A Man For All Seasons (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

42. Hard Sell

Freddie

The first thing Julia did upon entering the kitchen was head for the sink and grab the pair of gloves hanging off the side.

"What do you think you're doing?" I asked.

"I need to wash something," she mumbled. "It clears my head."

I scoffed, lips twitching in exasperation. "Can't you clear it some other way that- that doesn't involve some sort of chores?"

"I'll have this done in no time, just hang on, okay?"

"Okay," I murmured- and yanked the gloves away from her.

"Hey!" she cried, grasping wildly for the rubber treasures as I held them high over her head, just barely out of reach.

"Try it now," I sang triumphantly.

After a few more futile attempts, Julia gave up, putting her hands on her hips and failing miserably at concealing a smile. "I don't suppose saying 'please' will make any difference, will it?"

"Tell you what. You can have them on one condition."

"Which is?"

I pointed. "You take those off."

"My shoes? Why?"

"Because I need to focus as well- and you wearing shoes for this long is fucking with my head."

She shook her head. "I'm keeping them on for now, thanks."

"All right, then no dishes for you." With that I stashed the rubber gloves into the nearest drawer.

Julia drew a heavy sigh, but she didn't protest any more. "Did you want another drink?"

"I've got it."

"But-"

"I said, leave it to me. You stay right there and let me talk to you." I backed up to the liquor cabinet and made myself at home.

"Are you seriously not going to let me do anything?"

"No. I want your undivided attention."

"You've got it!"

"I do now. But I wouldn't if you'd had your way." I pulled two fresh glasses from the shelf. "Now what would you like?"

"What are you having?"

"The usual." I picked up the vodka (not Stoli, but an acceptable substitute) and an unopened bottle of tonic water.

"Ooo," she cooed. "I'll have one of those too please."

"Lime?"

"Nah, just the liquid."

"On it."

"Thank you." Julia kissed my shoulder, then drifted out of reach to fiddle with the stereo and hide our conversation from any eavesdroppers in the next room. A second later, she was humming along to that same doowop-y Huey Lewis song, "Yes, it's true / I am happy to be stuck with you..."

"You getting close to being ready to go?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Maybe after they finish the game. I'm in no hurry."

That last, of course, was a sheer fucking lie, and we both knew it.

As I exercised my limited bartending skills to the full, I kept one eye on Julia and watched for any hint, any sign, that she had come any closer to a decision. I'd been working on the woman all evening, after all; I should certainly have made some progress by now. I had thought "Jealousy" would at the very least gain me considerable ground, if it didn't win her over altogether. But as far as I could tell, nothing had changed.