Body Language. Queen

Good Luck.

John's P.O.V.

The next morning, having woken up early from slightly troubled sleep, I decided to go and get a quick shower to rejuvenate.

I didn't sleep well last night what with worrying about how things would be when Roger met my parents today.

Even when I asked him to come along with me he looked as if I'd just asked him to murder a puppy.

Although he put on a brave face and agreed to it anyway, I knew he didn't really want to...but I loved that he said he would come with me anyway.

I kept dreaming about it, which is why I kept waking up. Dreaming about having an almighty argument with my mum and dad and Roger not wanting to be with me because he wouldn't be able to commit knowing that they didn't agree with what we we're doing...but really...that was how I was being in real life.

I couldn't fully commit to Roger, I couldn't let him undress me, I couldn't let him get intimate with me. I couldn't say to him that I love him...when I do. I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

I turned on the water in the shower and washed my hair and body, I couldn't shake the feeling of dread. But I knew I had to appear to be in a good mood and in high spirits for Rogers sake, if I wasn't...then he'd catch on that something isn't quite right.

Wrapping a towel around my waist I ventured back into my bedroom, it was rare that myself and Rog spent a night apart now, either I slept in his room for the night or he slept in mine...and of course, being in the same bed all night had its temptations.

If I didn't feel this huge cloud of guilt hovering above me I would have fucked him a long time ago. I was aching for him. But my conscience just kept telling me no.

I tiptoed in, Roger was still sleeping soundly, his blonde hair ruffled and messy, his soft breathing repetitive and rhythmic...he made my heart swell.

As quietly as I could I picked out an outfit and slipped on the clothes, settling for some flared jeans and a velvet jacket. I needed to dry my hair but didn't want to wake Rog.

I also didn't feel like going downstairs to make any breakfast, maybe because the worrying had completely wiped out my appetite and one mouthful of food would threaten to make me throw up.

I sat on my side of the bed and grabbed the book I was reading off the bedside table. But again, even though my eyes were reading the words printed on the pages I wasn't taking in what they said...I didn't have a clue what the last few pages were about...my mind was busy elsewhere. I just wasn't able to focus on anything.

I thought about going downstairs and calling my Mother, telling her that I'm very sorry, but I won't be able to make it to see you today.

But that wouldn't fix anything, it would only mean I'd have to wait longer and fear driving Roger away with my lack of affection and intimacy.

Grow some balls, Deacon. It has to be done.

But what if all hell broke loose? What if a giant argument did happen? Would it make me feel better? Or worse?

I was scared.

I felt Roger moving and glanced down at him, he was rubbing his eyes and pushing his hair out of his face. He eventually blinked up at me and gave me a cute, tired smile, rolling over and attempting to cuddle into me even though I was sat on top of the sheets.

I began to lightly scratch his head and he groaned in appreciation.

"Good morning..." I said, softly.

"Morning..." he replied, his sleepy voice was so attractive.

I stifled a giggle.

"Sleep well? I asked.