𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➺ 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓎/𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃

𝟕 𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐬

A/N 

Few more chapters and things start to get going! Enjoy this development of Maria's character! 

Love you all x

WARNING: mild mature content.

//

March 1974, East London.

"Come on, darling, you can do better than that!"

"Freddie!" I practically screamed as he continued to tilt the huge bottle of bubbly over my mouth, forcing me to down the remainder of what was inside of it.

"No whining, it's your birthday!"

The crowds around us cheered me on as I gulped and gulped, the colourful flashing of lights and the funk bass of the music sending me into a deeper state of delirium by the second. I only had the slightest bit of alcohol left to drink, but I couldn't take it anymore; I jerked my head back, making the rest of the fizzy liquid spill down my chin and my neck, some dripping down onto my chest.

"Amateur!" Freddie cackled, pulling the bottle away and setting it down on a table near us, before he shuffled back over to me, reaching out to grab both sides of my head with his hands, which seemed to be a lot stronger under the influence of alcohol. He lowered his head and lapped up some alcohol that had dripped down onto my upper chest and my neck, followed by my chin, finishing off with a hard kiss to my lips. "Delicious bubbly, that." He licked his lips and stepped back, leaning back over to the table beside us and picking up his pint.

"Well, it helps when people recognise you and buy you the good stuff," I gave Freddie a pointed look with a mischievous smirk. It wasn't a lie that Freddie was gaining a fair amount of recognition in the London area, especially since he'd released two albums with Queen by my 24th birthday. And with that popularity came a barrage of people wanting to buy him things whenever they saw him, to which he obviously accepted. I'll even admit he'd have to be ridiculous to turn down free stuff, more so that he didn't seem to be making any money from Queen itself.

"Can't fault you there, dear—now where did our friends go?" Freddie peered over my shoulder and around him to find the group of people we had met on our way into the club and had until now glued ourselves to. "There, there!" He pointed over to the bar, where the three young men were busying themselves ordering another drink. Before I knew it, Freddie was ushering us both in their direction.

"Freddie! Sorry, we just thought we'd get ourselves another bevvy," one of the men grinned, holding an arm out towards Freddie, who leaned into his side and wrapped an arm around his waist. As far as I remember that man was called William – I wish I could remember the name of the other two. They were nice lads as well. Very accommodating.

"Isn't it wonderful that we don't have to worry about our terrible mental conditions?" William chuckled with a smug smirk over at Freddie and I. "We were just saying that had our lovely friend not had the balls to set up this extremely accepting, yet extremely unacceptable club, we wouldn't have met you two lovely people!"

I laughed, feeling the effects from the alcohol setting in harsher every second that passed. They definitely already knew who Freddie was, so I knew William was bluffing in the name of gay culture.

The five of us drifted off to a booth, where we had acquired a hearty collection of almost every type of alcohol you could name at the time. Pints, cans, cocktail glasses, champagne flutes – you name it, we had it. People who had gathered around to watch me try and chug a whole bottle of pinot grigio flocked, hovering near us in hopes that the night would take an interesting turn. And, bloody hell, did the night take an interesting turn.