In the Year of the Cat (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

25. The Heatwave, Part One

Delayed reactions are either very helpful, or very damaging, I still can't decide which.  I consider them fantastic emotional protection, but if they happen too often or take too long, waiting until you find solitude to release them, other people might start wondering if you have any feelings in the first place.  However you choose to see delayed reactions, I had one as soon as Freddie's back was turned.

He kissed me, I said to myself.  Oh, my gosh, he kissed me.  On the lips.  Freddie kissed me on the lips.

I hurried back to my room, supposedly to put on my stilts- I mean, shoes.  But as soon as I closed the door, I felt my limbs go numb, and a wave of tenderness washed over me.  Again, it was a very innocent little kiss, but at that time, I was still quite new to the whole canoodling thing, and proper kisses meant a great deal. 

With a dizzy smile, I nuzzled my head against the door frame.  I laid my hand over my lips and softly laughed to myself.  I'm glad he doesn't see me this way, I told myself.  It's bad enough I desire him in silence; if he knew how twitterpated I am right now, I'd never hear the end of it.

Still, I flipped to a new page in my journal, and scrawled down another NFO: Freddie tastes like cinnamon vodka.  I found this out because he kissed me.  He smells like licorice and tastes like cinnamon vodka.  I just want to eat him up.  The question is, would I use a fork or a spoon?  Or is he a dish better suited for the fingers?

Nice work, Julia, real scientific, I said to myself, not only to be sarcastic but also to remind myself that my name was in fact Julia, and not Eve, no matter how many times Freddie kept calling me that.

I rubbed my eyes.  This feeling only escalated each time I came near him, and multiplied by five with his every affectionate caress.  There was only one surefire cure for my worsening disease: leaving him.  But this bird could not fly; my wings were clipped but good.  And anyway, the idea of just up and deserting him seemed more unappealing the longer I was with him.  Don't misunderstand me, I still wanted desperately to go home.  But that didn't mean I wanted to leave Freddie; for all his moodiness and often quick temper, he was very dear to me.  He had such a way about him...

A hard fist rapped at the door.  "Are you quite through?"

"Coming!"  Thanks for disturbing my reverie, I griped. Carelessly I opened the door only to be ambushed yet again.

Click!  BZZZ. 

Freddie lowered his camera.  "So let's get going, then."

"Are we still having camera wars?"

"Why?  Giving up so soon?"

"Why would I when I'm so far ahead?"

"What's the score?"

"Forty-one to three."

"How'd that happen?"

"You need film, all I need is memory space," I told him, brandishing my Android like a samurai sword.  "Your kung fu is not strong.  But I can't take a chance on leaving it anywhere tonight, so I'll go without.  I don't have any service anyway."  I tossed it on the bed.

"Service?"

"Phone service.  Cell signal.  You know."

But of course, he didn't know.  "Phone?  You can call people on it too?" 

I waved my hand the way he often did.  "Goodness me, Freddie, so many questions."

"Who can you call?"

"Nobody right now.  The phone that works is gone."

"This one's broken, too?"

"Too?" My brows furrowed.  "What do you mean, too?"