Classic Rock One-Shots

Jealousy (Roger Taylor/Brian May)

Pairing involved: Maylor (Brian May + Roger Taylor)

The young blond man slumped on the wooden bench facing the lake, right after he stormed out of the recording studio and wandered in the streets nearby, occasionally kicking empty cans on his way. He let out a long, desperate sigh; some of his thin golden locks that fell across his face were blown away by this sigh, and he fixed them with a finger. His baby blue eyes scanned the landscapes as they fought against their urge to cry, searching for something that would entertain them. Unfortunately, the children playing on the other side of the pond, the elegant and graceful legs of the young women passing by and the ducks swimming were not enough.

Roger felt empty.

He clenched his fists and bit his lip to deaden a weak cry that echoed in his throat. He punched the bench and winced as he felt a splinter planted in his knuckle. He struggled to remove it with his nails, gradually getting even less patient than he could be in the studio when Freddie made him repeat his drum parts over and over for hours. He grumbled, shouted a loud “Fuck!” and gave up. Hot tears flowed down his soft and warm cheeks, and he did not bother to wipe them away. Instead, he buried his face in his hands and bent in two, resting his head on his knees.

Loud sobs escaped from Roger’s mouth, as he remembered what made him blow his fuse. Images of Freddie being so close to Brian wandered through his mind and made him want to vomit. It was as if Freddie had been playing a sort of competition game for the past few days, and the winning prize was Brian. “Brian isn’t a fucking prize you win in a competition, goddammit!” a voice grumbled in Roger’s brain. “This isn’t a fucking game.”

Everything made him draw the conclusion that the singer wanted to enter a competition: Freddie’s suggestive hip tilts near Brian, his fawning voice following the deceitfully innocent arm wrapped around the guitarist’s shoulders or waist, the repetitive compliments that even made John roll his eyes… And eventually, Freddie grabbing Brian’s bottom with a suggestive wink. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Rage and jealousy took the control over Roger and he ended up throwing his drumsticks, aiming at Freddie’s head: though Roger usually was not good at aiming, there, it was a full strike. As soon as Freddie spun round and screamed in pain, the drummer had stood up and yelled insults at the singer, before storming out of the studio.

However, even if he focused on this scene, Roger did not even recall what he said. The only thing he knew was that it was not pleasant.

Freddie knew Roger fancied Brian, he was the first to know it. So, why would he try to provoke his friend? Another sob made the drummer quiver, as he sat up and wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. He rummaged through his pocket and took out an already used tissue. He shrugged and unfolded it to blow his nose; after all, he had ninety-nine problems, and an old tissue was not one.

Roger had lost all control over his thoughts: Brian’s face appeared in his head, against his will. Now he had to give up on Brian. He was with Freddie, after all, wasn’t he? The wide and sincere smiles the guitarist gave the singer were obvious, and it could mean only one thing: Freddie and Brian were a couple.

Hurried footsteps crashing dead leaves lying around on the grass sounded behind Roger. The latter did not turn round, for he thought it was just another jogger. At least that was what he thought until a hand gently rested on his shoulder. Roger gulped and sighed, clearing his throat.