Classic Rock One-Shots

Hotel Room Funsters (~ Freddie Mercury)

"Oh, shit, I can't open the door..."

Laughter echoed in the corridor of the hotel. A key was being moved frenetically in its hole, its sharp clicks disturbing the silence of the dark room. The door handle tilted, and finally, the wooden door was open, revealing two masculine silhouettes.

They both staggered inside, with their heels hitting the parquet floor in an irregular rhythm. The first silhouette felt about in the dark for the light switch. The lightbulb gave off a bright light, disclosing every detail of the room, but also what the two men looked like.

Stood next to the switch was a tall black-haired man in white bell-bottoms and white shirt, covered with a red velvet jacket left open, with puff sleeves. Silver bracelets clinked together at every flick of his wrists, and a silver choker surrounded his neck. Giggle fits took hold of his throat, as he covered his overbite with his right hand, who surprisingly was not ornamented with black nail polish like the other. His chocolate brown eyes were staring at the other man, who was in stitches.

The other man was a bit taller, and looked younger. Wild brown hair framed his thin and well-shaped face, stroking his high cheekbones. A dark blue blazer and a bright white shirt covered his narrow shoulders, covering the waist of his blue flare trousers.

Both were stinking of beer, wine and vodka.

The younger man ran a hand through his mane, and turned to the other man.

"See, Freddie? You managed to open the door!"

"Oh yes, my dear, I did!" Freddie, the black-haired one, replied, twirling a key around his finger. "Roger shouldn't have let the key of his room on the table!"

"Okay, what should we wreck first?"

Freddie looked all around, his fingertip patting his lower lip, as he paced up and down in the room. He suddenly pointed at a chest of drawers.

"Let's empty that everywhere, Henry! I bet Roger put his stuff in there, he loves making himself at home when we stay at hotels."

His friend, Henry, nodded and both scampered about, opening the drawers and grabbing Freddie's drummer's clothes, spreading them everywhere: on top of a wardrobe, in the bathtub, in the toilet... Some of his pants even ended up dangling from the lampshade.

Freddie noticed a Polaroid camera on one of the two bedside tables: he grabbed it, and proceeded to take pictures of the clothes lying around everywhere. Henry grabbed him by the arm and chuckled right into his ear.

"What if we turned his bed upside down?"

The two men limped together to the bed, and grabbed the covers. While Henry was struggling with the bed sheets, he unexpectedly felt something heavy hitting him in the head, tousling his hair even more. He instinctively raised his hand to his ear and turned to Freddie, who was smirking lopsidedly, a pillow between his hands. Henry's green eyes went to his face and to the pillow, before he crawled onto the bed, grabbing the second pillow.

"You know you shouldn't've done that, Mercury!"

Before Freddie could even part his lips to give him a reply, Henry's pillow hit him in the face. Gasping in shock, he got off the bed and ran after his rival, hitting him on the back or on the sides, earning a few hits as well. A few minutes after they started their pillow fight, Henry looked all around and sniggered.

"Oh shit... Freddie, look at the floor!"

"Fuck, there are feathers everywhere! We're going to get killed!"