Faking It • Queen FanFiction

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 68

Two Weeks Later - 2nd November 1975

The window panes rattled slightly as the late autumn breeze treated London harsher than it usually did. Coats, scarves and winter boots had been dug out of the cupboard earlier than everybody would have liked, but grumbling didn't stop the leaves from falling or the sky from greying at four o'clock in the afternoon. Bernie sat peering out at the birds clinging onto the almost-bare branches outside as to not be swept away by a particularly rough gale. She sighed to herself, feeling tired and bemused.

"What is it?"

"Oh, thank you-" she accepted the cup of tea offered out to her and threw a crumpled piece of paper across the room in agitation. It rebounded off the TV and landed on the low coffee table.

"Another rejection letter?"

"Yep." She sighed heavier that time. The job search had been relatively fruitless so far, no police station wanting to hire a newbie. But if she couldn't find a starting point, where was she supposed to gain the experience stations wanted?

"Ah, I'm sure something will come along soon." Roger assured, sliding himself beside her on the sofa. "You know, bringing your duvet as a giant blanket was the best decision we've made." He snuggled into the duvet that smelled predominantly of Bernie, wrapping his arm around her and wiggling on the sofa, trying to shake off the chill.

"Even better than us deciding I should move in permanently in the first place?" She glanced up at him and raised her eyebrows humorously: her head resting on his shoulder, still watching the birds fight the weather outside in the garden.

"I'm not sure. Maybe I could handle the pain of you moving out if I got to keep this duvet," she slapped him playfully on the arm, making him gasp in entertained shock. His laughter rumbled through them both and he kissed her head. "Of course you agreeing to stay here was the best decision above everything else. For starters, you're no longer financially or socially connected to that bastard." Roger didn't even have to utter Holden's name for Bernie to know who he was talking about.

Since the first date and the band becoming aware that Florence had moved out, leaving Bernie alone and in danger, they'd comprised an action plan. The 'action plan', added by Roger, ensured that he got to take her out on a date or two before she moved into his house, for hopefully longer than just the temporary period of time they'd initially agreed on. The dates had gone extravagantly well and although they were still in separate beds in separate rooms at night, Bernie was more than thrilled that they'd finally got the ball rolling. No, maybe the circumstances weren't the most practical, but they worked better than anybody had expected. 'Anybody' meaning Brian, who was extremely trepidatious about The Big Move. Bernie was convinced it was Holden's vileness that convinced Brian it was a good idea.

"So, Birdie, I've been thinking." Roger turned to face her, the pair now sitting almost at arm's length to speak properly. Huddled in a duvet half asleep didn't really make for good conversation.

"Yes, I thought I smelled burning."

"Shhhh. I know we've been on a couple dates and this whole escaping Holden bonanza thing hasn't been very courteous to keeping the pace of things, but what was Rockfield to you?" Roger's openness took Bernie by surprise. Amidst everything else, she'd almost forgotten about everything at Rockfield, it seemed so long ago.

"Well, from what I can recall, it was a pretty good short term escape from everythi-"

"No, I mean between us." He cut her off a bit sharper than he intended, but she didn't seem to either notice or mind.

"Oh, right. Well, it depends what you saw it as."

"I asked first."

"Ugh, fine. Well, I'm pretty gutted that the order didn't go very chronologically, but I'm glad we did have time together. Can I be honest?"

"Of course," Roger shifted his weight a little bit, suddenly fearful.

"Shocker, I've come to really like you. I'd love to move forward with you, but it depends how long you mind waiting for sex. I'm not exactly in a position to confidently open myself to others yet." Now it was Bernie's turn to be fearful. She knew that what she'd just said only made sense to her as Roger hadn't heard a word of what had happened between her and Holden.

"Birdie," putting his hand under her chin, he lifted her head up and said, dead-serious, into her eyes: "I'd wait an eternity. For you. And I don't say that lightly, you're the first girl I've ever been willing to wait for." Then he slid his hand round to the back of her neck and leaned forward, bringing his lips to hers. Closing her eyes, she put both of her hands on his shoulders and just enjoyed the gentle, rhythmic kiss.

It wasn't until he gently nipped her bottom lip that the kiss deepened. Recently they'd kept their hands and lips off of each other, so the fall back into lustful familiarity brought a new sense of passion. Bernie's back curved slightly as Roger's hands explored it whilst hers sat on the top of his thigh and in his hair. He let out a low groan and slowly started to slide his hand lower down her back...

"Stop," she mumbled into his lips incoherently, trying to detach herself from him. "Stop," she repeated, this time more clearly and Roger instantly did as instructed, springing apart from her and feeling guilty. He knew where her boundaries were and got too cocky in pushing them without asking her first.

"I'm so sorry, I-"

"No, don't apologise. It felt good, but then my brain kicked in. I'm sorry." Bringing the duvet over her legs, she peered down, avoiding eye contact. Somehow, after all this time, her memories of Holden still haunted her and she was becoming increasingly embarrassed by the way her own mind was treating her. She wanted to be touched and held, but there was an invisible force repelling Roger's tenderness that she blamed entirely on her stingy ex-landlord.

"Seriously, don't apologise. Just, are you okay Birdie?"

"...Yes." Only half-smiling, she nodded unconvincingly and Roger scooched closer, wrapping the duvet around them both. He put one arm on the back of the sofa, sort of around her shoulders. Sensing what he was doing: asking for permission without verbally asking, her heart lurched with affection for him and she cuddled into his vacant side. It was then that he put his arm round her, the other sitting at his side.

"I can't believe it's this cold in fucking November."

"Yes, it is. Feel." Smiling cheekily, she lifted the bottom of his jumper up and put her cold hands on his bare skin.

"SHIT!" He lurched away from her, bringing the duvet with him and leaving Bernie in frozen hysterics.

22/4/23