He Makes Me (Queen AU)

Chapter 45

I may or may not have blatantly ripped off a scene from Fleabag for this chapter, so if that gives you any insight as to where I drew inspiration from, there you go. Hope you like it!

Roger groaned at the unexpected hands that touched him and woke him up, having just drifted off to sleep minutes ago despite his body being wrought with exhaustion. He pried his stinging, bloodshot eyes open and winced at the bright light shining down on him. However, its intensity suddenly diminished, someone stepping into—and therefore blocking—its glow. The blonde's blurry vision cleared up with a few blinks, and he soon realized that the figure standing over him was Tim, working on loosening the knots he and his grandmother had tied the night before.

"'You here to swap out the ropes for something better?" Roger taunted, earning a narrowed-eyed glare out of the corner of the brunette's eye. "Barbed wire, maybe?"

"Funny," Tim answered, allowing the two halves of the rope securing Roger's legs to the bed to slide off the mattress and onto the floor by his feet. "But no, I'm here to get you cleaned up. Nana's got breakfast downstairs, and you and I are the last ones she's waiting on." The drummer instinctively turned his head towards the room the guitarist had been in last night, and sure enough, the bed was empty—neatly made, too.

Tim kicked the ends of the ropes beneath the bed, bending down only to ensure that they were out of sight. When he stood back up, using the worn-out mattress for support, it became clear to the blonde that the brunette was actively avoiding his gaze—his head turned towards the door and his eyes flittering everywhere in the room that wasn't in his direction. Even when Tim asked for Roger to get up and head out into the hallway, he wouldn't look at him.

This made for a very awkward trip down to the basement, tension electrifying the stale air as Tim prepared the bath and Roger stripped himself of his clothes that had stiffened overnight. The latter stared at the former, fearful of his silence and the thoughts running through his head. A lot had happened, and Roger figured that if he was struggling to come to terms with it, Tim must've been having an even harder time. After all, it was his father who died, his friend who he'd killed, and his grandmother who'd undermined him, taking over whatever this horror show was against his will.

Carelessly dropping his tattered stockings atop the pile his discarded and wrinkled button-down and skirt made, Roger disturbed the quiet that blanketed the room by blurting out, "Ready."

Tim shook the water off his hand that he'd been holding under the gushing faucet, testing the temperature, and shut the water off—a few drips making their last efforts to cling to life before disappearing into the bubbled surface. He picked himself up off his knees and turned to face Roger, gesturing towards the sudsy tub with the sudden courage to look the blonde in the eyes.

With his hands cupped over his crotch, the drummer dragged himself towards the bath that had been drawn for him. He lifted his foot off the ground to step into the tub when, suddenly, the bassist stopped him, pressing a damp hand to his dry chest. Roger's eyes traveled up Tim's arm, noticing for the first time the jarringly serious expression that consumed his bandmate's face.

"Kneel," he ordered, a gruffness to his command.

The blonde's brows furrowed together. "What?"

"Kneel," the brunette repeated. The instruction seemed beyond the drummer, though, who stood still before the bassist, as if he had forgotten that the choice wasn't his. "Just kneel," Tim insisted, his patience wearing thin.

The blonde reluctantly lowered himself to his knees, still holding his hands over his lap as he sat back on his heels and tipped his head back, looking up at the brunette with a mixture of anticipation and nerves glistening in his baby blues. Tim stared down at him with that unsettling austerity for a long time before getting on his knees as well. However, he kept his posture straight, giving him a slight difference in height over the blonde whose cheeks he grazed first with the tips of his fingers, and then the balls of his knuckles. His touch was so light that it felt like a feather, raising the hairs that started to grow back on Roger's skin.

The drummer swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, and when the bassist began to lean in, he knew right then where this moment was headed. While the distance between them closed slowly, the connecting of their lips seemed inescapable, and before Roger knew it, he'd closed his eyes and felt Tim's lips press gently against his. Instinctively and ambitiously, the blonde kissed back, but as soon as he applied the slightest bit of pressure, the brunette pulled away.

With their faces just a breath apart, the two opened their eyes and looked at one another. It was challenging to make sense of the thoughts that rushed through their heads, neither party knowing what the other's reaction implied, or even where their drive had stemmed from. Nevertheless, the pair—long denied of the pleasure they'd both deeply been seeking—reunited, Roger crashing his lips into Tim's and sitting up so that they were level.

Together, they rose to their feet, the blonde's hands lifting from his lap and falling on the brunette's shoulders, while the latter's slithered around to the former's back, pulling him into his chest. The pair stumbled over one another into the wall, losing themselves in the moment and acting like animals grinding helplessly against each other and grasping desperately for the other's body with adrenaline pumping through their veins and blood rushing to their groins.

Separating for just a moment, Roger fumbled clumsily with the button of Tim's jeans, struggling to free it from its opening. The brunette threw his hands into the mix—eager to get on with it and hoping he could help—but he realized quickly that the task was impossible, and instead focused on reconnecting his lips with the blonde's. Staggering backwards and claiming a new spot on the wall, they continued to explore each other's mouths and run their hands over one another's frame.

Suddenly, a loud crash resounded down the hall, tearing the two apart and directing their attention to the open, vacant doorway. With panting breaths and rapidly beating hearts, they listened carefully for the footsteps of another, or the creaking of the floorboards beneath their feet as they tried to sneak off. When all that hit their ears was silence, though, they glanced back at one another with eyes that proposed the questions their slack jaws couldn't. What now?

Roger chuckled softly, a small grin flashing across his swollen lips for a split second before they fell back into a straight line. He shifted his weight to one side, waiting for Tim to tell him what to do, but all he did was shake his head shamefully and turn towards the door.

On wobbly legs, the brunette dragged himself out into the hall, running his hands through his disheveled hair and stealing only one look of disbelief back at the blonde before dipping out of the room. The astonished drummer stared at the empty threshold, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He'd just wrapped his arms around himself when Tim's head popped around the corner, his trembling fingers gripping the doorway and his voice breaking as he said, "Think you can, uh, handle cleaning yourself up? I-I just—"

"Sure," Roger mumbled, hanging his head and biting his quivering lip. It was him, now, who couldn't look at the other.

His shaken captor tapped his fingers against the threshold, taking in and letting out a deep breath before adding, "I'll go get you a change of clothes, then."

"Great," the drummer bit out, digging his toes into the dirty tiles of the bathroom floor.

By the time Roger finally looked up, Tim was gone, and he was alone.

The realization hit him hard, and the only release he could find for the complicated feelings tangled up inside of him was to punch the wall, his fists beating the concrete until he could no longer feel the pain and had drawn blood, panting and collapsing against the rough surface with eyes squeezed shut.

What the fuck was that?