging into his flesh, seeking an anchor in the midst of this dizzying pleasure. The taste, the submission, the raw power he exerted over me, it all blended into an intoxicating cocktail that pushed me further into the depths of desire.
Brian's eyes bore into mine, their intensity burning like a searing flame. He relished in the sight of my vulnerability, the surrender etched across my face. I could see the hunger in his gaze, the hunger to possess me completely, to claim me as his own.
As my body trembled with the aftershocks of my release, Brian's grip on me tightened, his dominance unwavering. He knew we were far from done, that the fire between us still raged, demanding to me stoked.
"You're mine tonight, and I'm not done with you," Brian growled, his voice laced with a primal hunger. "You belong to me, body and soul." He took his fingers from my mouth, moving some hair out my sweat-sheened face. "I need to be inside you, pretty thing," he breathed, kissing me sloppily before pulling himself up onto his knees. "Hands and knees," he once again did that thing with his finger, spinning it in a silent command that I acquiesced to without question. I weakly held myself up in an all-fours position, Brian stalking behind me.
Unable to see him, I could only imagine his gaze raking over my exposed form, his hunger growing with each passing moment. A low, primal grunt escaped his lips, a telltale sign of the torturous pleasure he was inflicting upon himself, stroking his hand along his length, relishing in the decadent excitement.
The air crackled with tension as he closed the distance, the bed shaking with his movements. I could sense his presence behind me, his heated breath caressing the nape of my neck as he leaned over me. The promise of his possession hung in the air, electrifying and intoxicating.
"You're so eager, my little temptress," he growled in a seductive rumble against my ear. "You've been aching for me, haven't you? Since you knew how to... They all ache for me like this, but you're so lucky to have me behind you, about to stretch all of you out with my cock."
My body trembled in response, craving the euphoria only he could provide. "Are you on the pill?" I promptly nodded back at him, just needing him to be inside of me already.
And then, without warning, I felt the tantalising pressure of his length at my entrance. He teased me, brushing against my slick folds, denying me the fullness I craved. It was a torment that pushed me to the edge of madness, but I knew it was all part of his exquisite control.
"Please, Daddy... I need to feel you," I practically cried out, my hips wiggling a little.
The moment stretched out, time suspended in a haze of desire. And then, in one swift, powerful thrust, he claimed me as his own. Pleasure and pain collided within me, a symphony of sensations that left me gasping for breath. The world dissolved into a symphony of moans and carnal pleasure as we became entwined for the first time.
"Jesus Christ..." he exhaled. "You surpass every fantasy, darling," he praised, his hands firmly gripping my hips, guiding me backwards to meet his initial thrust. "Does it hurt, love?"
A strained whimper escaped my lips as I lowered my head, my senses overwhelmed by the intense sensation of his cock filling me, stretching me with its commanding presence. "Just a bit..." I confessed, my words barely audible in a whisper. "But... I-I like it."
"Of course you do," he chuckled darkly, savouring the power he held over me. He withdrew, creating a fleeting void within me, only to reclaim it with a forceful thrust that elicited a gasp of pleasure. His movements grew rougher, a deliberate test to gauge my response. "You're such a dirty, naughty little girl, aren't you?"
He continued with a relentless rhythm, each thrust penetrating deeper, igniting a primal fire within me. My body quivered under his command, surrendering to the pleasure he bestowed upon me. The room filled with the sounds of our joining, a symphony of moans and the wet, rhythmic slapping of our bodies colliding.
Brian's grip on my hips tightened, his fingers digging into my flesh, marking me as his. With each forceful thrust, I could feel his power and dominance asserting itself, claiming me completely. I was his vessel, a conduit for his pleasure and my own.
"You were made for this, my sweet." He placed a hand between my shoulder blades and pushed me down, causing me to collapse onto my upper body, my back arching deliciously, and making Brian's thrusts hit me deeper than ever, which made me practically scream out in ecstasy. "There you go... I was waiting for you to scream for me," he breathed through a smug grin. "Now, lets see if I can get you to cum like this, then..."
With an insatiable hunger, Brian embarked on a relentless rampage of lust, thrusting into me with an unbridled force that left me breathless. The sound of our bodies colliding echoed through the room, mingling with the symphony of my moans and the lewd expletives that escaped my lips.
My senses were overwhelmed as pleasure surged through every fibre of my being. I surrendered completely to the symphony of sensations, losing myself in the wild rhythm of Brian's hips. As the pleasure built within me, I could feel the familiar stirrings of my second release. The excitement swelled, my breathing grew heavy and shallow, and I instinctively laid my head to the side on the cool pillows. My entire body moved and jolted forward with every powerful thrust that Brian delivered. I clung to the sheets, my fingers gripping them tightly.
"Yes, yes... Fuck, right there, Daddy," I moaned, my mouth hanging open as he hit every right spot within me. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum again, Daddy, please—“
"That's right, baby, let me feel you cum on my cock," he encouraged with a breathless exalt. He sent a sharp slap to the side of my arse, which edged me even closure. "Come on," he coaxed me, railing into me with a more viscous vigour, his hands pulling me against him with each thrust.
With each passing moment, the intensity escalated, pushing me closer to the edge of another mind-shattering climax. Brian's expertise and unrelenting passion drove me closer and closer, his actions meticulously calculated to elicit the most profound response from my quivering body.
The world around us faded into insignificance as I teetered on the brink. I was lost in a whirlwind of sensation, my mind consumed by pleasure, and all that mattered was the overwhelming connection between us.
And then it happened. The dam within me burst, unleashing a torrent of ecstasy that washed over me like a tidal wave. I cried out, my voice a symphony of raw desire and fulfilment. My body convulsed in rapture, every nerve ending ignited in a frenzy of pleasure.
Brian's thrusts continued, prolonging the ecstasy, each movement pushing me further into the depths of euphoria.
However, he didn't allow me a moment to catch my breath. With an almost frantic urgency, Brian swiftly positioned himself beneath me, his face now nestled between my legs. His hands gripped onto me, pulling me upwards until I was straddling his face, fully exposed to his hungry mouth. His lips claimed me once more, his skilled tongue lapping at my folds, delving deep into my entrance.
I couldn't help but run my fingers through my hair, my head falling back as the overwhelming stimulation consumed me. Brian was relentless in his pursuit of my pleasure, determined to extract another orgasm from my quivering body. He disregarded the fact that I hadn't fully recovered from the last climax, his singular focus on pushing me to new heights of ecstasy.
There was no room for hesitations or reservations. It was a raw and primal exchange, a symphony of desire and surrender. Brian's hunger for my pleasure was insatiable, his actions an unspoken command for me to abandon myself completely to the sensations coursing through me.
As I shifted my hips, I felt the firm contour of his nose glide teasingly over my sensitive clit. A surge of pleasure shot through me, and I seized the opportunity to use it to my advantage. Brian recognised my intentions and eagerly encouraged my movements. His hands gripped my backside, guiding me to grind against his face, his nose and tongue working in perfect harmony to ignite the most exquisite sensations within me.
Every glide and stroke over my swollen and aroused nub sent waves of pleasure crashing through me. I surrendered to the primal rhythm, my hips undulating in sync with Brian's skilful ministrations. His tongue ventured deeper, exploring the depths of my core with a fervour that matched my own mounting desire.
The air was thick with the heady scent of arousal, mingling with the sounds of our shared passion. Moans and gasps filled the room, a testament to the intensity of the connection we shared. In this moment, there was no room for pretence or inhibition. It was an unadulterated celebration of pleasure.
Time lost all meaning as the sensations intensified. I was on the precipice once more, teetering on the edge of an impending release. The world narrowed down to the overwhelming pleasure radiating from my core, the delicious torment building within me.
"O-Oh, shit... Br—Daddy," I mewled, looking down and seeing Brian's eyes glaring up at me, with a knowing look. He growled against me, now moving his head against me to intensify the feeling of his nose against my clit. And just like that, another climax ripped through me like a stampede of hormones. But he didn't stop, like I thought he might have. He flipped us over, so that I was now laid with my head on the pillows, looking up at the ceiling with his head still firmly shoved between my legs.
"Oh, God..." I weakly stuttered, the pain from the sensitivity unfolding into another type of pleasure altogether. The baby hairs on my head clung to my forehead, my skin flushed light pink and starting to glimmer ever so slightly with a light sheen of sweat.
Brian grunted with determination, continuing his movements on me, his fingers slipping inside me and continuing with a heavy ministration. The free hand that wasn't holding me firmly in place, yanking me even closer to him, now travelled up to my chest, using every ounce of his strength to pull down my bra, not bothering with unhooking it beforehand. He seemed to hold onto it for leverage. My whines and moans were totally unfiltered by this point, but I didn't give a single fuck.
The small glance I made down at him showed his head moving along with the motions of his tongue, completely in a world of his own as he went down on me. It made me feel better knowing he enjoyed it seemingly as much as I did.
My thighs were starting to shake uncontrollably as well as the rest of my legs, the combination of the sensitivity and the brief visual I just got of him was edging me closer and closer to another release. Already.
"Holy fuck, Daddy, I'm gonna cum again..." I groaned out one of my arms laying out on the bed beside me. My eyes shut as I revelled in this feeling. Most of my body went completely numb, but I was able to feel my forbidden, scandalous, older lover's free hand slide into mine, intertwining our fingers together. It was such a small, subtle action, but it made my heart flutter and my core clench deliciously. I squeezed onto his hand, my nails digging into the back of his as I started to grind my hips against his face.
I didn't even anticipate my second release; it happened so fast and sudden.
My voice broke and cracked as I whined out, this climax much more intense than the last one. My back was not the only part of my body that arched off the bed this time; this time, my hips rose off the bed, seemingly having a mind of their own as Brian stayed attached to me. He let me ride out the cluster of orgasms he'd just given me before eventually lifting his head up from between my legs. I was still recovering, my head buzzing and my body still tingling. I didn't even realise that Brian was crawling up and over me, watching me try to recover from that mind-altering experience.
He granted me a brief respite, allowing me to descend from the dizzying heights of pleasure. But just as I began to regain a semblance of control, he swiftly reclaimed it, his grip tightening around the back of my neck. With a commanding tone, he ordered, "Open up, love..."
My body trembled with a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability as I obediently parted my lips, ready to receive his intimate offering. Brian provocatively gathered saliva in his mouth, savouring the lewd act before releasing a single droplet into my waiting mouth. The taste of him mingled with my own essence, an intoxicating blend that sent shivers down my spine
"Do you have any idea how amazing you taste, sweetheart?" he purred, his voice laced with a breathless whine. The audaciousness of the act ignited a forbidden desire within me, a thrill that I had never experienced before. In this moment, with Brian, I revelled in the taboo nature of our encounter, embracing the depths of my desires without reservation.
His unyielding gaze never faltered, and as his hand descended to his throbbing shaft, a wicket smile played upon his lips. He dragged his slick length over my sensitive core, causing me to tremble with the onslaught of pleasure. The delicate touch against my clit sent electric shocks surging through my body, amplifying the intensity of the moment.
Without delay, Brian pressed forward, his cock sliding effortlessly into my eager depths. A guttural moan escaped my lips, merging with his deep growl of satisfaction. "One more, my perfect little thing," he whispered, his voice thick with desire and dominance. He increased the tempo of his thrusts, each one driving us closer to the edge of oblivion. Our bodies collided with a symphony of flesh, a crescendo of passion that echoed through the room, fuelling his insatiable hunger for release.
I locked eyes with him, our gazes merging in a dance of primal desire. His sculpted form glistened with a sheen of perspiration, his dishevelled hair framing his face in a wild halo, and his jaw clenched with unrelenting determination. He embodied raw masculinity, and untamed force that overwhelmed my senses.
As our bodies moved in perfect synchrony, the tension grew with each passing second. The room became a sanctuary of pleasure, filled with the cacophony of our moans and the intoxicating scent of our arousal. Every thrust brought us closer to the precipice, our shared climax shimmering on the horizon, a tantalising promise that held us captive.
"Oh God, Brian," I gasped, losing the pet name, the closer I got to what would be an other-worldly release.
He met my subtle plea with a wicked grin, his thrusts growing more forceful, driving us to the brink. "Hold on tight, darling," he rasped, his voice dripping with carnal hunger.
With each primal thrust, the crescendo rose, pleasure and ecstasy threatening to consume us. I clung to him, my nails digging into his flesh.
"Cum for me, one last time, baby, I know you can do it for Daddy," he reaffirmed one last time. And in the final crescendo, time stood still. Our bodies moved as one, a frenzy of need and desire. The air crackled with electricity, the room filled with the sound of our moans mingling, our rhythm reaching a fevered pitch.
And then, with a primal roar, we shattered. A surge of ecstasy coursed through me, radiating from the depths of my core to every sinch of my being. It was an earth-shattering climax, an explosion of pleasure that consumed us both, obliterating any thought or sense of self.
As waves washed over us, our bodies convulsed in tandem, locked in a euphoric embrace. My mouth hung open, and broken cries fell from it, as I experienced the most intense, harsh orgasm of my life.
"Fuuuck!" Brian's animalistic growl rang in the air, as he stilled inside me, shooting his thick load deep within me. Brian May's release. Inside of me. He clung to me, dropping his head down to bury his face in my neck as he slowed his thrusts. He let out whimpers of his come down, his arms wrapped tightly around me.
As our laboured breaths mingled in the air, a moment of surprise interrupted the post-coital haze. Sensing a different sensation, I glanced down, my tired eyes widening in disbelief. A pool of wetness glistened beneath me, evidence of an uncharted territory of pleasure.
"Oh, God..." I gasped, my face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and astonishment. I instinctively covered my face, overwhelmed by the unexpected release. Brian, still catching his breath, followed my gaze, his expression shifting from confusion to a knowing smile.
Chuckling softly, he gently removed my hands from my blushing face, his eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and amusement. With tender reassurance, he pressed a loving peck on my nose before capturing my lips in a lingering kiss.
"Darling," he murmured, his voice laced with affectionate amusement. "You've been with the wrong people if they've never made you squirt before."
With a smug smirk at his accomplishment, he swiftly stood up from the bed, momentarily disappearing into the bathroom and then returning a short while after with a small face cloth. He kneeled in front of me, placing one hand on my knee and gently guiding it to the side so he could have access to me. He was clearly experienced in this, and it made me blush as he cleaned me up; he did it as slow as ever, his eyes feasting upon my worn-out state. After all, he had just given me five mind-altering orgasms. Just as promised.
"There we go," he sighed, throwing the cloth to the side and leaning down above me. "All perfect," he gave me another heated kiss, his tongue rolling into my mouth sensually, making my eyes flutter shut. He broke the kiss and smirked down at me. "Happy you didn't get on the Euro?"
"Definitely," I breathed out with an airy laugh. "I have to say, I wasn't expecting this to happen today..." I bit my lip, for some reason finding it difficult to look him in the eyes.
"I'll be honest, I didn't either," he chuckled, moving beside me and pulling me into his side.
The only thing now was figuring out how to leave. Surely, there'd have to be that conversation. And surely, he didn't want me staying there. After all, he was a renowned rock star, in a committed relationship with someone much closer to his own age, on a press tour, eyes on him 24/7.
"What's going on up there, love?" He propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at me. "I'm not throwing you out, if that's what you're wondering."
I looked at him, shocked. "Really?"
He laughed down at me smoothly, admiring my innocent state. "Of course not. Why would I get rid of something so perfect?" He purred down at me. My perplexity stayed, but I lacked the energy to question him further.
"We'll talk in the morning, sweet thing," he stroked over my hair. "Now, I think we should sleep."
Like a train conductor, he commanded our every act, and we did exactly that. Sleeping next to Brian May in a luxury hotel in Germany, after being pummelled into the mattress of his king-size bed, was so much better of an alternative to staying in a three-star hotel with colleagues that would reprimand me non-stop for my slip up at the studio. I hadn't even received a call from Candice to check up on me, or ask where I was, since I did disappear without notifying anybody.
I must have overslept, since by the time morning rolled around, the bed felt ominously cold and void of any other human presence. I fluttered my eyes open, stretching my arm out instinctively to find that Brian was no longer beside me. But as I came round, I noticed a piece of paper sat delicately on the bedside table. I tiredly sat up, crawling over to it and picking it up, letting my eyes gaze over the pristine cursive that adorned its surface.
Y/N,
Last night was incredible, and I found myself sat awake in the early hours of this morning, whilst you slept beside me. You looked so perfect and at ease. Anyway, I had to run out and get some stuff done this morning, but don't worry, my perfect Y/N, you stay right where you are, and I shall be back before midday. In the meantime, order room service, take a shower, do whatever you need to do. And maybe call that old sow from the studio and tell her you quit. I needed a new PR person, anyway. And you? You're perfect for me.
See you later, sweet girl.
Bri x
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queen-fandom-calendar · 2 months
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Queen Fandom Events 2024
Welcome Queen fandom creators! Here is your guide to the events happening this year.
It is good fandom etiquette not to hold events on top of each other, so this calendar is here to help everyone keep track of what is happening and when.
* * *
JAN - 18th to 21st : Johnica Week 2024 — AO3 collection
FEB - 1st to 29th: Queen Fuckuary — AO3 collection
27th: 55 Years of Maylor — AO3 collection
MAR - Picture Perfect (ongoing) — AO3 collection
APR 12th-14th Fanelli Fest
MAY
JUN JUL - 19th to 26th : Maylor Week
AUG
SEPT
OCT
NOV
DEC
This blog will reblog event announcements in the fandom and serve as a handy place of reference for anyone planning to hold a new event!
If you would like your event added to the calendar, please message!
2023 events
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queengenweek · 11 months
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Queen GenWeek 2023
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Attention, Queen enthusiasts across the world: we bring to you Queen GenWeek! We decided it was high time we brought back this event so we can celebrate the enduring friendship between the members of Queen together.
When and where?
The event will take place from Thursday 15 June-Sunday 18 June. You can upload your work on Tumblr using the tag #QueenGenWeek2023 and @queengenweek us. We'll make sure to reblog all contributions with this tag to this blog for an overview! When you post your fanfiction on AO3, please add it to the Queen GenWeek 2023 collection.
What does Gen mean?
Gen, short for “general,” is a term used in fanfic communities to refer to works of fanart that are platonic: they explore bonds of friendship rather than bonds of romance. There may be some form of romance in the background, but the main focus should be on the non-romantic relationship between the characters. Gen fanart celebrates the friendship between characters.
Mind AO3's Gen tag and policies for further instructions.
With help from last year's event post, refer to this amazing resource on asexual/aromantic characters and how to give them substance! This is an ASPEC safe space and consciously inclusive.
Who and what is welcome?
Everyone who wants to celebrate the platonic friendships in and around Queen is welcome! All gen-oriented works of art are welcome, which include but are not limited to:
Fanfiction
Other forms of literature (poetry)
Visual art (traditional or digital)
Moodboards
Playlists
Photo edits
If you prefer so, you can stay anonymous during the event. Both AO3 and Tumblr have options to post anonymously. You can use this quick guide on how to post anonymously on AO3. If you want to upload to Tumblr anonymously, you can DM us, and we will share your contribution on your behalf. You can also submit any questions you have about the event to us with the ask-button or DM function.
Prompts?
To help you get going, we’ve come up with different prompts for each day of the event. You are free to use them, improve them, combine them, mix and match them, or do whatever you feel like with them: creativity is key!
Day 1: Thursday 15 June
Lyric: I'd better go to bed and have an early night
Childhood friends
Growing apart
Cult classic: The Outsiders
Looking back at memories
Day 2: Friday 16 June
Quote: “The group tends to be the most stable family we’ve got.” B.M.
Police encounter
Getting lost in a strange city
Cult classic: Spirited Away
Facing a fear
Day 3: Saturday 17 June
Lyric: Take heart, my friend, we love you/Though it seems like you’re alone
Family/marriage problems
Revealing a secret
Cult classic: The Lord of the Rings
Getting a tattoo together
Day 4: Sunday 18 June
Quote: “Not too bad for four ageing Queens.” F.M.
Best Man speech
Teaching each other instruments
Cult classic: Hangover
House fire
More rules?
If you've participated in fandom events before, you probably know the drill by now. If you still have questions on what to keep in mind when creating and/or consuming, please refer to the detailed additional rules we have set up for PolyWeek this year. In short, mind the following:
Support creators.
Tag your work appropriately.
Do not engage with hateful feedback.
Do not supply negativity.
Do not interact with NSFW/18+ content if you're a minor.
We encourage you all to participate, contribute, consume, and support the event if you feel you want to! It's a safe space for all, no need to feel shy about creating. We wish you all the luck, inspiration and fun in the world and hope to see you there!
Hosted by @carrrothead-vol2, @of-streetlightfancy and @shewas-agaystripper
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rogertaylorsgirl · 4 months
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hii, i’m nikita, i’m 20 and i’m searching for queen fans to be friends with! feel free to request anything <3
i will focus more on roger but i will try to write even for the other members! also, the requests can be also for the cast of bohemian rhapsody even if i enjoy writing for the real them more 💌🥁 thank you!
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psychedeliagroove · 2 years
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I’m having a Bob Dylan phase
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eileen-crys · 6 months
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Thumbelina and John 💕
This is a little fanart of the beautiful fanfic "The Tiny Girl And The Tiny Fairy" by @pumpkinlilyao3 on AO3, which is a reimagination of the story of Thumbelina with John, Veronica, and a bit of Jimercury 🥺🥰
"Once upon a time lived Veronica, a young girl born from a tulip and no taller than a thumb. Smiling and carefree, she shared a happy life with her two fathers and her two cat sisters. The house's great garden filled with flowers was her whole world to explore and play in, and where she stumbled upon, one day, an injured fairy by the name of John.
A fateful meeting for the two of them, which sparks a great friendship and the signs of a coming up adventure..."
I loved this fic so much that I really wanted to draw them, and I recommend it for a heartwarming but also adventurous read 🥰💖💕💜💖💕💜 and don't forget to leave a comment and kudos!
If you like my art please consider giving support with a comment and a share, it'd mean so much! 🥺💕
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spreadyovrwings · 6 months
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64 Olso Square
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"Companion' Middle English. From Old French 'compaignon', literally 'one who breaks bread with another.
Pairings: John Deacon × (female + plus size) reader
Warnings: Eventual smut, you know how it is
Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it's more than worth it. It's worth it because of you.
Warnings for this chapter: some light… thoughts of…. smut….. lots of flirting and these two dancing around each other even more.
Note from author: thanks for sticking with this story! it’s so nice to see people enjoy reading it and it makes me so happy when people talk to me about it and gosh just anyway thank you!!
//
Chapter Seven
Rita Caine went into labour on the morning of 1st June 1972. Her baby girl was born at seven o’ clock precisely, so her parents decided to call her Dot.
Dorothy Angela Caine was healthy and happy, and so were her adoring parents. Which was nice. Lovely, in fact. Except it meant that, for the last week, you had been running the bakery entirely by yourself.
You didn’t mind. Really, you didn’t. You couldn’t be more thrilled for Mickey. He’d been talking about starting a family ever since he met the girl of his dreams three years ago. His happiness gave you the strength to face that wall of hungry customers every morning and your cantankerous old kitchen.
But after one day on your own, you could barely summon the energy to hold yourself up. You simply let your body sink into a heap behind the counter, sliding down the wall until your bum hit the floor. You didn’t even have the energy to cry.
It didn’t matter that you’d spent days prepping, it didn’t matter that you were getting just a few hours of sleep and you hadn’t seen your friends or family in weeks, it still wasn’t enough to keep you ahead of schedule. Much as you tried, you couldn’t do the job of two people already doing the job of five.
As always, John was your only source of comfort.
You hadn’t admitted to anyone just how much pressure you were under. Mickey was able to come in a few days a week but you wouldn’t ever ask for more, and Gladys was like one of those comets you only see every 70-something years. You were barely getting by but hadn’t said a word. Somehow, John was able to sense it. Probably something to do with the way you gasped with joy and relief every time he stepped through the door.
That day, John was off on his rounds, dropping off little white boxes around the city on a bike borrowed from a girl on his floor, the same girl who leant him the flowery, red helmet. It turned out she’d painted the bike to match. When John turned up one morning, scowling atop his new wheels, it had kept you smiling all day.
When he finally returned to the bakery later that afternoon, just a few hours from closing, you were so relieved to see a friendly face, you almost kissed him. Almost.
You settled for resting your hand over the one he rested on the countertop and squeezing gently.
“Thank God, you’re ‘ere.”
John just smiled, puzzled but obviously pleased that you were happy to see him.
“Has it been bad?”
“No,” you lied. “Not really. But the last few hours are always a rush. How were the deliveries?”
“Great! Although, when I knocked at, er…” He checked his list, scrawled down by several different hands over the course of the week. “The one in West Brom? This one here. They weren’t in. The lady in reception said they’d gone out for breakfast instead, so.”
“‘appens.” You shrugged. “That’s your lunch sor’ed, then.”
John gave you an almost weary look.
You only beamed back. John always liked to make a show of refusing every time you gave him food to take home but he’d never once left empty-handed. Today would be no different.
John couldn’t keep a straight face for very long. He shyly raised a hand to cover his smile, but he couldn’t hide those crinkles around his eyes and the way his cheeks bunched up, still pink from his bike ride.
He was much smilier now than when you met, like he’d almost been out of the habit of it back then. You weren’t sure what it was, his friends, the band, this job, but things seemed to be going right for John. A small, selfish part of you wondered if you might have something to do with it too.
Things had, admittedly, taken a bit of a pause in that area. There was still tension, little looks and touches that lasted far longer than they needed to, but John hadn’t said anything more about the date he’d proposed, and you were too terrified to bring it up yourself.
That wasn’t to say there hadn’t been any progress. If you could call unbearable sexual tension progress.
Exactly three weeks after he was mugged, John invited you to another of his band’s gigs. He was right, it went a lot smoother than the last one. The hall was bigger, there were far more people, and John didn’t look like he’d rather be anywhere else the whole time.
After digging through your wardrobe, you managed to find a sheer top with long, bell sleeves and some black velvet flares. You made sure to stand as near to the centre as you could so that you could get a good look at him and, more importantly, so that John could get a good look at you. You felt his eyes on you the whole night.
There was another gig just a few days later at a school hall in Wandsworth. By then, you knew most of the words to a few of their songs. You even brought along a few leftover treats from the bakery for them to give out to punters.
Nothing, nothing, compared to the feeling of looking up at John while he played, his long fingers tugging at the bass strings, his head bowed. The way he moved, it was so different to how he acted offstage. There was a confidence about him you’d never seen before, and when he shook his long hair over his shoulder and smiled down at you, his hips swaying to his own beat, you suddenly understood why people went mad for musicians.
John always managed to find you, despite the low lights and the now heaving crowds. It sent a thrill through your blood every time his eyes met yours. Of all the people in the room, all those pretty girls and boys who were beginning to worship Queen, John only had eyes for you. He walked home with you after every gig.
You fell into a routine together without having to say a word. If John’s shift ended late in the evening, he would come up to your flat to watch telly for a while before heading back to his lonely digs, or you would walk up and down the high street a few times, just talking and talking, laughing and talking. If he worked the morning shift, John would stay to help out, but only after you’d made sure he wasn’t just trying to get out of studying.
And then there was The Incident. You blushed to think about it, even now.
It happened last week, at the end of a very long shift for the both of you. The bakery was so busy, John had offered to stay behind to help.
Working beside him again was so lovely. John didn’t often have time to hang out with all the essays he’d been lumbered with, so you had lots of catching up to do. Standing there behind the counter, chatting away about everything and nothing while you made tea and dished pastries, it was the happiest you’d been in months. Your cheeks began to ache from all the smiling.
When things finally started to wind down, you took John back into the kitchen with you and, after he expressed an interest, you showed him how the bakery’s signature bread was made, a darker loaf made up of rye flour, as well as wholemeal and white.
You shaped the dough between your hands, weighed it, then rolled it over a tray of seeds that shone like tiny jewels under the bright lights above. Together, you and Mickey made forty of these loaves every day. You could probably do it blindfolded now.
After a while, John’s questions petered out and you worked in a comfortable silence, which you only broke to remind him of the next step or to compliment his technique. No words could describe how hard you worked to not stare at John’s big hands as they rolled and patted and kneaded the dough.
Whatever walls you both had, they were gone now, there was no denying it. Being around John had always been easy, even though your heart was usually pounding so hard you could hardly hear him speak over it. But now there was no shyness, no awkwardness or uncertainty. There was no one else you could just be yourself around, and you liked the person you were when you were with John.
You realised you were smiling to yourself and quickly glanced up to see if John had noticed.
To your surprise, he was watching your face, his eyes soft and faraway. It wasn’t the first time you’d caught him staring but you’d never actually been brave enough to call him out on it. For the life of you, you didn’t know why that day felt different, but you smiled and asked,
“What are you thinkin’ about?”
John’s eyes seemed to focus again and he looked embarrassed. Maybe he hadn’t been staring at you at all. Perhaps he’d just zoned out and his gaze had only happened to land on you.
Feeling sheepish, you tried to laugh it off, but then John said,
“I was just wondering if I’d get flour on my face if I kissed you.”
You froze, the dough heavy in your hands, and stared. It was all you could do.
“What?”
John blinked.
“You’ve got flour…” He pointed at his cheek, then at yours. “What? What’s wrong?”
“You were thinkin’ about kissin’ me?”
John baulked, shook his head, and made an odd sort of sputtering sound, all before he managed to choke out,
“That’s not what I said!”
He seemed so certain. For a moment, you wondered if you’d somehow misheard or even imagined it. But no, no, John had let whatever was in his head come tumbling out of his mouth, perhaps for the first time in his life.
“You said, ‘I was wondering if I’d get flour on my face if I kissed you’.”
“Well, exactly! So-”
“So you were thinkin’ about kissin’ me.”
“No! Well, I…”
You couldn’t help it, you had to laugh. It was just so silly. John looked like he was about to turn grey and keel over, he was so embarrassed. For some reason, it only made you want to keep pressing.
“So, would you?”
“What?”
John’s voice cracked. It made your stomach flip.
“Get flour all over your face?”
It was a dare. You knew it. You knew John felt it. Suddenly the kitchen had gone very quiet.
You watched his lips press together. His steel grey eyes searched your face.
“I don’t know,” John said slowly, almost like he couldn’t believe he was really having this conversation with you. “Only one way to find out, I s’pose.”
He’d seen your bet and raised you. More than that, he’d given you permission, laid his cards out on the table and said, ‘Go on, then. Put your money where your mouth is’.
Your gaze dropped to his mouth again. He couldn’t have been more than a foot away. All you’d have to do was lean forward and he was yours.
John watched you, those clever eyes clear and bright. Were you imagining it, or had he turned himself towards you? Opened himself up to you and lowered his head a little?
Slowly (too slowly, you knew that now) you began to smile.
“I s’pose.”
John’s mouth twisted, then he laughed softly. It sounded hollow. He turned back to the dough and asked if it looked good enough to you.
It was only later that you realised your mistake. You’d been echoing him, a positive. John had heard an uncertain negative. You’d never wanted to kick yourself so bad.
It didn’t come up again.
/
On a bright day in the middle of the second week of June, you were setting up the chairs and tables outside the bakery when you heard a familiar bell chime.
John pulled up by the curb, his bike tires skidding across the asphalt. He looked pleased with himself, it was obviously a move he’d been practising. He’d certainly come a long way from careering into oncoming traffic, oncoming pedestrians, and several oncoming trees.
“You’ve mastered tha’.”
John smiled, wide and relaxed.
“You know, I had a scooter when I was a teenager.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Used to drive it everywhere. I’d choose that over this deathtrap any day.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
You tried not to sound too distant, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off John as he took off his helmet and shook out his long hair. He was so insanely beautiful, and you knew he liked to dress nice sometimes and he was always talking about what he wanted to do next with his hair, but John really didn’t have a clue just how gorgeous he was. At least, to you.
“I was big on The Who. I had this little Vespa 180.”
You nodded as if you knew what that was.
“Had the parka and the hair, and everything," John went on. ���I was stopping by my friend Dave’s house once; he was in the band I was in back then. This car pulled out of nowhere and I skidded and came off it. Cut up my arms and my legs,” John scratched at his chin. “Had a nasty scrape here. Nearly fainted on my mate’s living room carpet from all the blood.”
You laughed because he did, though really, the thought of John as a teenager, just a kid really, hurting himself so badly that he was that shaken, it made your stomach twist.
He’d been doing that more often lately, telling you stories. Not just about his friends, his band, his classes, but about his home and his family, about the people he grew up with and the fun they used to have. It had taken almost half a year but John finally seemed to have relaxed.
“You were in a band back home too?”
You watched John dismount the bike, grinning to yourself when one of his long legs got caught in the frame. Still as graceful as ever.
“The Opposition, we were called. That’s where I learnt the bass.” John smiled, looking you up and down quickly. “You look lovely.”
You looked down at yourself. A skirt you’d pulled from the washing basket, an apron, and your coffee brown uniform shirt didn’t seem worth mentioning. With a pang, you wondered if you’d led the conversation down a path John didn’t want to follow and the compliment was just a distraction.
You looked back up at him, eyebrows raised.
“Do I?”
“Yeah, you’re…”
He looked you up and down again, slower now, taking his time, then smiled sheepishly like he’d forgotten himself for a moment. There was something so innocent and genuine about that smile too. It made John’s eyes sparkle and his nose wrinkle, and the small sound he made, a soft, shy laugh, was so endearing, all you could think about was kissing him.
“Thanks, er…”
You huffed, not sure what else to say. But John was still smiling. He knew.
Even though he’d bottled it, once again, passers-by must’ve been able to feel the tension radiating off of you. Your heart was pounding so hard, you were sure John would be able to hear it, even over the roar of morning traffic.
“Listen,” You shot him a look, wryly acknowledging that you were changing the subject. “I need to talk to you.”
John heaved an exaggerated sigh and turned his bike around.
“Oh, dear…”
You followed him down the narrow alleyway that separated the bakery from the haberdashery next door. There was hardly enough room to manoeuvre around the bins and potholes on foot, let alone fit a bike through, but he had the knack by now. You still managed to admire John from behind as you wound your way around the skips like an Olympic gymnast.
“I can’t make it tomorrow night. I’m really sorry. Gladys needs me to close up, she’s goin’ out with…” You pulled a face. “Well, she’s goin’ out. And I’m basically gonna have to work through the night to cover not ‘avin’ Micky still.”
You’d made plans to meet up before his next gig, what should’ve been your fourth. But there was just too much to do, and after two weeks of on-and-off help from Mickey and Gladys, you were exhausted.
“I’m so sorry, John.”
“It’s alright, love. Don’t worry. It’s tough at the minute, I know.” He squeezed your elbow gently, reassuringly, then turned to chain up his bike. “You’re gonna miss out on seeing my new outfit but…”
“Well, that’s why I wan’ed to talk to you...” You wrung your hands, half agony, half hope. “To make up for it, I wondered if you… If you wan’ed to come over after work tomorrow night? I could make dinner, help you get ready, do your make up…”
John laughed, soft and bright, all gap-teeth and eye crinkles. You could get used to seeing him this relaxed, you really could.
“I’d really like that,” he said, nodding sweetly, then he laughed to himself again.
You tried not to look as happily surprised as you felt.
“Good!” you said. “Cool.”
John beamed then raised his arm, gesturing for you to enter the bakery before him.
“Cool,” he repeated, teasing you.
You beamed.
“Cool.”
“Good.”
“Cool.”
“Cool.”
“Good.”
/
Friday night should be the best night of the week. You should be out with your friends, maybe going to the pictures or getting a drink in a nice bar in town. Instead, you were so exhausted, you could barely put one foot in front of the other, and climbing the stairs to your tiny flat felt like traversing the foothills of the Himalayas.
But you had become used to not seeing your friends, and there was never anything on at the cinema, and even when you could summon the energy to get all dressed up and buy yourself a drink with a fantastic name, all you could think about was the bakery, and all the work you could be doing instead.
That night, it took all your strength to not flop down onto the sofa, or even better, your bed. Today had been tough, tougher than usual. Fridays always seemed busier than you could handle, even though in terms of numbers, they couldn’t be much different to any other day. Everyone was desperate to get home, hardly caring that you were too.
Feet dragging the carpet, you went into your room and stood in front of the mirror. Blurred eyeliner, tangled hair, and an empty sort of look behind your eyes.
“C’mon, kid,” You patted your cheeks, then tilted your chin up, dragging your open palm down your throat. “You’re alright. You know you can do it. You’re alright.”
You slipped your fingers under the collar of your shirt and pressed them into your pulse.
“Still goin’.”
You stayed there for a moment, just looking at yourself as you felt your heart beating against your fingertips. You tilted your head to one side, then the other.
There was a threatening red patch by the arch of your left eyebrow where a spot was brewing, and the bags under your eyes were growing darker and darker by the day.
“Mickey will be back soon.”
Lying to yourself was a new low. Mickey hadn’t said when he’d be back permanently. Gladys had actually made a rare appearance that afternoon but you were both so busy, you hadn’t had a chance to ask what the plan was. You were just treading water, and the storm showed no sign of clearing.
There was a knock at the door, four short, sharp knocks. Very John. Right on time, as always, and just when you needed him.
You eyed your bed longingly.
When you opened the door, John was covering his head with his hands, pulling down on the edges of a brown baseball cap. He looked agitated and embarrassed, like you’d caught him in the middle of something.
“Hi,” he said, and despite his obvious uneasiness, he still managed a sweet little smile.
“Hi.” You laughed. “What’s that in aid of?”
John’s expression darkened.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.” He dropped his hands with a sigh. “I tried to do my hair but I don’t think I did it right. Had to hide it all the way here.”
“Hide your-? How bad is it? What ‘ave you got under there?”
John gave you a look so hopelessly crestfallen, you had to laugh.
“Come in, come in. We can sort it. I hope you’re hungry.”
That brought back his smile.
“Starving,” he said firmly, and followed you into the flat.
He left his bag by the front door, beside your untidy pile of shoes. You half expected him to flop down onto the settee and stick the telly on, or go into the bedroom to get changed, but John stuck close to your side, waiting for you to tell him what to do. He still had that stupid hat on but you sensed it wasn’t a good idea to ask about it yet.
“You lookin’ forward to tonight?” you asked instead.
You moved to the cupboard to grab some bits for dinner, nothing fancy but definitely soul-soothing. You sensed you both needed it.
“Yeah, yeah it should be good fun. Brian reckons we’ll pull a good crowd and he’s never wrong, so…” John rolled his eyes. “How was work? I’m sorry I couldn’t stay to help today. I could probably do tomorrow though and some days next week?”
“I’d love that. And it was good. Busy but… And I think I might’ve convinced Gladys we can afford more help.”
“Another baker?”
“Just someone to watch the front of the shop.”
John pouted.
“I thought I was gonna be your new sales assistant.”
“What? You’re joking. You’ll be busy touring the world soon! You’ll forget all about us.”
The moment the words left your mouth, your heart sank like a stone. You were only teasing, but there was a thickness to your voice, a tell-tale edge of self-pity, that John couldn’t have missed.
The thought clouded your mind most days. Whenever it threatened to sink its claws too deep into your chest, you had to turn the radio up or start a new dough, anything to distract, if not completely switch off your whirring brain. John couldn’t stay forever. You knew that. He knew that. But you were having a hard time accepting it.
John gave you a soft smile.
“I wouldn’t forget you, love.”
As he spoke, he raised his hand and slipped it round your wrist, gently, carefully.
“I couldn’t.”
His fingers were so long, they could wrap all the way around your wrist, his rings cold against your burning skin. It was all that kept you grounded.
He could barely hold your gaze when you first met. Now John could touch you like it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world, because it was.
You kept your eyes on his hand. You couldn’t look at him, you couldn’t let John see just how much the thought of him leaving pained you, or how desperately you wanted to rest your hand over his and pull him closer.
He squeezed your wrist once, then took back his hand. It took everything in you not to grab it back.
John cleared his throat. His cheeks were a little pink.
“Anyway, the band is just a… It’s not forever. It’s just a laugh. Something to get us a bit of money.”
You frowned.
“Is that how you all see it?”
John looked away.
You’d obviously touched a nerve so you changed tack.
“D’you mind chopping the veg?”
You worked together in a comfortable silence. The only sounds were the soft chip chip chip of John’s knife against the chopping board as he sliced carrots and onions, and the crooning radio in the corner.
You let your mind wander to what it might be like to hear one of John’s songs on the wireless someday, what the DJ might say about him and his friends as they lined up the next track. Would they mention his degree? How hard he’d worked to get their little band off the ground? Would they mention him at all? John seemed happiest in the background, a silent but steady column keeping everything upright.
They wouldn’t mention you, you knew that. Or Mickey, or Gladys, or this bakery. They’d never know what a good influence 64 Oslo Square had been. They would never know how insular John was when he started, and how proud you were of him for wanting to get better. They would see someone quiet, distant, but smart, so smart, and never know just how far he’d come.
You weren’t part of his story. Or maybe you were, in a way. A book, tucked away in a corner of the library that only you and John knew was there. Either way, it wasn’t important. DJs and music magazines and record sales didn’t matter to you. Knowing John was better for meeting you and your home was all the acclaim you needed.
You looked over at John. He was smiling to himself as he fiddled with the papery skin of an onion, probably trying to decide if he’d chopped enough.
Memories of the boy who walked into the bakery on that rainy night flooded your mind. So nervous he could barely get his words out, so thin he was shuddering despite his old jumper. Now here he was, in your home, making dinner with you, smiling at you-
John had caught you looking.
You cleared your throat awkwardly.
The song on the radio changed to something more upbeat, a Slade song.
“So, this show, where is it again?” you asked, turning back to the pasta boiling on the stove.
“A club down in Soho, I think. The Regent? Le Régent? I don’t know. Freddie saw the name and picked it. God knows what the place is like.”
You shrugged.
“Sticky floors, horrible loos, grabby men. They’re all one in the same.”
“Yeahhh, I don’t mind you missing this one, to be honest. It won’t be glam.”
John turned and leaned against the sideboard. He was so tall, he could perch on the side without needing to hoist himself up.
You just kept your eyes down. If you stared at his hips for too long, you knew you wouldn’t be able to resist pinning them against the counter.
“Don’t worry, when we go out, I’ll take you somewhere nice.”
It was such a bold statement, it surprised you, and all you could think to do was laugh.
“Oh, really?”
“Only the best for my boss.”
“I’m not your boss.”
“Aren’t you?”
When you looked back over your shoulder, John had turned his back again and was chopping vegetables innocently. His face was half hidden by his long, wavy hair but there was no missing the smirk in his voice.
You watched his arm move up and down, up and down, and marvelled at how slim he really was. You could see his bony elbow poking through his brown chequered shirt with every shunk of the knife against the chopping block, though you were pleased to find you could no longer pick out his ribs as his body turned. Your plan to feed him up a bit was clearly working.
Against your better judgement, you let your gaze travel slowly, slowly down.
John’s tiny waist seemed made for your hands. The contrasting curve of his hips made you dizzy. You could almost feel your fingers sinking into them, see his pretty face flush with embarrassment at how much he enjoyed you touching him, until your palms began to tingle. You rolled your open hands into fists, squeezing tight.
You could sweep his long hair aside and press kisses down his spine, your hands still kneading at his hips, until he had melted beneath you. So tall, far taller than you, especially in his heels, and now there was a thought.
All it would take was one hand on the small of his back, pressing down gently until he was bent over the counter, his face pressed into the cold linoleum and his arse in the air.
You couldn’t help thinking John always wore those tight trousers just to antagonise you. You ached to run your hand over him, to feel the soft black velvet against your skin, to hear John gasp as your fitted your hips against him and leaned down, your chest against his back, your hair tickling his neck, your mouth near his ear as you told him how pretty he looked and how long you’d been thinking about fucking him, just like this.
“I know a place near my uni. It’s nice there, you’ll like it.”
You looked up, your eyes heavy.
John was smiling at you. It was such a lovely smile, but all you could think about was the warmth of his flushed skin against yours, the pathetic whines and moans that would fall from his funny mouth, and the ache between your thighs.
He was right there. You could have him if you wanted. All you’d have to do is cross the kitchen and kiss him, hard, so hard he couldn’t possibly doubt how much you needed him, and then he’d be yours.
He’d be in your bed, looking up at you with those big, clever grey-green eyes and begging you for more, grinding down on your fingers, his pretty hair spread across the pillow, his legs wrapped around your waist.
“Fuck me, love. Ohhhn… Want you inside me, darlin’. Fuck…”
His mouth would fall open as he watched you spread his legs even further apart, boots still on, his pink tongue pressing against the little gap in his teeth.
“What do we say?”
“Pleasepleaseplease, make me cum, please.”
“Good boy.”
“I promise, no sticky floors and no grabby men.”
John sipped his cup of tea.
You swallowed thickly.
“None at all?”
He laughed and shook his head at you, but didn’t rise to your challenge, much to your disappointment. Instead, John poked at a slice of onion with the tip of the knife.
“Are these alright?”
They were perfect. Of course they were.
After dinner, John disappeared into your room to get changed into his stage gear. When he came back, you had to pick your jaw up off the floor.
You weren’t sure what you’d expected. The last few times you’d seen John perform, he’d either opted for jeans and a T-shirt with his band’s name on it or borrowed things from his friends. It seemed he’d finally gone shopping.
“Do you like it?”
John beamed as he turned this way and that, showing you his black satin suit from every angle. The material shone in the light, framing his body neatly. The jacket pulled in at the waist, its shoulders contrastingly broad, and was open enough to show off the silk shirt he wore underneath.
“Yeah.” You took a breath. “I love it.”
John grinned. He clearly felt good. He ought to, looking like that.
You let your gaze follow the length of the suit, from his open collar right down to his red woollen socks. They offered a sliver of another part of John’s personality, a homely frugality that you couldn’t help finding endearing.
Cute as it was, you soon found yourself staring at his chest again. John was usually so bundled up against the cold, to see any of his skin sent you into an almost Victorian stupor, and now here he was, his chest bared down to the bottom of his sternum. You realised you were biting your lip.
“It’s thanks to you guys that I could buy it. I’ve been eyeing it in the shop for weeks. Thought you ought to be the first to see it.” John was peering in the mirror above the mantle, angling his chin this way and that. “Do you really like it?”
“You look great.”
You meant to say more but John started to play with the buttons on his shirt, toying with the idea of undoing one more.
“Come on, then. Let’s see this hair,” you said quickly.
With a woeful sigh, John turned away from the mirror and went to remove his hat but stopped with his fingers wrapped around its brim.
“You promise you won’t laugh?”
“I promise,” you lied. “C’mon, you’ll be late. How bad can it be?”
With an awkward smile, John took off his hat.
You pressed your lips together. When you were sure you had control of your smile, you tried to think of something reassuring to say. You came up blank.
“Oh, John…”
He groaned and let his head fall back, his eyes squeezed shut as if in agony.
“My sister does it when she wants to make her hair curly,” John moaned. “She taught me over the phone but I don’t think I did it right.”
You couldn’t resist, you had to laugh. John had wound two pencils into the front pieces of his hair, not the craziest idea in the world, but they’d somehow become tangled and were now stuck. One pencil was sticking almost straight up in the air. You couldn’t imagine how long it had taken John to get them under his hat.
John looked wretched.
“Is it bad?”
“No.”
“You said that a bit quick.”
You offered what you hoped was a reassuring sort of smile.
“It’s fixable.”
“Darling,” John moaned, drawing out the sounds so woefully, you’d finished laughing by the time you realised what he’d called you.
“It’s alright! It’s alright, we can sort this. God, all those brains and you can’t curl your own hair,” you laughed and shook your head. “God help us all if you ever do become an engineer.”
You directed him to the sofa so you could get a proper look at the top of his head. While you poked and fiddled with the pencils, you tried not to think about how you’d ended up standing between his legs again, and how nice it was to have him looking up at you.
After a moment or two of you muttering under your breath and John wincing every other second, the silence clearly became too much for him.
“Where are you from?”
You frowned, carefully turning one of the pencils between your fingers.
“What?”
The stereo in the corner was still crooning on, something low and slow that the DJ had swooned over. ‘For all you lovers out there…’ he’d schmoozed. ‘Something to set the mood and get you feeling good…’. You and John had just tried your best to ignore it.
John shrugged as best he could considering his precarious position.
“I’ve just realised I’ve never asked.”
“You won’t know it.”
“Try me.”
You looked down, smiling.
“Wandsworth.”
John thought for a moment then shook his head - carefully.
“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know it.”
You laughed but stopped when you accidentally tugged too hard and it made John yelp.
“Sorry, sorry. How did you even manage to- It’s on the other side of the river.”
“Oh, the nice part of town?”
You snorted.
“Johnny, this is the nice part of town.”
“Ahhh, so you’re from the wrong side of the tracks? Or river.”
“That’s me, a real wrong’n.”
“Yeah, I see it now, you’ve got a streak a mile wide.”
Your fingers slipped and you accidentally tugged on John’s hair again. This time, the little whimper he gave in response made you press your thighs together.
Trying you best to keep your expression neutral, you asked,
“Murderous?”
“Hmm… Maybe when Alastair is about.”
You looked down at him again.
There was something about John knowing you, what you liked and what you didn’t, who you hated and what you wanted out of life, that made your chest lurch. You couldn’t recall anyone ever wanting to learn about you, to see you, or even listen to you like John did. Even if he did use it as ammunition to tease you.
“He won’t be around long. Gladys will see sense soon enough. She’s not as green as she is cabbage-looking.”
John exhaled sharply through his nose, agreeing.
You just smiled and tried to ignore the nagging doubt in the pit of your stomach. Hope that your boss would see sense, that Alastair would just leave you alone, was always closely followed by a grim stab of dread.
With one final twist, one of the pencils came free and you gave a triumphant little cheer.
“One down, one to go. No WHSmith trip for you.”
John leaned back, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror about the mantle. As he did, his hands came up to rest on your hips, an anchor so that he could lean back far enough without toppling over.
“How does it look?”
“Well…”
You couldn’t fault John’s sister’s logic. The pencil had certainly done the trick. John’s already wavy hair had pinged up into a perfectly coiled curl, though it probably wasn’t quite what he’d imagined.
Considering he had less than two hours to get to the venue and sort himself out, you decided you’d hold off on delivering the bad news for now. Instead, you slipped your hand around his jaw and turned John’s attention back to you. The other pencil was at a more hopeful angle but was much more tangled.
You grimaced, then gave a low whistle.
“I don’t know, New Boy. Might have to get the scissors.”
John snapped his head up, his eyes wide.
“Kidding! Kidding.”
His hands didn’t leave your hips until he got up to leave.
/
In an empty lecture hall in South London, rehearsals had been rolling on for seven hours now, and Queen had been arguing for at least six of those.
“I just think if we keep the refrain going for, you know, a more… It would sound better.”
“We’ve already got enough bloody refrain on this track. It’s practically trippin’ over itself with how much bloody refrain you’ve stuck on it.”
“Oh, don’t be fucking childish.”
Roger and Brian had started to bicker from the moment they picked up their instruments. What was meant to be constructive criticism had come out much more condescending than was probably intended, which led to muttered comments under Roger’s breath, which, in turn, led to Brian getting defensive.
“I just think it needs a bit more towards the bridge, there. It’s stopping and starting at the moment.”
“It’s stopping because you keep stopping it! It’s fine as it is! There’s more than enough guitar on this one already, the bloody concert’ll be- People wanna get home, you know!”
Fearing they weren’t going to get much work done at this rate, Freddie attempted to act as peacekeeper, but he couldn’t resist dropping in the odd unhelpful comment. Soon, they were all squabbling like boys on the schoolyard, arms crossed and bottoms lips jutted out.
John sat in the corner and watched. He had one long leg slung over the other, his bass a familiar, comforting weight in his lap. While he waited for his friends to finish their argument, he sighed and rested his chin on the instrument’s rib, its sleek black body cool against his skin.
His fingers itched to play. It felt like ages since he’d been able to just switch off his mind, close his eyes and pluck out a rhythm that would slot in nicely with songs formed months before he joined the band.
He shifted his bass again, so that it lay across both his thighs. It reminded him of you, of how wonderful you’d felt sitting in his lap the night you patched him up and saved him from the cold. John felt something in chest tighten, then roll through his body to his stomach. He blew out a long breath.
He couldn’t believe you’d actually worried about being too heavy for him. He couldn’t believe you had no idea how much he’d loved being close to you and how his body had missed yours ever since. John hugged his bass closer, wrapping his arms around it and catching his own wrist to hold it tight, until he could almost imagine its body was yours, warm, soft, and everything he dreamt of.
“John won’t go for that.”
He looked up at the sound of his name. Roger was smirking at him. Beside him, Freddie looked worryingly hopeful.
“Go for what?”
“I just think our look could be vamped up a bit!”
Freddie was already on the defensive and he hadn’t even explained his idea yet, a tell-tale sign that John wasn’t going to like this one bit.
John glanced at Brian, who looked indifferent, and Roger, who seemed excited to see his reaction. He raised his eyebrows and Freddie sighed.
“I just think we could try coordinating a little better. A strong colour scheme. All of us looking like a band.”
“Yeah, okay,” John said, shrugging. “I’ve got no problem with that.”
“And I was thinking we could wear a bit more makeup.”
John’s face fell.
“No.”
“Deaky.”
“No way.”
“Everyone does it!”
“I don’t!”
“Deaky, it’s fine,” Roger rolled his eyes. “It’s just a bit of eyeliner, it’s not gonna kill you.”
John wrinkled his nose but stayed quiet. He knew when to pick his battles and, more importantly, he knew when he was outnumbered and likely to lose. Still, logistically there were still some issues.
“Where do I even get eyeliner?”
John thought he heard Freddie mutter something like ‘oh, for fuck’s sake’ under his breath, but Roger cut in before he could protest.
“Shops, Deaky. Come on.”
“I won’t have time! I’m always either at uni or work. I barely make it to gigs with enough time to get changed as it is.”
“Why don’t you ask your girlfriend! She wears eyeliner, I’ve seen it. And hey,” Roger grinned like a cat. “She could even put it on for you.”
John didn’t have the energy to argue. He shut his mouth again, his skin prickling with embarrassment as his friends murmured in agreement, smiling wicked smiles and whistling like teenagers.
“I’m not wearing any bloody makeup,” John said firmly, crossing his arms over his bass. “That’s the end of it.”
/
That’s how you found yourself between John’s knees, again, leaning in so that you could rub an eyeliner pencil dangerously close to his eyeball.
John was not taking it like a champ. For one thing, he kept bloody blinking. And he was gripping your elbow so tightly, you were starting to lose circulation.
“You know, John,” You smiled as you prised your arm from his grip for the third time. “This’ll only take a second if you just let me do it.”
John’s forehead creased, his funny mouth drawn into a thin line as he begrudgingly set his hands down by his sides. He slipped them under the lip of the table and held on so tight, his knuckles began to pale. So lanky, so smart, so sensible, and terrified of a pencil.
“So, this was Freddie’s idea?”
Immediately, you regretted asking. John scowled, almost making you drag the eyeliner across his temple.
“Stupid idea. I’m gonna look ridiculous.”
You couldn’t help smiling. You’d never seen John so cross and moody before.
“You’ll look fine.”
“It won’t suit me,” John pouted. “I haven’t got the right… Face for it. Roger and Freddie, even Brian, they’re…”
He trailed off, closing his eyes with a woebegone sigh.
Oh, no. You weren’t going to let him wriggle off the hook that easily.
You lifted John’s chin with three fingers, thinking it would force him to meet your eyes, but his stayed closed.
You slipped your thumb over his chin, his slight stubble rough against your skin, and pressed down gently.
“What?” you asked, giving his chin a little shake.
John didn’t open his eyes but you did manage to encourage a little smile out of him.
Pleased with your small win, you brushed your thumb across his chin again, more gently now, the tip of your thumbnail just skirting along the edge of his bottom lip. You ached to reach just that little bit further and tug it down. That would get his attention.
“You’re just as pretty as those idiots, Johnny. And twice as talented. And you’ve got one thing they ‘aven’t got.”
“What’s that?”
You grinned.
“Me.”
John finally opened his eyes and gazed at you softly. He looked tired, too tired for a boy his age, tired right down to his bones, his soul.
You watched his silvery green eyes cross your face, and found yourself wondering, not for the first time, what on earth he was thinking about when he looked at you like that.
“I’ve got you, do I?” he said quietly.
You tapped your thumb sweetly against his chin, then finally let him go.
“Actually, could you close your eyes again? It’s easier like that.”
John flinched when the tiny brush met his eyelid.
You felt bad. To his credit, John had never worn any makeup before so you knew it must feel odd for him. When he shyly brought it up earlier that afternoon, you thought he must be joking, but John had looked so mortified, you knew he wouldn’t put himself through it unless someone was making him.
You glanced at the clock on the mantle. Just half an hour before he needed to get going. John was already dressed and ready to go, you just had to make him look presentable, he’d said. A laughable idea. He looked amazing tonight. He always did. So amazing, you couldn’t help yourself.
“You smell nice. What is it?”
John opened one eye, almost sleepily.
“Hm?”
“What are you wearing?”
“Nothing.”
You laughed softly, feeling your cheeks heat up.
John blinked, then shot you an embarrassed, lopsided smile.
It was difficult to ignore just how good it felt to be close to him again. John’s bony knees were at either side of your hips, pressing in ever so slightly whenever your eyeliner poked somewhere it shouldn’t.
You hummed to yourself, turning his chin to the left, then the right, making sure you’d jabbed the pencil everywhere you needed to. Neither of you seemed to realise there really was no need for you to be touching each other quite so much.
Instead, you just tried to focus on making sure you didn’t poke his eye out. It was infinitely more difficult putting makeup on another person, it was taking all your concentration not to make John look like a B movie monster.
“How’s school going?” you asked, breaking the silence.
John smiled against your palm.
“I love that you call it that.”
“It is school!”
He was grinning now.
“It’s going well.”
You held up two blushes, one deep red, one pale pink, then told him to open his eyes again. John wearily chose the latter, probably hoping it would be less visible than the other.
You dabbed a brush that had definitely seen better days into the powder and told him to smile.
“Are you top of your class?”
“It doesn’t really work like that.”
“But?”
You raised your eyebrows and John’s forced smile turned a little more real.
“Yeah, I am.”
“That’s my boy.” You dabbed at his cheeks, hoping it would look something like what Freddie had envisioned. “Teach me something.”
John shrugged then laughed when you told him off for shuffling around too much.
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything. Which pliers are your favourite?”
John shot you a dark look as you lifted his chin again.
“You tease me far too much for someone who also claims to like me.”
“And you get shy far too much for a boy who once said he ‘fancied me like mad’.”
“I might’ve had a drink or two that night. Sorry.”
“Ahh, so you don’t fancy me like mad, that was just the Stella talking.”
John shot you nervous, crooked sort of a smile.
“I didn’t say that,” he said quietly.
Stunned, you stopped painting his cheeks. You knew you must be staring but you just needed to see him, to see into him, to know if he was just teasing you or if behind that shy smile, John really meant what he was saying. You saw nothing but real, if bashful, honesty in those clever eyes. It knocked you for six.
“See,” You poked his chest with the end of your brush. “Gone all shy again. You’re blushing.”
John rolled his eyes.
“That’s the make up.” Then, as if realising he had no real reason not to be honest with you, he added, “It’s hard not to blush when there’s a pretty girl holding my face and teasing me.”
You could feel your heart pounding in your ears.
“You like it when I tease you?”
“God help me if I didn’t, it’s all you do.”
His hands were warm on the backs of your bare thighs. When did that happen? He was keeping you close but without any urgency or force, his touch so gentle you hadn’t even registered his hands resting there.
“You’re easy to tease. You’re so ridiculous.”
You felt John’s fingers tighten, ever so slightly, against the backs of your thighs. You were suddenly acutely aware that you were wearing a skirt. All it would take was one act of bravery, from either of you, and those hands could be sliding up under it.
“How!”
“You’re just all…” You gestured at him, up and down. “Skinny little thing with huge hair and big fuck off boots and… You’re just brilliant. I like you so much.”
Those last few words came out a lot quieter than you’d intended. In fact, you hadn’t intended them at all. A shyness you weren’t at all used to began to settle over you as John’s kind, clever eyes searched yours again. He was smiling such a lovely smile.
“I like you too,” John said softly.
Was it your imagination or had he moved closer? His back was straighter, his chin raised. John’s fingertips were now pressing into the backs of your bare thighs in a way that was impossible to ignore or pass off as an accident.
But then he let go, and all the tension between your two bodies dissapited at once, like all the air had been let back into the room. John gave you another wonky smile, tucking his hands under his own thighs for good measure.
“Marks on the outfit tonight?”
Letting out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding, you tried your best to stoke a smile.
“Oh, ten out of ten. Especially like the, um… What is this?”
When John came into work that morning, he had carried with him several bags and his bass guitar, all balanced precariously on his borrowed wheels. After his rounds, he stayed to help in the bakery and to your delight, had asked if you’d help him get ready again.
You’d only caught a flash of dark silk cloth when he showed you his outfit, stuffed unceremoniously into one of 64 Oslo Square’s own pristine white bags. Now you could see the whole ensemble and you still weren’t entirely sure what it was meant to be.
John tugged at the front of the black tunic. It had long flowing sleeve and stark, white panels that fell like a cape down his sides and his back.
“It might’ve been a wedding dress at some point? I think that’s what Freddie said?”
You flicked at the ruffles at the tops of his sleeves and shook your head.
“Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. I do love it though. All of it.”
You let your gaze slip down his front, from the white stripes that hung across his chest, to his shiny black and white platforms.
You loved those shoes. You’d often fantasised about telling John to keep them on while you tugged down his stupid, tight, faux leather trousers. There was just something about them. They made John’s already insane legs look even longer and so elegant, and the thought of him bending over the bed in them… But you’d only thought about John like that once. Honest.
You tapped the back of his hand, now sitting neatly in his lap.
“I love this ring.”
You couldn’t be certain but you thought you’d seen John wear the onyx signet ring almost every time you’d seen him. It was part of what made him John.
“It’s just an old thing.” He spun the ring around his finger a few times, then took it off and handed it to you. “My sister gave it to me. Well, my mum and my sister. For my eighteenth.”
You could feel John’s eyes on you and you studied the ring. It really was beautiful. Simple but wonderful, just like him.
Without thinking, you slipped the ring onto your index finger. The black stone shone as you held out your hand, turning it this way and that to catch the light.
“It’s lovely.”
John beamed and you felt like you’d unintentionally pleased him, like you’d struck a chord that ran deep through him. You liked the ring his family had given him. That was important to him, whether John realised it or not.
You tried to get it off. Stuck. You held your breath, trying not to panic, and twisted the ring just like John had before he took it off, but it wouldn’t budge. He’d been wearing the ring on his little finger, you remembered, it was only tiny really.
“Oh, shit.”
You twisted it again and again, your bottom lip clamped between your teeth, until John rested his big hands over yours.
“Hey, hey, don’t panic.” He closed his fingers around yours, smiling softly as he raised your hand up so he could get a better look. “I’ve got a trick.”
“W-”
“I’m not gonna bite you. Just- Look, trust me.”
You watched, heart in your throat, as John raised your hand to his lips. He gently folded down your other fingers, leaving your index sticking out.
“Saw this in a film once.”
John kept his eyes down, his eyelashes dark against his cheeks. They were short and blunt, you’d never noticed that before. He was so intriguing. How could someone be so masculine in some ways and so beguiling in others?
Then your fingertips brushed his wonderful, funny mouth and you forgot how to think altogether. John carefully lowered his head until your finger had passed between his lips.
You stared, open-mouthed, as John put his teeth around the edge of the ring and gently pulled back, slowly, steadily, until it finally slipped off your finger.
He grinned, the ring caught between his teeth, then flipped it back onto his tongue and held it out for you to see.
You laughed, your cheeks burning. John was still holding your hand.
“See!”
John held the ring up with a flourish, as if he’d just performed a grand magic trick.
You nodded, breathless.
“Yeah.”
It was all you could think to say. You couldn’t think much at all.
John’s gaze slipped over your shoulder. He must’ve seen the clock on the wall, because he checked his watch and sighed.
“Shit.” He squeezed your hand before letting go. “Listen, I’ve got to make a move but- Thanks, love, for everything. Dinner was amazing and so were you and- Just thank you.”
Still feeling a bit dizzy, you tried to summon a smile.
“Anytime, Johnny.”
He had started to gather up his bags and his guitar, but stopped just to tell you,
“I really like it when you call me that.”
“I know. You’re not as difficult to read as you might think, New Boy.”
John looked away for a moment, shaking his head, then he said,
“Thanks again for the…” He gestured vaguely at his face. “I wish you were coming with me.”
“So do I. I’ll be humming your songs to myself all evening, I promise.”
John looked like he wanted to say something else but, again, seemed to think better of it.
“See you tomorrow,” he said instead, then gave you a little wave as he turned to go.
Always so taciturn, never speaking unless he felt it was important, never saying more than was needed, never putting his oar in when he knew it wasn’t necessary. John never said anything without careful, quiet consideration, and even though it had been lovely to watch him slowly relax, trust, and grow in confidence, it was also wonderful to know he was still so uniquely him.
He never spoke without meaning to. The thought chimed like a bell, echoing through your head again and again until realisation finally began to settle in. John never spoke out of turn. He never said what he didn’t mean. So when he said that he’d been thinking about kissing you, all those weeks ago, it hadn’t been a slip of the tongue. It hadn’t been a mistake. He meant it. John meant it.
Suddenly, it felt like your feet had been frozen to the ground. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. And all the while, a prickling, breathless ache swept through your body, until it felt like your heart might beat out of your chest and you had to ball your hands into fists to keep them from shaking.
John had one foot out of the door but when you called his name, he immediately stopped. He leaned back in, surprised.
“Yeah?”
Tell him. Tell him now. Tell him how much you like him, how much you love him, love every bit of him, from his mad, fluffy, lovely hair, right down his ugly socks and his ridiculous shoes. Tell him that he’s the cleverest boy you’ve ever met and you love that he never makes you feel stupid. Tell him that he’s the best part of your day and you’d give anything to have him stay just five more minutes, because watching him leave is always torture.
“I…”
Tell him that you want to take care of him, listen to him, protect him, be there for him, love him, for as long as he’ll have you. Tell him. Just tell him.
But the moment you opened your mouth to speak, those worries that you so often had to push down, finally broke through the dam you’d built to keep them at bay.
John was top of his class at one of the best universities in the city. He was an incredible musician in a band whose popularity was growing by the day. And if all that wasn’t enough, he was gorgeous. What did you have to offer? What would he want with a girl who had never stepped foot in a university and whose future was bolted to a tiny, old, struggling bakery. Why would he want you?
John was still looking at you expectantly, the corner of his funny mouth tugged up into a small smile.
“You okay, love?”
You took a deep breath.
“Do you know why the bakery is called what it is?”
John looked bewildered for a moment, then he laughed.
“Yeah.”
“Tell me.”
John still looked a little confused but he must have sensed you needed him to answer. He shuffled around his bass and his bag of clothes, then braced his shoulder against the front door to keep it from closing.
“Erm… Gladys was so happy to have her own business that she threw a bit of a do? So she was a bit drunk when she was filling in the forms. Put the address in the wrong place. And she spelt ‘Onslow’ wrong. It just stuck.” John laughed, shaking his head. “She told me it’s because she was in A Doll’s House in secondary school. She’s a mentalist, that woman. Why?”
Because you’re brilliant. And you love this place almost as much as I do. You know it and you know us. You care about something I care about, even though you have a million and one things going on in your life and the stakes are so much lower for you. Because you’re gorgeous. And kind. And just because it feels so new and odd and wonderful to be seen, to be known.
“Nothing,” You smiled and pushed the strap of his bass case further up his shoulder for him. “Have fun, rockstar.”
/
Queen played well that night. They were always brilliant but tonight just felt different.
Maybe it was because Mickey was able to come in today and you hadn’t worn yourself out to the point of tears. Maybe it was because Roger had grabbed you excitedly by the shoulders when he saw you, kissed your cheek and told you to come backstage after the show. Maybe it was because you’d spent the afternoon doing John’s make up again, and seeing a flicker of jealousy cross his painted and usually impassive face sent a surge of excitement through your chest.
Not even your deep running insecurities could deny that John, shy as he was, seemed to be playing to you that night. For once, he stayed near the front of the stage where you could see him. And what a sight.
You’d always been a sucker for a pretty boy, but John was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen, and standing there, his legs spread, his satiny clothes clinging to every inch of him, you found yourself pressing your thighs together with every thrum of his bass through the speakers.
You watched, transfixed, as his long, elegant fingers danced down the neck of his bass, the fingers of his other hand tugging and pulling at the strings with such strength and dexterity, you couldn’t help imagining how he’d use them on you.
You raised your heavy gaze to meet his. John was bobbing his head to his own beat, lost in the music. When he saw you looking, he smirked and tossed his hair back over his shoulder, his hips rocking enticingly back and forth as the music suddenly picked up its pace.
You couldn’t take much more of this.
After the show, you headed backstage as instructed, your ears still ringing from Brian’s outrageous guitar solo and the pounding of drums through the speakers.
You’d never been backstage before. There were no bodyguards, no dark heavy curtains or growled requests to see a pass, but it was backstage after a great gig, and that was pretty cool.
You picked your way through the cold, narrow corridors, following the signs that lead you to what had generously been called a green room. Queen’s name was sellotaped to the door.
Pushing your way inside, you found the band busy meeting their fans. There was a big crowd, surprisingly big actually. You stood in the doorway, taken-aback. You knew the boys had fans, but you didn’t realise they were this popular.
Brian was talking with a man in a dark suit, probably the owner of the club. They stood seriously in the corner, plastic cups full of something amber-coloured in their hands.
Roger and Freddie were in the midst of a big cluster of kids - a mixed group, all shapes and sizes - chatting, signing programmes and tickets, and posing for the odd photograph.
It took you a moment to find John. He was sitting in the corner on a small leather sofa, keeping out of the way. He had a drink in one hand that he hadn’t touched and was chatting quietly to a girl.
You hesitated. They were sat very close together. The girl was beautiful, all dark hair and big brown eyes, and she was listening intently to whatever it was John was saying.
Roger noticed you first. He thanked the lad he was talking to, then made his way over to you.
“Bakery girl! I’m so glad you’re here. Did you bring any cake? I’m Hank Marvin.”
“Hi, Rog. Sorry, love, not tonight.”
“I’m coming by tomorrow, you can’t lead a boy on like this,” Roger beamed. “Deaks, your girlfriend’s turned up empty-handed!”
At that, John looked up. When he spotted you, he immediately brightened.
You gave him a thin smile and mouthed that you’d meet him outside. You didn’t wait for him to respond before you slipped back into the corridor and out into the cool night air.
/
John was still hiking his bass onto his back when he found you standing under a lamppost, just a few feet away from the entrance to the club. Your eyes were down, your arms crossed over your chest. You hadn’t noticed him yet.
John was so pleased to see you, he wasn’t looking where he was going. He walked right out into the middle of the road, his feet barely touching the ground, he was so excited to reach you.
A car horn blared.
“Look what you’re doing!”
John almost jumped out of his skin and hurried the rest of the way across the road, just as an old Cortina went whistling past with a rude gesture out the rear window.
“What is it with you ‘n’ not looking where you’re going?”
You were shaking your head, smiling softly. The lamplight from above meant your face was partly in shadow, but the half he could see was looking at him so fondly, John couldn’t tell if his racing heart was from the shock of the car horn or because of you.
He shot you a lopsided sort of a smile.
“Distracted. Sorry.”
He offered to walk you home and to John’s delight, you accepted. You weren’t far from the bakery, maybe a ten minute walk, so you set off together instead of heading for the tube station.
John didn’t notice the quiet at first. He was never usually the first to start a conversation or the one doing most of the talking, but tonight he found himself chatting your ear off about the gig, the audience’s reaction, the trouble they had with the sound, everything.
When you finally did speak, it was quiet and considered.
“Lot of fans you lads have now.”
John laughed.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s funny, I never really thought about that side of it. It’s funny hearing people sing along to the songs still. I had a bloke ask me to sign his shirt the other day. Me!”
You nodded slowly, lips pouted. John should’ve known he was in trouble then.
“Lots of girls around you back there.”
John shrugged, suddenly feeling bashful.
"Oh, I’m sure it's just that when they come round to get autographs, they move in a cluster from one person to the other.”
“That girl you were chatting to was pretty.”
John glanced across at you. Your head was down, your arms still crossed over your chest. He sighed and came to a halt, his bass knocking against his back.
You took a few steps past him before you realised he’d stopped. When you finally noticed, you shook your head at him, your eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown.
“What?”
You seemed to be making an effort to keep your voice steady and stern, but there was a flash of something behind your eyes. You were hurt.
John stuck his hands in his pockets, his shoulders almost up to his ears. As comfortable as he was with you, it was still strange to speak his mind. It didn’t come naturally but he wanted to get better, for you.
“Can we not do this?”
“What?”
“You being cross with me for something I haven’t done.”
“I’m not cross!”
That came out a lot louder than you intended. You looked away.
John watched you swing your arms, hardly able to meet his eyes. He didn’t think he’d ever seen you so nervous. He couldn’t help grinning. You were jealous.
“The girl I was talking to is Freddie’s sister. She’s in the year below me, she was asking about uni applications.”
He watched, still smiling, as you visibly deflated.
“Oh.”
There was a painful sort of pause.
John waited for you to speak again but you seemed to be struggling to string together a sentence. He resisted the urge to tease you about it. As much as you liked to toy with him, you’d never once made fun of him for being quiet. And he loved you for it.
John stepped closer, keeping his hands in his pockets and his eyes on yours.
“There were a lot of girls back there, yes. But I’m walking home with you,” he said, steady and quiet and sure. “It’s you who got me a job, and looks after me, and makes me laugh.”
You scoffed.
“That’s all you like me for, is it? Cos I gave you my bike and I make you laugh and feed you like a stray cat?”
“Yes. And…” John smiled. “And you’re kind to me. And you listen to me. And you’re beautiful and smart and… You’re so beautiful, you make my chest feel like it’s… I only want to walk home with you. I only ever want to be with you.”
John waited, heart pounding, for your verdict. You seemed stunned. In all honesty, he couldn’t believe he’d said those things either. But he meant it. He meant every word. It was about time he stopped mucking about and just told you how he really felt.
After what felt like an eternity, your astonished expression sank into a sweet smile, then a full on grin.
“You’re always full of surprises, New Boy,” you said, and laughed softly.
You fell into step beside each other again, stealing glances at each other just to catch the other doing it too. It was thrilling, the start of something wonderful, or just two people realising they had been in the middle of something for a long time and were relieved to find the other there too.
John couldn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed, so completely at ease, but it would probably be the last time he was with you.
“It’s mad that you live around here,” he said as you walked down a row of gleaming department stores. “It’s so posh, I don’t even wanna look in the windows.”
You snorted.
“I couldn’t even afford their coat hangers.”
“It’s strange the bakery’s struggling so much considering where it is. And there’s always a queue round the corner. Is it the rent, or..?”
“Er…”
You didn’t know how to answer. In fact, you looked a little embarrassed, like you’d never really thought about it before. Gladys had just always said that the bakery was barely getting by and no one thought to ask. Everyone was struggling right now.
“Well, yeah, I suppose,” you said, shrugging. “And there’s ingredients and the energy bills…”
“You just always seem to sell out and your customers are always pretty well-off.”
“Gladys does all the books herself. Maybe she’s just shit at maths.”
“I could take a look?”
He knew as soon as he said it that that was a step too far. They didn’t need his help. They could look after themselves just fine. He hadn’t meant to sound patronising but John still felt awkward.
“I’m sure Gladys knows what she’s doing,” he added quickly.
“Well, let’s not go mental.”
You gave a scornful laugh, then squeezed John’s hand to make sure he knew he hadn't offended you. He squeezed back gratefully.
You nodded at a glossy car showroom on the other side of the road. Ferraris. Chevys. Bentleys.
“You know, I’ve lived in this city all my life and I’ve never been in any of these shops.”
This part of the city was a honeycomb of luxury stores you would never dream of touching, let alone passing through their doors. They hurt to look at.
John shook his head.
“Me neither.”
“You might soon. Roger was telling me someone from a record company might come see you perform.”
John spoke without his teeth separating.
“They might.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” John’s smile was forced. “Yeah it would be. Good, I mean. It’d be good. Great, even.”
Of course, you never missed a trick.
“John?”
He sighed, pushing his balled up fists deeper into the pockets of his jumper.
“It really was just supposed to be part-time. This wasn’t part of the plan.”
“What plan?”
“My plan.”
You knew a little about his childhood, the uncertainty and worry of it all, so he felt comfortable talking about it. Unpredictability made a boy grow up thinking about every penny. John liked to plan and think and organise because his life, so far, had been anything but. There was control in order, and safety in the ordinary.
You slipped your arm though his.
“It’s going to be alright, you know. If things do pick up with the band. I know it sounds terrifying but,” You grinned. “It’s also very, very cool, John.”
Your smile helped to ease the ache in his chest a little, but John’s mind was whirring.
“But what if-”
You stopped, and your arm looped through his meant he stopped too.
“You’re gonna keep them on track. You’re going to keep them safe. You’re going to make sure no one messes you around, or takes you for granted, or tries to take something you made and put their name on it. They need you, John. They can’t do it without you.”
He looked down at his shoes, shaking his head, almost in disbelief.
“You’re so lovely.”
Still staring at the floor, he missed your soft smile, but John felt you move closer. Just as his heart began to flutter, you took your arm back. He immediately missed your touch but before he could begin to feel disappointed, you slipped your hands into his.
“You said they went through how many bassists before they met you? They were looking for a good musician, yeah, but you’ve got something they didn’t. A brain.”
John looked up, laughing softly, but your gaze was clear and steady. He’d never felt so seen, so held.
“You’re so smart, John. You see things other people don’t. And if one day you decide you don’t wanna do it anymore then that’s fine. But if you don’t do it because you’re too scared? Well, then…”
John felt something in his chest shift. There had been a belt wrapped around his heart - growing steadily tighter and tighter by the day - ever since he learned about this man from the record company coming to see them play. You’d finally loosened it.
“It means I wouldn’t be able to be your delivery boy anymore,” he murmured.
That was perhaps the worst thing of all. His time was already fractionated into countless pieces. If music became a full time thing, he wouldn’t be able to see you every day. John wasn’t sure how often he’d be able to see you at all.
He thought your smile looked pained as you squeezed his hands. You’d been worrying about it too.
“You were always too good for me, darlin’. Us. For us. The bakery.” You smiled, soft and sad. “I knew you were too good to be true.”
John wanted to argue. He wanted to tell you that you were wrong, he wasn’t too good for anything, but especially you. He wanted to stay. He loved his life, he loved the bakery, he loved being with you, learning from you, talking to you, making dinner with you, making you laugh, all of it, every moment. He wanted to tell you that he wasn’t going anywhere. But he also didn’t want to lie to you.
“They need you, New Boy.”
“Don’t you need me?”
“I want you, that’s different.”
John raised his eyebrows. To his utter delight, you shyly glanced away, your lips pressed together as you tried to keep back a smile.
“It’s not up to me,” you soldiered on. “You need to do whatever you need to do. But I’m gonna support you, no matter what.”
His heart was going like the clappers. John could hardly piece a sentence together at the best of times, least of all around you, but now, he could hardly gather a solid thought.
You were so good. He couldn’t believe he’d found you. In all the world, all its mess, all its people, he’d made one decision and found you, as easy and as simple as crossing the road and spotting the one shop with all its lights still on. A lighthouse, he thought, calling him home.
“Think maybe you’re the one who’s too good to be true, love,” John whispered.
Those soft, gentle eyes. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. You had this way of looking at him, of being with him, it made John feel like the only man in the world. You liked him, he knew you did. So why couldn’t he just lean forward and kiss you? Why shouldn’t he?
His gaze dropped to your lips, just for a second, but when he met your eyes again, John knew you’d noticed.
You started to smile.
His heart in his throat, John placed your left hand on his hip so that his right was free to hold your cheek.
You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch with a soft sigh.
“Of course, if you want to stay, you can,” you said quietly. “I’ve got used to having you around, New Boy.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
You seemed so small in his hands, but there was something there, in the way you’d looked at him before your eyes slipped shut, in the way your fingers pressed into his hip, ever-so-slightly pulling him into you. You weren’t surrendering to him. He was only taking the lead because you were allowing it. The thought set John’s heart racing.
“Maybe I could still do a couple of odd shifts. You know. Every now and then.”
“Weekends would be good.”
“You’re in charge, Captain.”
You opened your eyes. They were dark and full in the low light.
“I’ll hold you to that, Johnny.”
John swallowed hard.
A shout across the street made him falter. There was a crowd of young men, all six sheets to the wind and staggering on uncertain legs. They started whooping and hollering at you, waving bottles of beer starwards.
John let his hand drop back to his side.
“Idiots,” he muttered, mostly because he was fairly certain he’d been about to kiss you just then, and now he couldn’t feel his legs.
You rolled your eyes.
“Do you wanna come in?”
You nodded over your shoulder to the bakery, now just a few shops down.
It pained John to shake his head.
“Can’t. I have an exam in the morning, I should get home.”
You blinked, then laughed.
“You amaze me, Johnny.”
“Thanks for coming tonight… I haven’t told you… I’ve been meaning to… I wanted to tell you that it’s been really nice seeing you, um… I can’t think of a nice way to phrase this.”
You squeezed his hip in what he was sure was meant to be a reassuring way, but it took everything in him not to whimper.
“Just go for it,” you said, smiling.
John took a deep breath.
“Things are mad here, I know. And they always have been but especially now, with Mickey away so much and Gladys… You haven’t had any time for yourself and I can see it, you’ve been… You’re like me, you’ve felt stuck. But lately you’ve been going out and making time for yourself and… Look, I don’t really know what I’m talking about but it’s just really nice to see you so happy.”
It was probably the most he’d spoken in one go in weeks, maybe even months, but it didn’t feel as exhausting as it usually did. John knew that was because of you.
You squeezed his hip again. John had to bite back a moan.
“Thank you for reminding me that I’m allowed to have some fun,” you said, beaming.
You were good for each other, John knew that now. Physical touch no longer felt painful, because of you. Speaking his mind no longer felt like an impossibility. You hadn’t fixed him, as so many had tried to. You’d just given him the room to feel comfortable, to feel at home, and that was all he’d needed. You were good for him. Good to him. How could he ever give you up?
“Thanks for doing my makeup.”
It was a stupid thing to say, John knew it, but you were almost at the bakery door now and he didn’t want the conversation to stop, or this night to end.
“Oh, it was a pleasure. A very genuine pleasure.”
You reached up and delicately swiped your thumb under his bottom eyelashes, brushing away smudged eyeliner that he couldn’t wait to be rid of.
“It’s easy when you have such a willing participant. You were such a good boy for me.”
John almost tripped over himself at that. He recovered well, or at least he thought so. You were smiling ever so mischievously as you slipped your key into the door.
“You sure you won’t come in? The sofa’s got your name on it. Or, you know…”
Your boldness could’ve knocked him flat.
John wanted to say ‘yes’, and many other, much lewder things, more than anything in the world. He wanted to hold your face in his hands again and press his lips against yours, back you up against the door and kiss you and kiss you until you could hardly breathe.
He wanted you to pull him inside and up the stairs to your flat. He wanted you to shove him down on the bed, straddle him and just have him, take him, make him yours, and maybe even allow him to make you his in return.
But it was late. And your conversation had made him sad, though the conclusion had been a reassuring one. He was tired, and worried about the future, and not looking forward to getting up at the crack of dawn for this stupid exam.
“Soon,” John said. “I promise.”
He wasn’t sure if that last part was for him or for you. Maybe both. John just hoped you knew how painful it was to step back from the bakery, turn away from you for the night, and head home to his lonely, lonely bed.
//
Master List
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rogertaylorshbb · 1 year
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"poor thing" roger Taylor fanfic
sorry I haven't written in 10 days, just been busy with school!! i hope you enjoy this, it was inspired by a photo I saw on tumblr of roger pouring milk for a cat.
you sat down with your favorite magazine on a lazy Sunday. you finally got to relax after all the running around you did all week. you opened the magazine when you heard something. "meowww" a quiet meow called out from your left. you turned your head looking for the cat that was making the sound but your eyes saw nothing.
your head then slowly went down to your magazine, then again you heard the meow, you looked saw nothing, then again, then again, then again. the 6th time you heard the meow you snapped.
"where the fuck is that coming from" you whispered annoyingly shutting your magazine. you got up a glanced outside and that's when you saw the cat. the poor little cat had its paw stuck in a crack on the fence.
"awwww, poor little thing" you said walking over to the cat. you began to very slowly pull the cats paw out. it hissed but you eventually got it out. the cat must of had a good feel about you and started to purr at you.
"what's all that racket y/n!" roger called out walking outside. he looked at you and smiled, "y/n, before you ask, we are not keeping it"
you had a look of disappointment on your face, you were gonna ask him that but then again it probably wasn't a great idea. "roger is mean" you said in a baby voice to that cat "no mean roger" you laughed putting on a pout face. "shut up" he chuckled going back inside to watch television.
you picked up the cat and carried it inside, you then had a look at its paw, wasn't anything major, just a small scrap. you cleaned it up which the cat didn't at all like. you knew that cleaning it up still wasn't gonna heal it so you were gonna take it to the shelter.
you carried the cat in your arms over to were roger was sitting. "hey rog" you giggled with the cat in your arms.
roger rolled his eyes "I'm trying to watch the ascent of man, y/n please get that cat away" "meanie" you whispered to the cat.
"well I need to ask a big favor, I'm just gonna head out for 5 minutes-"
"y/n c'mon" he interrupted
"just listen, just 5 minutes, I need to get balloons for Freddie's birthday, john asked me, ill be back i promise, I need you to hold the cat, she's hurt" you explained.
he rolled his eyes and picked up the cat with a disgusting face, placing it down on his lap. you then grabbed your keys and ran out.
*20 minutes later*
you had taken longer then you expected, but picking out the color was hard, you felt as if you had to pick everyone, you eventually just went for the yellow. you opened the door and turned to rogers chair where he watched the tv. he wasn't there, so where else could he be. you then walked in to the kitchen to see something that made you giggle.
you witnessed roger patting and pouring milk into the bowl for the cat, smiling to himself. "roger" you said. he jumped. "uhhhhh, I'm just- I'm just- the cat was being annoying so I-" he stuttered
"just admit you like the cat rog" you chuckled throwing the balloons on the table coming to bend down next to him.
I know this a bit shorter then the ones i normally write, sorry, but I'm planning on writing a long one on Friday!! hope you like this cute short one.
@sarcastic-sourwolf
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johnica-weeks · 1 year
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Roger and Dominique
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Roger Taylor (26 July 1949) 💕 Dominique Beyrand (26 April 1952)
Children:
Felix Luther (22 May 1980)
Rory Eleanor (29 May 1986)
Roger met Dominique when she was working as assistant for Richard Branson, when he was organizing Queen's Hyde Park concert on 18 September 1976. On 16 October the band went to Kempton Park to launch the A Day At The Races album, and he turned up to that with his girlfriend Jo, but it seems Roger ended it with her and by 1978 he was in a public relationship with the French brunette.
There are plenty of pictures of her following Roger and Queen on tour and having fun with him at parties, later with their children too, and her fashion taste seems to match Roger's very well! Dominique looks like a classy but humorous lady, with beautiful glossy black hair and lean, long legs.
At the end of a long time stable relationship (Roger has always been against the idea of marriage) they got married on 25 January 1988 with Freddie Mercury and Mary Austin signing the register as witnesses. Taylor informed the press that he and Beyrand were undergoing a trial separation, and despite the press tried to make a scandal out of it, their relationship was already over when he started dating Debbie Leng. The marriage was most of all for their children Felix and Rory.
"I wanted to make a commitment to Dominique and our two children. I wanted to make my children legal and secure. Dominique is a terrific woman. We really are the best of friends." - Roger Taylor
Prompts - Day 1: Roger and Dominique (12th April)
Language barrier
Surprisingly powerful
Take me anywhere, I'll follow you
When I look and I find I still love you
Brian & Roger's ships week 2023 rules and prompts
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Welcome Home - Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader
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Summary: Okay so I know a handful of people have done this, but I am a sore sucker for hurt Roger.  Roger comes home from their first big tour and he's in pain from the constant physical demand of being a drummer. Also a little bit of angst but mainly fluff then soft smut near the end.
Warnings: Swearing, mention of drugs and alcohol, pain (none inflicted by anybody, but if you are not a fan of reading about people in pain then skip this one), anxiety, smut (penis in vagina sex, riding, dirty talk/mention of masturbation, unprotected sex, no aftercare), note: the smut is fairly vanilla/soft, so if you aren't a fan of having the vagina referred to as a 'cunt' then you're fine to read this.
Word count: 4.1k
Enjoy!
     The crowd which surrounded you was yelling like you had never heard before. You were so proud of the kind of fanbase the band had attracted for themselves. The boys hadn't appeared on stage yet, and you knew all four band members were freaking out. They were about to perform at The Rainbow Theatre in London. Groups like The Who, Genesis, Jimi Hendrix and David Bowie had played there in the past, all people who influenced the guys. You were nervous for them, but you knew they would do excellent.
     Roger sits on a fold-out chair, carefully removing the wraps from his fingers. Luckily his sores had healed since the last show. His back still aches along with involuntary tremors from anxiety. The Rainbow was one of the most famous theatres in London. In their eyes, if you played at The Rainbow, you made it.
     “Have a beer, Roger. Might calm you down,” Brian suggested. “Don’t want a fuckin’ beer,” Roger replied hoarsely. Not only were they about to play in front of a sold-out show of 2,802 people, but the whole set was also going to be broadcasted on The Old Grey Whistle Test and the radio, as well. Beer wasn't going to help the nerves.
     Brian let out a sigh before taking a sip of his Coca-Cola. “Well, at least you have Y/n to watch,” he said. You haven't been able to watch the entire tour while you were stuck at home in London due to work, so you were glad you were able to watch the last show. “That's the worst part,” Roger mutters. “What if I mess up? I’ll humiliate myself in front of her and half of fuckin’ London.”
     “You’ll be fine, Roger. We made plenty of mistakes on stage throughout the tour. And if you make a mistake tonight, who cares? Whos going to notice and print on next week's paper ‘Queens drummer Roger Taylor messed up on stage’?” Brian asks in his fake coach-like tone. “Nobody. And especially not Y/n.
     Roger slowly looks up at Brian, removing his face from his palms. “Youre right,” he says. “Now let's go up on stage,” Brian grins as he gives roger a hand and all four head out of the dressing room.
     You watch as the house lights begin to dim. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as the camera crew and radio men made sure everything was correct. You watch as a man in a white tuxedo comes out onto the stage, it was Bob Harris. You had spoken to him before, he was kind.
     “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Queen!” he says proudly before you hear the familiar sound of Brian's guitar. You were amazed by the show. The use of colourful lights and smoke was perfect. You hadn't seen the boys play on such a big stage like this. You were so proud of them. 
     As the show comes to an end, Brian begins playing strong power cords along with some feedback from the amps. Roger bangs hard on the drums, and you watch as he knocks them over. He furiously throws them off the drum risers, Freddie and John getting out of the way just in the nick of time. That wasn't like him. Sure, he had an anger issue and often had tantrums over things, but he never took things out in front of fans.
     You feed your way through the crowd, finding the side door which was guarded by a crew member. You flash your VIP card at them and you are quickly let in. You are greeted by Freddie cautiously sipping on cold water, while Brian was icing his fingertips. “You guys were great!” you praise them before addressing the situation on stage. “Thank you, my dear,” Freddie replies through gulps. He finishes his cup before he stands up and gives you a hug. “Roger can’t wait to see you,” he tells you. “About Roger. Where is he?” you ask since he wasn't in the dressing room.
     “You saw his little outburst. He might be in the bathroom or one of the dressing rooms down the hall,” he tells you, and you thank him. “Tell me everything about the tour later, I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit!” you say with a smile as you leave the dressing room on the hunt for Roger.
     You pass by his roadie and close friend, Chris “Crystal” Taylor. “Crystal, have you seen Roger?” you ask. “He’s in dressing room five. I tried to talk to him but he told me to leave him alone,” he tells you. “Thanks,” you reply and go down the hall to dressing room five.
     You knock lightly, unconsciously not wanting your knock to sound masculine so you wouldn't be sent away immediately. You hear a groan from the other side of the door. Roger was sat on a small couch, gripping his hair in anger while his feet stomped. He had already disorganized the entire counter along with kicking any piece of furniture he could find. “Roger,” you say as you slowly open the door.
     He perks up at the sound of your voice. “Y/n?” he asks. He stood up, seeing your worried gaze staring back at him. He hugs you with the force of a thousand lost men. “I missed you so much…” he whispered into your ear. His angered and broken voice rang throughout your head, and you hug him back.
     “I’m so sorry. I got angry on stage, and- and I broke the kit, and you had to see me like that,” Roger says. “I was just so nervous about playing in front of everybody, and I didn't want to disappoint you and I did exactly what I was trying not to do,” he whimpered into your neck. All his outward anger was gone. All that was in his heart was remorse.
     “Roger,” you say, taking his cheeks into your palms and looking at him. You use your thumbs to slowly wipe away the tears. “You didn't disappoint me,” you tell him. “You did amazing. I just knew you would,” you smile.
     Roger slowly smiles back at you as tears form in his eyes again. It was so hard to be away from you for so long. His strong and callused hands grip your waist and his shaky breath blew against your lips. He slowly kisses you, tears running down his face as his eyelids meet. You missed his touch. You missed his kisses. You wished that your welcome home to him was under different circumstances. He parts from the kiss, his face returning to the crook of your neck as he begins to cry. You heard his voice breaking as sobs come from him.
     “Baby, why are you crying?” you ask as you gently run your hands through his sweaty hair. “I just missed you so much…” he whispered. “And… and I don’t deserve you…” he confesses. Every day he questions why you haven't left him yet.
     It takes you every ounce of strength in your body not to start crying with him. “Don't say that, my love” you tell him. You place a kiss on his cheek as you feel his shaky grip become tighter around you. You have seen Roger in emotional states like this, but he had never presented himself to be this vulnerable before.
     You bring his gaze to yours, yet again wiping the tears from his eyes. “Let's go home,” you say. “But- the after party,” he says, and you shut him up with a single finger on his lips. “Your well-being is more important than an after-party,”
     After a couple of gentle kisses on the lips and forehead, and two or more tears shed, Roger agrees to go home.
     You arrive home with Roger. He sighs as he enters the apartment, and he slowly removes his shoes and jacket. “Are you hungry? I can order some food if you’d like,” you suggest, and he nods. “Japanese, please,” he says. “I was going to order that. I know it's your favourite,” you smile and give him a soft kiss on the cheek. “You go get changed while I order it,” you tell him. Roger walks off and enters your shared bedroom. He hadn't been there in months. It was exactly as he left it, maybe a bit cleaner, but still the same comforting bedroom.
     He changes into a t-shirt and sweatpants. It had been ages since he wore comfortable clothes. Most nights he ended up sleeping in his leather pants and button-up because he was too exhausted or drunk to change.
     You walk into the bedroom, Japanese food in hand and you see Roger laying stomach-first on the bed. “The food is here,” you tell him as you shake him out of his half-awake state. “Oh,” he says groggily and sits up. He takes his portion of the food and begins eating after he thanked you.
     “Tell me all about the tour,” you tell him with a smile.
     “The fucking tour…” Roger muttered. “I was great and all, but physically it was horrible,”
     “What do you mean?” you ask as you slowly place a hand on his back. Roger hisses as you touch the sensitive muscles on his back. “That-” he says. You frown. “My whole body hurts. My back, my hands, my legs. Pretty sure I sprained my ankle. First I tried painkillers, but they only helped for a bit. I tried drinking, and I tried drugs. It helped for a bit, but when I come down from it everything hurts again. Fuck- jerking off didn't even help. Fred said it would but it didn't,”
     You could hear the pain and frustration in his voice. “Rog, baby, if you were hurting all tour you should have asked to go home early,” you tell him. “I wanted to, believe me, I did. But I couldn't, the band depended on me, just like I depend on them. Plus every show was sold out. I couldn't leave.
     “Why don’t I run you a bath?” you suggest. “The hot water might help ease your muscles, then we can go to bed,” you tell him.
     “You think that will help?” he asks. “It should help your muscles, at least. I’ll bandage your ankle up and if your pain gets any worse we can go to the doctor,” you say. “I’d like a bath, then,” he smiles softly. “Okay,” you tell him and gave him a kiss before you stood up and walked to the bathroom to run the bath.
     About 10 minutes later Roger looks up from his book when you walk into the bedroom. He rips off his reading glasses and puts away the book he was reading. He hated his reading glasses, you loved how they looked. He never believes you, of course.
     “Bath is done,” you tell him. He stands up from the bed and follows you to the bathroom. He sees as you put epsom salt and some bubbles into the water and mix it with your hand. “Thank you, baby,” he smiles and gives you a warm kiss before he undressed and got into the tub. You couldn't help but watch. You hadn't seen him naked in almost 3 months besides the naughty polaroid photos he left behind for you. But, right now was not the time for lust. Your job as his partner was to comfort him.
     Roger hisses as he leans down into the scorching hot water. “Too hot?” you ask worriedly. “Little bit, but that’s probably good,” he says. He slowly adjusts to the temperature and leans his head back onto the cold tile.
     The two of you had shared baths before. Roger had suggested it once a while back as a bonding moment. He made it quite romantic. There were much more bubbles than the current bath, and he poured you both a glass of wine with candles. Even if it felt a bit cheesy, you loved it.
     “I’ll be in the bedroom when you're done,” you tell him and stand up to leave. “Y/n,” he says, grabbing your dry hand with his wet one. “Don’t leave,”
     You look down at him, his wide, remorseful eyes staring back at you. “You're doing all this stuff for me, getting food, running me a bath. If I were you I’d be struggling to keep my hands to myself,” he says. “It's nice to have a welcome home like this, so stay. The last thing I want is to not be able to see you, or hear your voice, or smell you…”
     If you weren't his girlfriend, you’d be creeped out by the last sentence. But you had to admit, you felt the same. Even just a reminiscing smell that was similar to Rogers's cologne or sweat brought you comfort.
     “Okay, I’ll stay,” you smile. You sit down on the floor mat, still holding his hand in yours. “Is the bath helping?” you ask. “A bit. It does feel nice on my muscles,” he replies. “Maybe you could give me a massage after?”
     “Is that an excuse to have my hands all over you?” you tease with a smirk. “Partly,” he grins and gives you a superficial kiss as he purses his lips at you. You laugh and nudge him a bit. “Creep,” you joke. “You can't deny it, you love that creep,” he barks back at you. He always made you blush, even with the simplest of words.
     Roger slowly brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing your hand gently before resting his cheek against it. “I love you…” he whispers. You smile softly. “I love you too,” you whisper back. You lean over, giving him a slow and loving kiss. “Why don't you join me?” he asks, using his hand to tap the water a bit. “I already showered today,” you tease. Roger groans with a smirk. “You always play hard to get,” he chuckles.
     Roger stayed in the tub for almost forty-five minutes before he gave you the queue he was ready to get out. You handed him a towel and he wrapped it around his waist. “Don't forget that massage,” he grins. “Don’t worry, I didn't,” you giggle. He was always so needed sometimes.
     You lead him back to the bedroom once you grabbed the massage oil from under the bathroom sink. He lays down on the bed, taking off his towel as he did. You could feel the smirk on his face. “Cover your arse,” you tell him, even if it was cute. “You're no fun,” he laughs and puts the towel back on.
     You put the tiniest amount of oil on your hands, rub it between your palms to warm the liquid before gently rubbing it up and down Roger's back. “Where does it hurt, baby?” you ask. “My upper back, near my shoulders, and my spine,” Roger says while burying his face into his arms. You begin kneading his shoulders, digging your thumbs into his muscles. “Fuck-” he groans. “Hurts?” you ask. “Yes,” he mutters. “Sorry,” you reply, placing a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. “It's okay.”
     You knead his muscles slower, adding less pressure so you could ease him onto it. You worked on one section, and once Roger gave you the okay, you added a bit more pressure, and then more after. He groans again as you push harder. “I’m sorry,” you say. “No- no, keep going,” he whispers. “Fuck-” he growled.
     It felt so good but hurt at the same time. “You’re great with your hands, Y/n,” he tells you. “In multiple ways,” he smirks. “Oh shut the fuck up,” you laugh.
     After half an hour or so of massaging, you were finally done, and by the time you had finished, Roger was almost asleep. “You’re done, love,” you whisper to him with a gentle kiss on his cheek. That was able to wake him up from his light sleep. “Thank you, babe…” he mumbled as he pushed himself up. He sighs as he moves his spine. “It feels much better,” he smiles, and you smile back at him. “I’m glad it does,” you tell him, and give him a kiss on the lips.
     Roger sits up, taking the towel from his behind and wrapping it around his waist once again. “You know,” he says, looking over at the clock on your nightstand. “The night isn't over yet,” he smirks. You knew exactly what he meant. “You're right, it isn't,” you say. “I have another welcome home gift for you,” you hum before you kiss him. It was gentle and soft. You always played hard to get with him, even if Roger acted as if he hated it, it made the night feel even more erotic.
     Rogers' hands make their way to your waist, gripping your shirt before they venture under the fabric. “Somebody is needy,” you tease. “I haven't seen you… in months. Of course, I'm needy,” he says between kisses. You shiver at his touch. Even if you loved teasing him, you couldn't resist him either.
     Your hands run down his bare chest as the kiss becomes more sensual. Roger was always the first one to use his tongue, and you didn't mind, especially right now. “You know,” you begin through a small moment of a parting of your lips. “When you were gone…” you whisper, trailing your kisses down his neck to suck hot sores onto his skin. “I used to ride my pillow… pretending it was you,”
     Shivers went through Roger's body as you spoke. He held back a moan, letting out a soft groan instead. “Yeah? What other dirty things did you do while I was gone?” he asks against your ear while his hands tried to undress you. “I’d moan your name as if you were in the room,” you tell him, letting the lewd noises of your wet kisses echo through his ears. “I’d touch myself in the shower and pretend it's your hand…” you whisper. “I’d even go as far as touching myself while reading your interviews in magazines,”
     “Fuck…” Roger whimpered. He was already hard as a rock at the thought of you doing all those outlandish things just because you missed him. “Well, the real thing is here, now. No need to pretend,” he hummed. He takes off your shirt and shudders as he cups your bra. He bit his lip at the sight of your breasts. He had looked at them in the dirty polaroid you gave him, but finally seeing them in person, even with a bra, felt so rewarding. “I need you, baby…” he whispered.
     You push him down onto the bed. You were much more forceful than you had ever been. “I love when you beg,” you grinned. You begin undoing your pants after Rogers's many failed attempts. “Please…” he whimpered. “I jerked off almost every night to that little sexy photo I have of you… just wasn't the same-” he says breathily.
     Once your pants were off, which felt like forever for Roger, you straddle his hips. He hisses as your panties rub against his cock. “Baby- please…” he begs. “Please, what?” you ask in your menacing teasing tone. “Please fuck me,” Roger says. He wasn't afraid to beg. If he had to beg you to get what he wanted, he would. You grin. You slowly remove your underwear and toss them to the side. It took every ounce of strength in Roger's body not to grab your panties and smell them.
     You lift your hips, letting his tip run through your folds. You were already soaking wet for him. “Shit-” Roger mutters. His tip twitched against your wetness. You reach behind yourself, slowly unclipping your bra and sliding it off. The desperate and amazed look on Roger's face almost made you laugh. He looked like a child in a candy store. Rogers' shaky hands reach up to gently cup your breasts. His thumbs run over your nipples and he watches as they become pointy in his hold.
     “Are you ready?” You ask in a similar fashion to how he asked you the first time you had sex. “I’ve been ready,” he huffs. You smirk at the desperate look on his face. You feel Roger's hands slowly run down to your hips, ready in position to help guide you. You slowly sink down onto his cock once you aligned his tip with your entrance. You let out a whine as he finally goes inside you. You have used dildos occasionally while he was gone, but it never felt the same.
     “Fuck, baby…” Roger groaned as you squeeze around his length. His hands grip your waist, knuckles on the verge of going white. His hands and your body begin to move in unison. “Oh, Roger…” you whisper between soft moans. Your hips slowly move up and hit down onto Roger's pelvis. The first bounce of many made you whine and made Roger bite back a moan.
     “Faster…” Roger begs quietly, and you comply. You needed to be faster, you needed him. His hands helped your hips move as you rode him. You were weak with arousal, and it took great strength to move your hips.
     Every movement sent waves through your body, rewarding Roger with the sound of your sweet moans every time his cock hit just the right spot inside you. “You feel so good, baby…” Roger whispers before letting out a groan. His head was swimming. Every time he watched the way your breasts moved with your hips, or how his cock disappeared inside of you, he moaned almost femininely.
     By now, you were bouncing on Roger like it was your last day on Earth. And your moans were erotically loud. Roger shouted obscenities that would have his mother fuming from the unholy words, but neither of you cared. You needed each other more than you needed air. You needed each other's body and soul. You knew that after this night, not only would you both be sore, but you would have an angry note from your elderly neighbour the next morning.
     “Babe- fuck, I’m close…!” you moan. Your face was unpleasing to you, with your eyebrows scrunched together and your mouth hanging open. Roger loved the sight, but, he could barely look because he was engulfed in pleasure. It was a strain to open his eyes.
     “Cum for me, love,” Roger tells you. “Cum,” he repeats. You couldn't feel your body besides the constant pleasuring feeling of Rogers' length plunging in and out of you. You had lost full control of your hips, but the rewarding feeling was too strong to stop. “Cum all over my cock,” it was so erotic to say something like that, although it wasn't the worst of the dirty talk that Roger had in store. But, it was enough for you to finally go over the edge.
     You moan loudly as Roger's cock hits just the right spot, and you tighten around him. “Fuck!” you moan, along with multiple other forms of The Lord's name used in vain. Roger groans as your walls squeeze around his length. “Y/n…!” he moaned before his cum spewed into you. You were both wet and sticky with each other's arousal. It felt disgusting but you loved it.
     Roger pulled you against his chest, groaning into your neck as he gripped your hair. His arms were around you in a bear hug, chest heaving against yours with a silent promise to never let you go.
     “Rog…” you whisper. Roger took a moment to answer, he could hardly breathe. “Y-yes?” he asks. “I love you…” that made him smile. “I love you, too…” he whispers back.
     You didn't dare to move, and neither did Roger. “I don't have it in me for a second round, baby…” you whisper. “It's okay, me either,” he huffs. You slowly lift your head from the crook of his neck, you see the weak smile on his lips and you couldn't help but smile back. You kiss him, gently like before. “Want me to-” he hisses as you slowly lift your hips, removing his length from your pussy. “Want me to clean you up?” he asks.
     You shake your head. “No,” you tell him. You roll over, resting your head in your hand as your look at him. Roger's hand gently caresses your cheek, twirling a strand or two of hair around his finger. You noticed the sores on his fingers where calluses usually were, but you didn't comment on it.
      You were so beautiful, sometimes he didn't believe that you were his. He often questioned his religion because of you. He didn't understand how he could be given such a goddess-like being like yourself without the help of some higher deity to bless him with such a gift.
     “Now can you tell me about the tour?” you ask, and he smiles. “Sure,” he says, and he began rambling on about the great time he had in America, leaving out the parts about his pain. You had helped him with his wounds, and he finally felt at peace again.
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Uuuh hiii guys; this is my first time writing a smutty fic so do be kind (yes I know I'm not ✨of a legal age✨ but can you honestly say that you weren't reading/writing this stuff at my age too?
Anyway enjoy this spicy thingggg
"Date Night"
Tw: Smut/Oral Sex/Unprotected sex/Dom!Brian/Master Kink/Fem/neutral!reader
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Date night. This was your favourite night of every month. You and Brian would get dressed up, head out to a nice restaurant and have a nice meal. And that's exactly what you'd done. Brian dressed in one of his finest suits; pale blue, with a white shirt and matching blue tie. Of course none of this was exactly tame compared to when you'd first started dated- it had almost been 7 years. So if Brian decided to drag his hands along your sides as you slipped into your own luxurious outfit it was nothing outside the norm. If his lips found their way to your neck it was always only playful. Dinner had been lovely; you'd eaten a lovely meal and were now cuddled up on the sofa half awake against Bri's chest. You found your hand idley pawing at his barely clothed chest, his tie now pulled off and shirt unbuttoned. Twirling your fingers through his fine chest hair he'd forgotten to shave. He gazes at you with a soft expression.
"I had a great time tonight baby." his words were soft and his voice was muffled against your hair. His hand slowly brushed up your collar, and over your matching necklace to his that always hung proudly around your neck, Brian's fingers gently latching around the chain, accidentally pulling the cold metal hard against the nape of your neck. You surpressed a shiver and leant more into him, allowing your hand to rest on his thigh as you watched whatever crappy TV show was on at the ungodly hour of 11pm. You say ungodly because date night always made it feel later than it actually was. You pressed a couple soft kisses to his neck as you snuggled closer. Something so innocent yet from your angle on his chest you could see a bulge growing inside Bri's trousers. You blushed, turning your attention to a rather raunchy scene in whatever was on the television and felt Bri's hand grip your arm a little tighter. As you shifted in your seat, Brian did too, trying to cover his now prominent, large bulge with his free hand resting lazily in his lap. You slowly bring your leg over his, trying to subtly watch his face while keeping your gaze fixed on the screen in front of you; praying he didn't notice that you'd finally caught on to his hard on. He cleared his throat and got up, switching the TV off with a sigh. "that's boring me to death." you look up at him with big, but accidental doe eyes; not realising how wet you were seeing him in that outfit until he rolled his shirt sleeves up. You could barely bite down on your lip to surpess a whine and this time, it was Brian's turn to play a little game of his own. A small smirk grew across his face seeing your expression.
"Angel, I'm gonna make up some hot water bottles, why don't you get ready for bed?" his words were entirely pure, but you noticed that his voice had dropped to a dense, low tone. You shakily stood up and he wrapped his arms around you from behind. He spoke against your neck, allowing his lips to graze a sweet spot that resided under your ear. "you know um... I was thinking if you wanted we don't have to sleep straight away," his index finger dragged along your side delicately, making you pull in a shaky breath against his temple. He pressed his hips to yours, making the bulge rest on the middle of your rear. "we could always.. Mhh cuddle up?"
He allowed a strong hand to begin rubbing at your shoulder blade, humming at the feel of your tense body against his palm. "Oh angel, you're all tense." With his free hand he pulled up your arm, pushing his hand up your forearm; making sure to place soft kisses to your wrist- his breath warm against your arm and the sensitive points along you clavicle.
"Bri-" you let out shaky whine which was met with Brian's lips barely caressing your own. You let your eyes slip closed, waiting for his kiss but all he did was speak.
"upstairs... Clothes off." and he pulled away with a smirk. You followed his command, rushing upstairs to strip completely, sitting on the bed eagerly as you waited for his arrival. You could hear his gentle footsteps as he climbed the stairs, the door opening just barely as Brian's frame fills the opening. He leans against the door frame with a smirk; his eyes took in every inch of your body, his eyes glowing with heat as if he were devouring you from his spot in the door way. The loosened off tie that was slung around his neck was now in his hands- his slender fingers twisting the fabric in a curl resemblent of the ones on his head. He grew closer, his pace slow and calm. He grabbed your wrists tentatively and slid the tie over them. While keeping firm eye contact he slowly hitched it closed, barely licking his lips as he saw the need in your face grow. You let out a soft whimper as he pulled you closer with the remaining fabric.
"You've been so good baby... Such a good little pup for your master" his voice continued to drop in tone the more he spoke. His often smooth, velvet voice was now gravely and hoarse; the gruff words he spoke came now from his arousal and not from his heart. "legs... Spread" you immediately complied, making the space between your legs grow large enough for him to kneel in. He looks up at you with pure hunger as he brings a hand up your thighs, moving a finger between your folds as he presses a trail of kisses down from your abdomen. You tuck your lip between your teeth for any chance of staying quiet as Brian brushes a calloused fingertip over your sensitive clit. Your eyes fluttering at the sensation, as Brian applies a little more pressure- leaning down to let his tongue graze over it.
"let me hear you, my sweet angel" he whispers softly, letting his middle finger find its way to your core. You let out a quiet moan as Brian curled his finger inside you and along your walls. A shock wave of pleasure hit you as Brian added another finger; ever since he'd started touching you, you'd found your arousal growing to the point that you were soaking wet before you'd got back from dinner. Seeing Brian's bulge earlier that evening made you realise that he was just as keen as you were.
At this point, the setting looked almost pornographic; Brian's fingers were deep inside you as his tongue really did most the work over your clit. Your entire body tensed as an orgasm hit you, legs automatically wrapping themselves around Brian's head as you let out cries of pleasure, that seemingly only gave Brian more confidence. Pumping his fingers faster, determined to get you off again. You fell backwards as a second orgasm hit you, screaming into the bedsheets as Brian's fingers slowly pulled out of you. Your body was writhing on the bed as Brian rid himself of his clothes. You hear his belt whip to the floor and look back up. He looked like pure sin as he crawled over you; eyes dark with lust, lips curled in a devilish smirk. He kissed you so tenderly and in that moment his whole demeanor changed.
"i love you baby, I had such a good time today- god- I love you" his words were spoken softly between sweet, sensual kisses that had your body shaking.
"I love you brian- so much- so much"
He lined his hips up with yours; stroking his cock with one hand as he held your cheek in the other. He brushed the head of his cock over your folds and against your clit.
"baby are- do you want this?" he looked genuinely vulnerable in this moment, a tinge of concern flashing over his eyes.
"I want you so bad" you let your eyes close as Brian lets out a sweet, low groan. He allows himself to slide his length into you slowly, gripping the fabric of the tie tight as he does so. The feeling of him bottoming out inside you, his length filling you fully his utterly heavenly. He allows you time to adjust to him before he moves; Brian's quite big, and while he's the only person you've ever slept with, every time it feels bigger than the last and you have to adjust to the sensation of it all. The second Brian's hips start moving you can feel everything inside you getting tight-and you can tell by the look on Brian's face he isn't going to last long either. He tugged on the tie around your wrists occasionally, reminding you that he was still in charge even if he was in a state of ecstasy. He leant into your neck the faster his thrusts became. His lips rarely leaving yours as he kisses grew sloppy and wet. He ran a hand up your neck slowly, brushing his fingers over your lips and into your mouth.
"taste yourself baby- fuck- fuck you're so good-" he let out in a breathy tone against your cheek. As Brian's hips began moving faster, you clung onto his toned back, trying not to come undone without Brian. As his lips crashed to yours through a final moan you felt him pulsating inside you; his entire body shivering as he came inside you. You felt yourself snap as his fingers brushed your thigh, letting out a moan into his mouth. He let himself sink impossibly deeper inside you as you both let out a relaxed sigh. Date nights were the most perfect nights.
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