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

36. Who Are You, Part One

"Well, I can safely say, that was a hell of a ride," Peter remarked, stifling a yawn. "Hopefully we won't have to do it again."

The five of us were standing in the lobby of the Sahara Hotel and Casino. Elton John and Mr. Holmes had split from the group and chose another place of lodging- Caesar's Palace or the International. One of those; I remember Elton having a hard time deciding between the two.

Having unloaded our luggage (Freddie and I had combined our things into one suitcase), we had ridden down to the Strip. I was crashing hard by this point, to the degree that I wasn't really taking in much of the glitter sparkling in this desert oasis. While I would have been content to spend the night in some twenty-dollar motel, Freddie of course had higher standards- but this evening, not so high as to be picky. He was tired, too. We pulled into the first casino I said "Oh, wow" at- namely, the Sahara.

The concierge recognized Freddie right off, but before he could launch into fan mode, Freddie put a finger to his lips. Luckily, this gentleman was no Officer Freeling. He nodded and formed an "okay" sign with his fingers. It was nearly ten o'clock and Las Vegas had only just begun to wake up; to cry "Freddie Mercury" in a crowded resort lobby would not have made things any easier.

Peter, Paul, and Rudy checked in after us, so I don't know how they set their rooms up. As for us, Freddie requested a tower room with two beds. When I realized we were going to spend the night together, again I fretted I would be hampering his fun. Supposing he should desire more than a kiss good night this evening? Regardless of what I wanted to do to him deep down inside, I was hardly the one who could deliver- and I'm pretty sure there's nothing particularly kinky about having sex while five feet away lies a girl who is trying to get some sleep, and is most likely covering her ears to shut out the moans and groans and the winded exclamations about how masterful the moves are.

I leaned up and whispered quickly, "Freddie, don't worry about me, I can figure some-"

Freddie turned with a weary look in his eyes. Okay, I'll shut up now. Sorry.

Once we were all squared away, Freddie gave Rudy a few last-minute instructions. "...If you would please be ready for my call by around nine-thirty, that would be great," I overheard him say.

We said goodnight to the three other fellows. Rudy smiled when I told him I'd see him in the morning. I'd never seen him smile before. Peter even gave me a little hug; I was beginning to get the impression he felt rather friendly towards me as well.

Or maybe we were all just happy to be alive after that godforsaken flight.

With the bellboy coming up behind us, Freddie and I took the elevator to the twelfth floor. We went a few steps down a hallway that could have inspired The Shining, then Freddie unlocked our room. His silence was beginning to chafe at me. I couldn't tell if it was mild shock or severe embarrassment, but either way it was making me very uncomfortable.

However, he wasn't quiet for much longer. One look at our accommodations decided that. It was a comfortable, nice-sized room, for sure, with red and gold wallpaper, heavy curtains flanking a balcony that overlooked the Las Vegas Strip, with a little kitchen table setup by the window where we could have tea (and coffee, GOOD coffee) tomorrow morning. Against the wall stood an armoire which I found out later concealed a box television; on the desk sat a brochure with the number for the front desk, the room service menu, and a binder full of suggestions for fun and frolic in Sin City.

But the room lacked one very important detail.

"What the- That f---ing twat!" he shouted. "I said, TWO! Not ONE!"

I cringed. He could be quite loud when he wanted to be. But there it was: one king-sized bed and a sofa sitting there as nicely as you please. Honestly, I didn't care. I was absolutely whipped. Jet-lag is nobody's friend; my only wish was to slip into my pajamas and crawl into bed. Taking the time to make a big deal out of one and a half beds sounded incredibly unappealing.