Warnings: alcohol consumption, a lil bit of angst, very soft though, swearing, and filthy times but nothing too bad but still 18+
Roger Taylor was an insufferable little flirt. A devious, charming man, who countless women seemed to fall victim too. He was also your best friend, and roommate, and you prided yourself on not falling for him, or so you’d thought.
Nothing had happened, not really.
Until one night where Roger, who had spent most of the day hungover, decided to take it easy and get pissed in the flat instead of the pub tonight. So that’s how the two of you ended up being drunk as all hell together, on the couch, playing silly games to entertain yourselves (because TV was too confusing at this point). The night went on, and the two of you got sleepier as the time ticked by and the night got darker. The two of you ended up closer together, in something resembling a cuddle, because you were too drunk to care otherwise and Roger was touchy anyways and it felt nice to be so close to someone. Your conversation died out naturally as it was too much to focus on anymore, and you sighed, leaning your head back into him and opening your eyes and smiling at him. He smiled back, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and that led his hand to your cheek, and then all he really had to do was lean in.
He gave a very soft kiss, not too deep, not too little, just perfect. And his eyes were so blue and it felt so good you didn’t mind in the slightest, and kissed him back before you cuddled a little longer in silence and went to your separate rooms for the night.
In the morning, you remembered the kiss clearly, but chalked it up to being drunk and figured Roger was as well. When he was his usual self in the morning, you made him a piece of toast to try to get over his now double-hangover and everything continued on like normal.
The second time it happened you weren’t drunk, but he certainly was.
You heard a roar of “Y/N!” from your roommate as you entered the sleazy pub Queen was playing that night. He gave you a side hug, smelled like a liquor cabinet, and planted a peck directly on your lips, catching you off guard. Definitely not as graceful as the last time, or as nice. You rolled your eyes and have him a kiss on the cheek in response.
“What happened to only three shots before each show?” you teased him.
“Well, an hour ago wasn’t ‘before’ yet and then I had my usual. I got here too early!” he said in a whiny tone, slurring his speech a little.
“As long as you can play, drummer boy,” said Freddie as he tapped his shoulder, signaling he had to go and heading backstage.
“I can play,” he pouted in a way only he could, and left you without a second glance, too drunk to think about more than one thing at a time. He seemed to remember halfway through, though, and shouted a “s’ya, love!” halfway across the pub louder than he needed to. You smiled to yourself, and settled in for a great show, as always. And dammit, he most definitely still could play.
Then there was the third time. You’d locked yourself in your room the second you came home, not even sparing a “hi,” and started to sob on your bed, your face in your hands. That’s how he knew something was wrong, so there he was, at your door, pushing it open softly, his heart breaking a little bit as he saw your tearful glare at him.
“You didn’t knock!” you scolded, misplacing your anger towards him.
But he just gave a little “sorry, love,” and sat down next to you, and you didn’t think twice about leaning into him, and he didn’t think twice either about wrapping his arms around you so you could let it out. He smelled good, like smoke, which you always told him he should stop, but he hadn’t yet, but it still made him smell good, and he also smelled like Roger. When you eventually quieted down, he whispered softly to you, “what’s wrong?”
“It’s so stupid. I shouldn’t be this upset.”
“Tell me, sweetheart.”
“I was just driving back from the shop and I was being stupid and didn’t pay attention and I hit the guy in front of me. And I’m fine and he was fine but the car’s dented and it won’t even be too much but I just feel so terrible and I should have been paying better attention,” you cried.
“That’s it?” he said.
“Roger!” you said, hitting him a little. He leant back onto your pillows and kept you with him in his arms.
“Ow! What I mean, is, that doesn’t mean you’re stupid, Y/N. Everyone gets distracted sometimes, and you didn’t mean to, and you’re not stupid and you’re not a bad driver. Just a little accident, that’s all,” he comforted. You calmed down more, but didn’t seem convinced.
“When I was 17, I got into a bad car smash once. Went through the window, practically, but somehow I was fine. Not one of my mates, though, he was worse off. And I wasn’t driving but I shouldn’t have gotten in the car with the idiot who was, and I knew that at the time but I did it anyways. That’s stupid,” he mumbled. You looked up to him and snuggled in close.
“Roger, I’m so sorry.”
“No, love, it’s alright. I’m alright. 'Nd I didn’t tell you to take away from how you feel, but just to show you that you really aren’t a bad driver or stupid after all.”
“Thank you,” you mumbled softly into his neck, sending a little shiver down him.
“Annoying, yeah, but definitely not stupid. You’re brilliant, Y/N,” he finished, and you looked at him scoldingly a bit and he smiled back mischievously, and you were so adorable to him in that moment that he just had to lean down and give you a kiss, just to make you feel better. You kissed back, and it was wonderful again, and you would’ve been worried it’d turn into something you didn’t want if you weren’t so distracted by the fender bender you’d done and cuddled right back into him until dinner.
The fourth time wasn’t for a little while, but Roger was sick. Like, actually sick. And while normally you would’ve told him to fuck off and go throw up by himself, you could tell he actually felt like absolute shit and you took pity on him, his un-teased hair, and his pink little nose, rubbed raw from tissues all day. You’d taken as much care of him as you could in the morning, but you had a late shift at work, and didn’t get back till late. You found the flat dark and silent, but with some coughing and groaning coming from Roger’s room, so you quickly changed into your pajamas and washed your face before hopping into Roger’s bed. He seemed half asleep when you got under the cover, and pulled them up around him.
“Cold keeping you up?” you asked.
“Y/N,” he said appreciatively. “You don’t have to stay, don’t wanna get you sick,” he sniffled.
“Well if I get sick, then you can take care of me. You do owe me, after all,” you said as you pulled his head to your chest. You felt so soft, so comforting, and he already felt tons better.
“That I do,” he whispered raspily as he finally was able to stop aching for a moment and fall asleep. When he woke up in your arms, seeing your messy hair, he’d felt loads better, though still sick, but better than he had in about three days. He pretended to be asleep as you snuck out of bed and made sure he was well fed before you went off to work again. And the morning after that, when he finally felt good as new, once you came home he’d wrapped you in a hug and gave you another kiss, with a genuine Thanks, love, before telling you about all the mischief he and Fred had gotten up to at the stall that day. And you were freaking out a little now, because Roger had now kissed you sober more than once, and it was always fantastic, and you weren’t gonna be one of the millions of women he bagged, and you were roommates and friends and it’d make it all weird.
And you started to freak out even more when he started kissing you all the time. Never more than one kiss at a time, though. But now he was leaning over and giving you a little peck each time he came home, each time he was appreciative of something you did, each time before he went out, never in front of the boys, and each time he asked something from you. And you never said anything, because he’d always go to normal so quickly, and it shouldn’t matter anyways. But friends, roommates, didn’t kiss all the time like this, and you definitely weren’t friends with benefits, and it always felt so… domestic. And it never seemed like he particularly wanted to go beyond a small kiss either, and that confused you further, because was he secretly repulsed by you, but he couldn’t be because why would he kiss you in the first place then? Needless to say, you were growing more and more frustrated with each innocent little kiss he left you with.
And you had reached your breaking point one night when you were watching some nature documentary on the BBC and Roger came out of his room, grabbed a beer for the both of you, and sat down next to you.
“What’cha watching?” he asked.
“Dunno. Something about the polar bears, I suppose,” you shrugged. Then he leaned over and gave you a little kiss before opening his bottle. And you froze, and you were very clearly upset suddenly, and Roger was confused. He tried to ignore it for a second, turning to the TV, but he couldn’t just let whatever was going on hang in the air. He was about to turn to ask you what was wrong, before you beat him to it.
“Roger,” you started, very quietly. “Why don’t you kiss me more?”
“Hm?” he asked, confused.
“I don’t mean more often. Just that… you kiss me all the time now and I don’t know why and I don’t know why you only want to kiss me and nothing else,” you asked eyes glued to the screen.
“Well… I like to kiss you,” he started, facing back towards the screen.
“That’s all you want to do with me?” you asked. Roger sighed.
“Of course not,” he shook his head. “God, Y/N, I wish I could do everything with you, but I can’t.”
“Why not?” you said, brows furrowed and faced towards him, tucking your knees up.
“Because… you deserve more than me,” he said. You rolled your eyes.
“Don’t give me that, Roger.”
“No, I mean it. I’m a piece of shit who smokes and drinks all the time. I’m never around and I bring girls right in front of your face and then I don’t call them the next day, and I don’t want to ever do that to you, so I can’t,” he started. “But I needed to do something, I s’pose. So limiting myself to just a… kiss, I guess was my way of having you without making any promises. Then I wouldn’t be able to hurt you.”
“That’s not really fair to me, Roger,” you said. He turned to face you.
“I know. Sorry. Really.” You were silent for a second.
“Well why do you think you’d do all of that shit to me?” you asked.
“Well I could never for you, love. That’s why we can’t.”
“Well if you could never, then why is there a problem?”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Why not?” you said, raising your voice a little. You both sighed. “What if… I want you to do more?”
“You would?” You nodded. “But what if I… I could never do that to you. What if… I’m not what you need?”
“What if you’re everything I need?”
“What?”
“Roger, just kiss me! Please,” you slowed down. “Please, Roger, just kiss me for real, and give me more than just a plain kiss. Roger had no hesitation left, he could never around you, and grabbed your face and gave you a real, genuine kiss for once, one that lasted more than a second, and it told you everything you needed. He pulled away, opening his eyes slowly, and you smiled at him.
“Still not convinced?” you asked. He smiled, but looked nervous. “Please Roger. I want to try. I want you,” you said. And that’s all you had to say before he gave you the sweetest smile.
“Want you too, Y/N, so much. All I ever wanted,” he told you, and you kissed again. Sweetly, after a little, he took you to his room, and loved you gently. He dressed you out of your pajamas slowly and you did the same, and he lowered his mouth to your lips, then your neck, then all the way down your body, and made you come twice on his tongue before he even thought about anything for himself. As he made his way back up, he entered you slowly, and never stopped kissing you, and you were both softly moaning into each other’s mouths through your highs before either of you knew it. After cleaning you up, and giving you a final little kiss on the knee, he pulled you close to him under the covers, and stroked your hair.
“I’m not too worried,” he said softly, kissing the top of your head.
“Hm?” You asked, confused.
“I’m not too worried about loving you. I think it’s the most sensible thing I’ve done, really,” he said. You kissed his chest.
“I’m not too worried either.” And he never let go the entire night. And in the morning when you woke up together, he gave you a kiss in the morning sunlight, a real kiss, and you never went back.
“He (Freddie) knew things weren’t over between us. Far from it; the fatal late night phone calls were about to start. For the next few weeks he took to phoning most nights at three or four in the morning. Eventually Ivy Taverner got so fed up with it that she gave me two weeks’ notice. Freddie’s persistence had made me homeless.
When Freddie came back to London I told him I was being evicted. ‘I’m being kicked out because of your late night calls,’ I said.
‘Well, don’t worry about it,’ he said calmly. ‘Move into Garden Lodge. There’s no one there – it’s empty.’ So I did.”
