Shup Up, Blondie! (How to Solve a Fight in 364 Easy Steps) [Roger/Brian]

Shup Up, Blondie! (Or How to Solve a Fight in 364 Easy Steps)

'My God, can you never just get it right?'

Freddie sighed and prepared for another stupid, useless fight between two of his best friends. Since roughly a week, all they seemed to do was bicker over little details such as not hitting the drums in time or making a guitar solo last two seconds longer than planned, and the love between the two of them was hard to find – and he was getting sick and tired of the ongoing rows.

'What was even wrong about that?!' Roger shouted from his place behind the drum kit, sounding quite annoyed and ready for another argument. John rolled his eyes, exhaled exorbitantly and leant against one of the nearest stereo boxes – he didn't even bother to try to soothe the tensed atmosphere anymore.

'What was even wrong about that?' Brian repeated sarcastically. 'What was even wrong about that? I'll tell you what was wrong about that!' He tossed off his earphones, swung the guitar strap of his beloved Red Special over his head and continued: 'You can never just play the damned thing right! You are the only one,' Brian emphasised, 'in this very room,' he claimed as he pointed around at the rest of the band furiously, 'who messes up while everyone of us plays it right in one single time!'

Roger rolled his eyes in annoyance and brought in: 'Oh please, every idiot who was blessed to be born with functioning ears could hear how out of tune you were in the last part!'

'Not even once was I out of tune! Have you got puke in your ears?'

'Hell no, but I'll surely throw up if you don't stop nagging immediately! The only reason why you blame me for messing up is so that it doesn't strike that yóú're the one that can't play.'

'Guys, come on...' John started weakly, but nobody even seemed to pretend to be listening; instead, Brian made his way towards the drummer on the other side of the room, pushing his precious guitar in John's hands on the way there, and crossed his arms provocatively over his chest in front of Roger.

'Deaky, please stay out of this, I'm trying to teach my boyfriend some manners,' Brian gritted out.

'Your mother should've taught you some manners long ago, so you wouldn't go around blaming other people for the mistakes you make.'

'Shut up, Blondie!' Brian exclaimed while he stepped forwards and grabbed Roger by the collar of his shirt, pulling him from his chair to face him. A spark of insecurity was visible in his boyfriend's pale blue eyes and he swallowed painfully, but he managed to fall back into his calm, indifferent yet hostile attitude quickly.

'They're getting physical. Do something, Freddie,' John whispered nervously.

'I'll see what I can do.' Freddie gave John a soothing tap on his back and rushed towards the couple. 'Darlings, come on. This whole fight doesn't even make sense! Stop acting like two-year olds so we can finally finish the record.'

'The only one in this room acting like a toddler is Brian bloody May,' Roger stated. Brian narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip around the younger boy's shirt.

'Shut up, Blondie. Get back to your basket and play the damn part right, for God's sake.'

'Not before you apologise.'

Brian snickered arrogantly. 'For what? For being a better musician than you?' He jabbed a finger into Roger's chest and Roger sent him a deadly glare.

Freddie rolled his eyes dramatically and asked: 'Darlings, when was the last time you fucked each other? You both sound like you could use some great sex right now.'

The both boys looked up distractedly before facing each other again.

'I won't even consider to fuck this piece of arrogance,' Roger replied and Brian pushed him away from him, making him stagger back to his place. Freddie grinned lightly and thought: I wouldn't be so sure about that, honey. Think again.