PRETTY LOVER BOY - ROGER TAYLOR

XXXI.

♛ ♛ ♛

"You can't just drink until you start recording the album again, Roger," I cross my legs under me, setting the magazine I had been reading down on my knee. We had ended A Night at the Opera with Queen in Australia, a new edition to the touring resume. All went as well as expected and Freddie threw one of his big parties to commemorate the end. Ever since then, I don't think Roger's been sober once, not that that's the only thing irritating me at the moment.

"I write better when I'm drunk," he waves me off, taking a sip out of his newly poured glass.

"You lay better when you're sober," I reply, opening my magazine.

"Ouch," he says, meandering over to the sofa and plopping down without any grace at all. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," I lay back, bring the tabloid up to my face as to cover it.

"Are you sexually frustrated tonight?" He asks, and I hear him set his glass down on the coffee table. I don't respond, I just flip the page, not really reading anything on it, just distracting myself. There's a hand around my ankle now, clasped loosely as I feel him resituate himself.

"Clementine." He says it in a singsong voice as he comes over top of me, ducking his head underneath my magazine. "You're still mad about the girls aren't you?"

"No," my voice breaks, curse it, and he grins at me, pushing his head up to knock the tabloid from my hands.

"You are, aren't you?" On our way out of Brisbane, the last show of the whole tour, we had been rushed by a bunch of fans and a group of girls forcefully tore me away from Roger so they could scream over him. It had pissed me off beyond belief. "Snogging my face off in front of them wasn't enough for you?"

"Would you fuck off?" I ask, and he drops all of his weight down on me, making me whine. "Roger."

"Yes, that's my name," he buries his face between my breasts and I quickly smack the back of his head.

"Roger!"

"Look, she said it again," he says, voice muffled.

"You're irritating." I bring my knees up, lifting him only a little before they give out and is full weight is back on me again. "And you're crushing me."

"What a shame," he lifts his chin up, "I rather liked you." I can't help but laugh, reaching over him to pick my magazine back up, rolling it so I can swat at his head.

"Why do you keep assaulting me?" He whines, rubbing the back of his head.

"Because you won't leave me the fuck alone," I reply, laughing. He sighs, laying his head down on my collarbone, arms resting on either side of my shoulders.

"I'm feeling financially stable tonight," he says and I chuckle, furrowing my brows as I tangle my fingers in his hair.

"What does that mean?" I ask.

"I think I wanna put my kid's in you darling." My heart stops. Slowly, I sit up, sliding back as Roger looks at me confused.

"You're drunk." My voice wavers.

"Well, yes, but I mean what I said."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do."

"No."

"Yes."

"I don't want kids, Roger." He looks at me for a while, as if I'll change my mind if he stares long enough.

"We can talk about it tomorrow," he says, reaching for his glass.

"There's nothing to talk about, the answer is no." His hand falters and he looks back to me.

"What?"

"No, Roger, I don't want kids," I stand up abruptly, "how longs it been? Just over two years we've known each other? It's a little rushed too don't you think?"

"Maybe, but I'm in love with you Clementine, utterly and completely." I look at him for a moment.

"I have some things I need to do back home."

When I leave his flat, his doesn't come after me. There's a lot of things I'd do for Roger, but not that. Anything but that.

♛ ♛ ♛

I lay in my bed, staring up at the white ceiling, swallowed by a plethora of blankets and one of Roger's knit sweaters he'd left a while back. I can't sleep, not that I had planned on it originally anyway. I don't dare look at the clock, knowing full well it would inform me that I've been up the entirety of the night.

You can't just spring something like that on someone can you? He's never alluded to it before, and he sure as hell hasn't gotten anywhere near actually mentioning it to me. Could this be the end of everything? I sit up quickly, pushing the blankets off of myself. Damn my conscious and it's rambling.

In the kitchen, I make myself a glass of water that does everything but soothe my running brain. I consider, for a moment, having a drink, but I physically swat the thought away, opting for another sip of water. I'm not sure how long I've been standing in the kitchen, swaying with an imaginary breeze, when I decide I'm going back to Roger's flat, but, now that I've thought it, there's no going back. I don't get anything at all, I just put pants on and walk to the front door, swinging it open.

It takes me a moment to process that there is someone standing in front of me.

Slowly, I look up, meeting Roger's eyes. He looks tired. He mustn't have slept either.

"I was-" my immediate reaction is to make up some excuse as to what I was doing, though I doubt he very much cares if I was going for a walk or if I was heading back to his flat. He interrupts me however, before I can get it out.

"I don't think I can sleep without you next to me anymore."

I nearly melt right there, his voice somehow hanging in the air as he looks down at his feet, disheveled as ever but somehow the perfect mess as always. I don't hesitate at all in letting him in, stepping to the side. When he enters, he leans down, wrapping me in a tight hug that I return.

We end up in bed moments later, my arms draped around his neck, leg thrown over his side, his head buried into my shoulder.

"You're not leaving are you?" His voice is muffled by my sweater, or his, rather.

"No. Not tonight."

♛ ♛ ♛

NOTE!!: school is killing my want to write :,)