PRETTY LOVER BOY - ROGER TAYLOR

VI.

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The smell of smoke fills the room as Roger sits against the wall with his cigarette hanging carelessly off his lips, watching me with a lazy gaze, a blanket wrapped around his lower half. I lay with my back down on his bed in the mess of sheets and pillows we had created, legs tightly squeezed together, twitching every so often, whole body high on the events of the night. I'd lost count of the amount of times we had gone at it a while ago, but I don't care to think about it. I just bask in the glow of the night.

After a while, I finally sit up, covered with a blanket. I pull myself to the edge of the bed and swing my legs over the side.

"I should go," I say, messing with my nails.

"What?" Roger asks me after pulling his cigarette from his lips, brows now knitting together. I sigh, going to stand, but falling right back down on to the bed. He quickly scrambles to his feet, going to his nightstand to put out his smoke before towering over me.

"What do you mean by that?" He asks, dropping down to his knees in front of me.

"Exactly what I said," I reply. Roger's looking at me now, wanting more than that as he places his hands on my thighs.

"Why are you in such a rush?" He asks, "stay the night, please." The plead makes my heart pang, and I almost melt right there.

"I can't, I have things to do and little time to do them." Roger rises from his knees, sitting down next to me.

"I can help you, just don't go yet," he says, grabbing my hands.

"You can't help me, Roger," I respond, my head rushing.

"Why? Why not Clems, why are you so desperate to get away from me?" I can tell he's beginning to lose his temper, and I burst.

"Because I'm moving!" I shout, "I'm moving back to America, Rog, and I don't need to get attached." The look on Roger's face makes my heart drop and tears begin to sting my eyes.

"No," I say to him, pulling my hands from his, "you don't get to look at me like that. It's been three days, you do not get to pull that shit on me."

"Clems-" he starts, but I stand once again, this time my efforts successful.

"This was what I was worried about," I sigh, looking up to the ceiling, "I shouldn't have come here, this was a mistake-"

"Don't say that," I look back down at Roger at his words. "Don't ever say that." I take a wobbly step back, going to turn on my heel, only for him to take my wrist in his hand.

"Stay," he says, his eyes pleading, "please don't go." My jaw begins to tremble, and I look down at his fingers wrapped around my wrist.

When Roger pulls me back to the bed, I let him.

He fucks me deep and slow after that. Every touch is gentle, every thrust and shift of his hips measured. He holds me close to him, kissing me deep and meaningful in a way that makes me blush crimson. He treats me like I'm porcelain. He treats me like at any second I may get up and leave. He clings to me like if he lets go he may never seem me again.
Dare I say it's almost loving the way he rolls his hips against mine and whispers flatteries into my ear that make my stomach flutter.

When he finishes, he disappears in the bathroom for only a moment, coming back with a damp towel as if he expects to find me gone. With calculated touches, he cleans up his mess, the rag warm against my skin. Roger then places it on his nightstand, pulling me into his chest and stroking my hair. He holds me close to him like I'm his lifeline, running his fingers along my spine, counting the ridges of the bone.

I fall asleep encased in his arms.

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I wake up to the sound of rain hitting against the window to the side of the bed in the morning. My limbs are stiff and my throat feels dry as I gently kick the covers off myself. I sit up slowly with a groan, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Immediately a hand grabs mine and I look behind me to find a half awake Roger. I had almost forgotten he was in the bed as well. Almost.

"Please don't leave," he says to me, and I smile weakly at him.

"I'm just going to shower." Roger looks at me, trying to find any hint of other intentions before releasing my wrist. I stand from the bed, my legs shaky as I walk around and to the bathroom.

-

After a much needed shower and trying my best to brush through my hair with what's in the bathroom, I walk out with a towel wrapped around me. I pick up Roger's button up from the previous day as I pass by the door and then I go to his dresser, looking through it until I find a pair of his boxers. I drop the bath towel, pulling on the boxers and then putting on the shirt, buttoning it up. What I fail to notice in doing this is that Roger isn't in the bed anymore.

Tentatively, I step out of the bedroom, the tile floor cool against my feet. I can hear some sort of movement going on in the kitchen and I make my way to the noise, finding Roger making eggs. He looks back when he hears me come in.

"Feel better?" He asks.

"Yes," I respond, yawning, "could I use your phone?"

Roger leads me over to the phone and I pick it up, putting in the number and then twirling the cord in my fingers. When the line picks up, I speak first.

"Grant, it's Clems," I say, met by immediate yelling on the other side and I quickly pull the phone from my ear.

"Are you alright?" I manage to hear, and I put the phone back up.

"Yes, I just stayed at a friends house for the night," I respond. I look up at Roger as he smirks at me and I scowl in response.

"But you're fine, right?" He asks me again.

"Yes, I'm fine," I assure him, "I just need you to go over to Ms. Deans house and feed her cats please. Today's the last day I'm supposed to do it because she comes back tonight but I'm not going to make it over there to do it."

"Yeah, sure," he replies.

"Ok, thanks," I untangle my hand from the cord, "her house key is sitting on the counter. You've still got the extra key to my flat, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll see you later Clems," he says to me.

"Thanks again, bye," I hang up the phone, looking towards Roger who's leaned against the wall watching me.

"Who was that?" He asks me.

"My neighbor," I reply.

"He has a key to get into your house?" Roger crosses his arms and I roll my eyes.

"Yeah," I walk over to him, kissing his cheek, "I never took you for the jealous type."

"If anything," Roger pushes two digits against my neck, "he'll be jealous of me." I almost forgot the marks he had left, the marks I'm sure are more plentiful and visible on my lower half.

"Don't be too sure of yourself," I push his fingers away, "now please don't burn the eggs, I'm starving."

"I thought you'd be."

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