the scent of heat → r . taylor ( COMPLETED )

twenty one

Adeline sat in the studio, her legs crossed and a book propped up against her thigh. Roger was next to her, his arm draped along the back of the couch with his fingers brushing over her shoulder. On the other side of the room, Brian was playing ping pong, and John was sitting in an armchair, arms crossed firmly over his chest.

"We're a rock and roll band. We don't do disco," Roger said, glancing to his wife for support.

"Leave me out of this. Fight amongst yourselves," she said, pushing her glasses a bit farther up her nose.

"It's not disco," John argued.

"The what is it?" Brian asked, turning away from the ping pong table with a hand on his hip.

"It's Queen."

Adeline simply shrugged her shoulders and continued to read, slowly turning the page as her husband inched a bit closer to her.

"It's bollocks is what it is," he whispered in her ear. She turned to look at him, but before she could retort, Freddie's voice came over the in-studio loudspeaker.

"So sorry, my darlings! Lost all track!"

Everyone turned to look at the back booth, and Adeline felt her fingers twitch. Freddie had brought Paul with him, as he usually did, and she snapped her book shut. Roger got to his feet after giving her shoulder a squeeze, and his voice was a bit deeper than usual.

"You fired Reid without consulting us!" he snapped. "You don't make decisions for the band."

"Hey." Brian reached out to Roger, earning a glare from him. Adeline stood and took his hand, tracing over his knuckles with the pad of her thumb. He looked down at her, then brought her hand up to his lips, gently pressing them to the back of her hand.

"Well, I'm terribly sorry, dear." Freddie walked past them, cigarette in one hand and beer bottle in the other. "It's done."

"If you were sorry, you wouldn't have done it. Or you'd hire him back on," Adeline said, letting go of her husband's hand to set both of hers on her hips.

"Besides," Freddie said, ignoring Adeline and snuffing out his smoke in the ashtray on Miami's desk, "Miami will manage us. Won't you, darling?" Freddie turned back to the group to the soundtrack of Miami's nervous laughter.

"I'll think about it," he said.

"No."

"Are you high again?" Brian asked as Roger pulled Adeline closer to him, one arm tight around her waist.

"Well done, Columbo."

"You need to slow down, Fred."

"Oh, don't be such a bore. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Are you?" Roger asked.

"Physically, yes. Mentally, I think you're back with Prick Prenter," Adeline said, and as Roger glanced down at her, she shrugged her shoulders. "I'm not wrong, and I should say it."

"I don't care if you're shit-faced. As long as you can sing," John said as he pressed the sheet of lyrics into Freddie's chest.

"John, don't encourage this, please," Adeline said softly, but he ignored her and walked to the others, handing them their own sheets. Something flopped in her chest as he walked past her, not even sparing a glance.

"No, John, I don't wanna play it," Roger said, handing Adeline his sheet, which she read over a few times.

"Then I'm all for it," Freddie said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh no," Adeline whispered as Roger stepped away from her, leaving her beside Brian with a sick feeling in her stomach.