He Makes Me (Queen AU)

Chapter 5

Roger pulled his hands out of his pockets and took the song into his possession, looking down at the near illegible handwriting and moving to the only open seat on the couch—the other half occupied by a pile of dirty clothes, mostly if not all women's. Tim lingered for a moment or two, adding to the drummer's unease and distracting him from taking genuine interest in the lyrics he was told to critique.

Suddenly, the kettle started to cry, saving the blonde from the brunette's unwavering stare by calling him to the kitchen. Tim turned the flame off and plucked the teapot from the grates, bringing it over to the two teacups he had set out on the table and pouring as equal an amount of steaming liquid into each as he could. Without so much as a second thought, the brunette set the hot kettle down on the table and turned his head to look at the blonde through the open doorway separating them. It relieved him to see that his attention was on the song instead of him, though now he was slumped back with his chin tucked into his chest and the papers resting in his lap.

With Roger preoccupied, Tim stuck his hand into the back pocket of his pants and extracted a small vial of white powder. He yanked the top off and poured about half of it into one of the teacups. He checked again to make sure Roger hadn't seen him, and sure enough, the drummer was just the way he was a brief moment ago. The corner of Tim's lip twitched upward into a victorious grin, capping the vial and sticking it in his back pocket.

"Here we go," the brunette announced, slipping back into the front room and extending the tampered drink to his guest. "One for you, one for me."

"These lyrics aren't half bad, you know," the blonde replied, sitting up from his slouched position and switching out the song with the tea. "Who're they about?" he asked, glancing up at Tim.

"Oh, just an old friend," he murmured, hanging his head and anxiously tapping his finger against the side of the porcelain cup. It didn't take him long to get lost in the amber liquid that rippled like a wet surface disturbed by a single drop of water, but really was caused by the continued shaking of his hands.

It wasn't until Roger muttered, "Whoever they are, they sound awful," that Tim came to, nodding his head and agreeing that they were. "You got any chords to it yet?" the blonde continued his interrogation, sitting forward and setting the teacup his lips had yet to touch on the corner of the coffee table buried under layers of trash.

"Not thirsty?" Tim rattled off, his heart starting to race.

The blonde chuckled. "I'm gonna take that as a no."

"You should really drink the tea, Rog," the bassist insisted, laughing nervously, "I made it just for you."

"I didn't ask you to," he reminded him softly, snatching up the papers and giving them another look over. The tapping in Tim's fingers traveled down to his feet, and the shaking in his hands to his legs. It enraged him, the sight of that teacup on the corner of the table, calling Roger's name, begging him to drink it—even just one sip. The bassist had half a mind just to tear the song away from him, open his jaw, and pour the drink down his throat himself, but then he remembered that he had to play this cool. He didn't want a repeat of last time.

With a clenched jaw and tight grip on his own teacup, Tim gritted out a barely audible, "No."

"No, what?" Roger asked, a hint of disinterest in his voice as he focused on the lyrics, trying to hear a melody in them.

"No, I don't have any chords for the song," the brunette elaborated, his voice low and attracting the blonde's attention. Though he'd felt it since the moment he walked inside, this was the first time Roger realized what had been unsettling him so much. It was Tim's strange behavior.

The drummer wasn't blind to the way his band members felt about him. He saw it in their eyes the second he walked into the audition, and he knew that he'd have to be careful when he started seeing the guitarist behind the bassist's back, which was why he wasn't as keen on coming forward about their affair as Brian was. He knew how Tim felt, and he was no stranger to the advances the brunette would make. He welcomed them in order to keep the peace—and because it was exhilarating having more than one person interested in him. It made him feel good about himself, but this, Tim's behavior today, it scared him. Roger had never seen the bassist so skittish, so on edge.

"Got your guitar?" he blurted out, breaking the tension that grew between them.

"In my room," Tim answered, the lack of emotion in his voice unwavering.

"Why don't you go get it, and we can try to get a progression going?" Roger suggested, a deceptive smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The brunette couldn't help but grin himself, hoping that if he played along with the blonde's little game, Roger would drink the tea on his own and he wouldn't have to jump to the drastic measures he imagined needing to go to. "Sure," Tim said, turning on his heel and escaping down the hallway from which he retrieved the song still in Roger's hands.

The blonde sat forward, watching as the bassist disappeared into one of the rooms down the hall. When he could no longer see his shadowed silhouette, Roger set the song down and picked himself up off the couch—slowly, so the furniture or floor wouldn't creak beneath him. He took a similar approach with his steps towards the door, opening it as quietly as he could. However, before he could slip out into the hallway, a voice hit his ear.

"Where do you think you're going?"