You Don't Exist (Maylor)

Welcome To The Band

Tim was enraged, seeing the mark irritated him already since he knew Roger was meant to be with him for the rest of their lives regardless of some stupid mark, but for it to change right in front of him made him want to scrap it off. Get a cheese grater and grind it into the soft skin at the nape of Roger's neck. Whispering comforting words as he rid the young boy of the mark that would eventually take him away. Telling him it was for his own good. How could someone love Roger better than he could?

Instead he grabbed a fist full of hair and yanked Roger's head back, holding him in place. Then leaned forward and bite down hard right at the inked skin. Hard enough to leave behind bruised skin and cover up that blasted mark even for a day or two. Anything was better than seeing it now or when Roger would walk fresh out of the shower and turn to grab clothes, his hair falling in his face to show off the offending letter that had cursed Tim to this day.

He hated Freddie. Always thinking the two were soulmates since the brunette refused to show his mark. Roger always spending time with him, running off to him, writing songs with him, sharing glances with him. As if Tim wasn't there. Didn't exist.

If it were up to him, they would ditch the Paki and have him sing and play bass. Not wanting the boy in the band in the first place. That had been something Roger put his foot down about. Causing more fighting between them than anything else. Freddie had been a friend of Roger's only a year into Uni, meeting through a mutual friend he didn't care to know about. Moving in when they realized Freddie needed a roommate and Roger needed somewhere to stay to be closer to campus. Then the boy started showing up at their practices and the few gigs they had. Bringing his own songs he had written and persistently asking if they maybe wanted to play one or two of them.

Tim had always said no where Roger's eyes would light up after reading and forming his own understanding of the lyrics.

He had practically wiggled his way into the band.

Roger cried out in pain when he felt teeth try and bury themselves into his neck, trying to pull away to no avail. The pain spread from that spot down his spine and shuttered out to the rest of his body. A hot liquid pain that made him pant from the force.

Tim was rough, but not like this.

When he finished, he wrapped his arms tightly around the other's waist possessively. Never pulling out. It felt like he had claimed Roger inside and out and he wouldn't be letting that go tonight. Roger shifted uncomfortably. Having not cum himself, his dick resting uncomfortably on his stomach.

"Tim, I-"

To shut him up, he spit into his palm and jerked the other boy off before falling asleep. Not caring if the boy was uncomfortable with their sleeping arrangements.

Roger didn't sleep a wink.

Instead stared blankly at the wall after spending an hour trying to relax enough to sleep. The pillows seeming too flat, the room too hot, his skin too stinky. Nothing seemed to work. So, he lay there wondering if this new guy, Brian, would actually work out or just be another flop.

He had a feeling this one was different.

"Darling, don't take this the wrong way but you look terrible." Freddie was bent over helping Roger set up his drum kit for practice. It was another unusually perfect day in London. The sky blue, very few clouds, warm but not enough for shorts. A beautiful Monday afternoon for everyone else, but the band.

It pissed Roger off.

The storage room was practically a boiler room at this point. They tried to get the school to turn the air conditioner on before the lot melted, but they refused seeing as it wasn't hot enough. Too much money and all that jazz.