I don't want my freedom • Dealor

Waiting for love

Paul went to visit the band, bringing the food for the week, exchanging information about the album and hitting on Freddie. Since the day Roger first set his eyes on that man he didn't like him, and the way he looked at Freddie never pleased the drummer; Paul didn't look at his friend like a person, but like a piece of meat, ready to eat flesh and bone. But Freddie was adult enough to know how to take care of himself and who he wanted to be around with.

Roger and Brian helped to put the food in the storeroom, and soon the blond saw something.

"Paul, you didn't bring any drink." pointed out Roger.

"Drink?" Paul didn't follow him.

"Beer!"

Paul just rolled his eyes, quickly making Roger pissed with him. It didn't take much for the drummer to get annoyed with the man, and the fact he was extremely bored made his annoyance grow. Roger was even missing fighting with someone, and Paul would be a perfect choice to get in a fight with.

"This wasn't in the food list, Roger." said Paul.

"But it should've been! I work better when I drink." Roger was mad.

"The company can't bear the costs of those whimsies." Paul crossed his arms, irreducible.

"We are in this shitty farm in the middle of nowhere because you wanted to, and now we can't drink a damn beer!"

"Who knows it's time for abstinence, don't you think?"

Freddie saw Roger closing his hands into fists and breathing heavily by the nose, so he thought it was the time to step in. "Paul, lovie, we aren't asking for anything fancy, actually." Freddie got closer to Paul, sliding his hand on the man's arm. "Just some beers. Just to get our creativity free."

Paul looked to Freddie, probably debating internally if it'd worth spending a little more money to get Freddie into bed, and he took a look, up and down, to the singer. "Ok, I'll buy beer." decided Paul. "But Ray can not know."

"Well done, darling." Freddie smiled to Paul. For some reason, Roger thought of a man complementing his own dog.

And, some hours later, the men were in the lounge, arguing if Arthur Conan Doyle had written a sexual context between Sherlock and Watson. The kind of conversation they only would have if they were really wasted.

"Waston had many wives but he never let go of Sherlock." Brian gave a loud belch, laughing after. "Sorry."

"Not sorry, Brian. Sherlock admired Irene Adler." John laid down in the sofa, his eyes closed. "He was attracted to women."

"Did you read the books?" Roger got up of the sofa, with a sudden excitement. "Watson talks about Sherlock with devotion, describes him as a lover. There's no heterosexual explanation for that!"

"I don't know you, but I'm bored." Freddie finished his beer and looked to Paul, who was on his side. "Let's go to my room, Paul."

The man stood up fast and followed Freddie, who was already climbing the stairs. The other three watched their walk, and heard the sound of a door opening and closing.

"Apparently someone is gonna shag today." commented Brian, falling on his chair and closing his eyes.

"And it won't be me." Roger sat again in the sofa, pouting.

The blond looked to the second floor with anger, and this was noticed by John. His friend was upset with something, and he knew what to do to relax him.

"Rog, come over." called John.

The drummer got closer to John, who made Roger turn his back to him, and what the blond felt next was John's hands on his shoulders and rubbing them. Roger already felt the tension going away and his body getting more relaxed. "God, Deaky, your massages are my weak spot!" claimed Roger.