Summary/synopsis: after a particularly bad breakup just as college finals have finished, you find yourself getting absolutely shit-faced in a local pub. As is not unusual, some guy, also pretty shit-faced, notices you and the ever predictable, somewhat pitiful, attempt at a hook up proceeds. This time, however, due your current life situations, you decide to just go with it. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? You’re never gonna see him again, right? This blonde douche won’t ever come up again, right? Not too much later, you realize that may not have been the safest bet to make.
Author’s note: this is my first fic of real people, and the first I plan on actually finishing, so yeah, don’t have any high expectations. This can be read as Roger Taylor or Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor, thigh I wrote it with Ben in mind. So, enjoy. Hopefully
Warnings: language, excessive drinking, implied sex (not explicit)
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“What?! Are you kidding me?!” I scream into the phone. “What the HELL, Peter?! Are you seriously breaking up with me?”
“I’m sorry, Y/N, but it just isn’t working out,” I hear his voice through the speaker.
“I thought we were fine. I thought we were better than fine. What happened? What changed?” I couldn’t believe this.
Silence. And then, “I met someone else,” his voice was quiet, soft, almost sounding comforting, had it not been for the words coming out of his mouth.
“W-What?” I was now struggling to hold back tears, and my voice had quieted considerably. “Someone else?!” I was no longer quiet, to say the least.
“Y/N, I’m sorry, I just-“ he began.
“Save it. How long?” I‘m not in the mood for his bullshit excuses. More silence. “How long?!”
“A few months. Y/N, I’m sorry! I just didn’t, couldn’t feel the same way anymore.”
“Wow. Wow, ok. Well then I guess we’re done here, huh?” I can’t muster very much emotion right now, I’m just too broken by this all.
“Y/N, listen, I’m so-“
“Goodbye Peter,” I‘m really not in the mood for more of his bullshit excuses.
“Wait, Y/-“ I hang up before he can even finish my name. God, I love it when he says my name. Did love it. Loved it. Not anymore. I never want to hear his stupid fucking voice ever again.
With my heart broken, mind scattered, eyes full of yet-to-falls tears, and clock reading 11:24 pm, I figure it‘s an acceptable time for a drink. So I grab a jacket and head out to the local small pub.
There really only is one to go to, not a very large town, mostly college kids. So it doesn’t take me very long to reach it, even just walking. By the time I enter the door, it must be around 10 til midnight. I still haven’t shed a single tear. Maybe I’m broken, who knows?
Anyway, I walk through the entrance into the dark pub. It isn’t really a pub, more like a pub/bar/club combination, but everyone just calls it the Pub. Its dark, dank, the neon signs flickering, trying their best to illuminate the darkness. There are few dim overhead lights that did little to help. A bar to left, a stage to back, a staircase leading up a level on the right, nothing too different or unique. It’s smells just like every other bar/pub, like alcohol, people, adrenaline, and exhaustion, with maybe a hint or cigarettes.
I head on over to the bar, sitting at a stool closer to the mostly empty stage and order “just a beer, please. Any beer.” The bartender nods silently and goes off to grab me my drink. Right now, I just need a distraction.
Just as he hands me a generic bottled beer, the small crowd that’s gathered at the front near the stage starts cheering. A glance to my left shows me the few people who were in the back near the entrance migrating toward to stage. A glance to my right shows me the reason is a band has gotten up on stage; a singer, guitarist, bassist, and drummer; the typical collection. One final glance back in front of me decides it isn’t worth my time to watch or listen to them now, not with how I‘m feeling. So I let me head fall down, every now and again tipping it back to drink from my bottle.
I go through a few more bottles, and as I’m still sitting here drinking, the music from up on stage starts creeping into my ears. It’s actually quite pleasant. So I finish off my... fourth? Fifth? My fifth beer, hop down from my stool, and make my through the throngs of people up to the stage. The music is much louder up close, and I can really hear them now. They sound good. Really good. Great even. The singer has the voice of a rock god, and a smooth angel simultaneously; it’s mesmerizing. The bassist is doing his own thing, hopping around on stage to the beat, seemingly lost in his own world. The guitarist is very physically enthusiastic, often interacting with the singer, both of whom are pretty fun to watch. Most interesting, however, is the drummer in the back. Half concealed by shadows, the drummer has his eyes closed as he rolls through the motions he must have practiced a zillion times before, they seem so natural.
The song ends, they start another, but not before the singer declares “thank you all for coming out tonight darlings, we love you!”
As I’m standing there, in front of the stage, surrounded by other drunk people, the dim lights being the only light in my life, I decide oh what the hell? The band plays their last song of the night, and I let lose completely. With my eyes closed, I give up total control of my limbs and let the music puppet me instead. I’ve had enough heaviness for tonight, I’m just going to entirely let go. My hips swing, my arms flail, my feet bounce around, my head sways, and, if only for a moment, I feel weightless. After what feels like an eternity in just a few seconds, the song ends. I come down from euphoric high off the music, and return to my stool at the bar, ordering another beer.
A few minutes later, from behind I hear a “Hey.”
I turn around, and there’s a blond guy standing back to my left. He’s wearing a mostly open white button down very loosely tucked into some dark pants and some borderline work boots that are really more casual with a leather-like jacket on top of everything. I recognize him as the drummer from the band that was playing. “Hi,” I respond.
“I noticed you dancing in the crowd earlier tonight, you’re very pretty, really let loose. I like that,” he sat down next to me. Now at this point, I’m already piss drunk, and in a very confused mood. On the one hand, Peter fucking cheated on me, but other than that, tonight’s actually been pretty fun. So I have a decision to make; this guy obviously wants to get in my pants, do I let him?
“Why thanks you, I’m not usually that like. Or this. Drunk, I mean. Wow, my words aren’t working,” I blurb out. Man, I’m wasted.
He chuckled a little at me, “I’m Roger, the drummer.”
“I know, I saw you. And what I mean to say was, I’m not usually like that. I don’t usually get this wasted, but tonight’s... special,” my words seemed to be working now, and the last one trailed off a bit.
“Oh really? What’s so special?”
I hesitated. It isn’t really any of his business. But I mean, why not? “My boyfriend’s apparently been cheating on my for the past, psshhh, six? Yeah, six months now. He just told me about an hours ago, over the phone. Said he didn’t love me anymore, didn’t know if he ever really did. So I broke up with him. Well I mean, I said the words. He made it obvious he was done with me. So now here I am. Getting absolutely shit-faced, hoping it helps.”
“Has it?”
“Helped?” I look at him for a moment, then turn back in front of me.
“Yeah.”
“It has. The music especially, gave me a nice euphoric high for a few minutes. You’re really good. You, and the band.”
“Thanks, we try. So are you doing anything tonight? For the rest of it, at least.” Ah, there it is. As always, the “so are you down for a hookup?” question they think you never notice. I don’t exactly have anything to lose, so I make another oh what the hell decision.
“If you play your cards right, maybe,” I respond, turning back to him. A smirk tugs at his lips, he knows he’s been successful.
“Well lucky me then, huh?”
“Like I said, if you play your cards right,” I signal for the bartender and order another beer, probably my last. Roger gets one too, and we have a pretty flirty conversation. He covers all the drinks, probably another play to get into my pants, but I don’t mind.
I’ve heard rumors of Roger Taylor, everyone has. Charming, seductive, suggestive, ladies’ man Roger Taylor. I never really thought he’d actually be a pleasant conversationalist, though. I was wrong. We talk for a while, both getting increasingly more wasted until I can hardly form coherent sentences, much less thoughts.
“Hey,” I slur, “you wanna get out of here?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” his words are almost as messy as mine. The bar has started spinning at this point. He takes my hand, entwining our fingers as he pulls me off the bar stool. He leads me to the entrance of the building, pulls me outside, and as soon as the door is closed behind me, I’m pinned to it. He has me trapped, not that I mind, and he pushes his lips into mine. He tastes bitter and smoky, like beer and cigarettes, but it’s almost addictive. I can’t get enough.
He moves down to my neck, and I mumble a “I love a few blocks away.” I can feel him smiling into my skin.
“Good.”
Twenty minutes later, the front door is closed behind us and once again I’m pinned. This time though, it doesn’t last as long, as soon I’m pulling him upstairs while taking his jacket off. He smiles into the kisses again, and we’ve soon reached my bedroom. At this point, he’s lost his jacket and shirt, as well as both shoes and a sock and I’ve lost my jacket, both my shoes, and the jeans I was wearing, leaving me in my top, socks, and underwear. The room is spinning even more, trying to have any understandable thoughts is a lost cause, besides maybe more. So that’s what happens, more. The rest is just a blur.
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So that was part 1. Not sure how satisfied I am with the ending but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. You can be expecting a part 2, whether anyone cares or not lol. I enjoyed writing this, it was fun, so if you have any suggestions or ideas or anything, please feel to send them in, I’d love to hear from you! Thanks again.
Part 2
