Who Knows When (Joger/Dealor)

Chapter 19

As soon as the door clicked shut, John slipped the bass over his head and leaned it against the amp, peeling himself away from the speaker and walking to the center of the studio. He kept his back to me as he mumbled, "Those two sure are something."

"It's not something you ever get used to," I answered honestly, retrieving my drumstick and twirling it in my hand, "Trust me. I've been dealing with this for about a year now, and it's the same thing every time."

"What would you do?" he proposed seemingly out of the blue, glancing back over his shoulder at me and biting his lip.

I raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

"If I wrote a song, and you wanted to change the lyrics, or the whole thing," the bassist explained, "Who would get credit for the song?"

His question left me at a loss for words. I'd never thought about it, having kept most of the songs I've been working on to myself with plans of releasing them on my own, knowing from experience that if I showed them to Freddie or Brian, they'd only be considered as a joke. I twirled the drumstick again and shrugged my shoulders, answering, "I don't know. I guess it would depend on who contributed the most to the song at that point."

John remained quiet for a bit, pacing back and forth in the small, open space located in the middle of the studio. He abruptly stopped his aimless walk at one point and turned towards me, smirking. "What if you changed my song completely? There wasn't an ounce of my doing left on it. What would I have to do for you to give me the credit?"

I broke out into a wide grin, my cheeks blushing in embarrassment as my mind began to concoct all sorts of ideas. I folded my arms over my chest, drumsticks still in hand, and asked provocatively, "Well, what would you be willing to do?"

John hummed and put a hand up to his chin, posing as if he was thinking deeply about the lengths I would make him go to just to have his name attached to the record. He nodded his head, as if coming to terms with the hypothetical circumstances, and began to pace. I rolled my eyes and uncrossed my arms, beginning to tap the end of the sticks against the floor tom's head in time with the bassist's slow steps.

He glanced over at me, taking notice of my action, and decided to play with his pace, going faster and slower and then faster again—my drum beats never missing a step as he rushed up to me and jumped in my lap, causing me to drop the sticks in order to catch him so he wouldn't fall to the ground. The two of us shared a brief, not-so-quiet bout of laughter before John put his finger up to my lips, silencing the two of us with his growing smile. I raised a suspicious eyebrow as he dragged his finger down my chin, trailing it to the back of my neck as he leaned in and kissed me.

I instinctively kissed him back, our bodies pressing closer together as the kiss deepened. My hands that were previously wrapped around John's lower back found their way to his front, slowly starting to toy with the buttons holding his shirt together. I pulled back for just a moment to undo the last one and started to slide the piece of clothing down his arms. He sat back and smirked, tearing the shirt off in impatient haste.

The bassist allowed me no time to admire his exposed chest before swooping back in and kissing me again, his head landing in the crook of my neck and his lips creating a near impenetrable seal with my skin as he started to gently suck on it. I couldn't hold back the moan that was drawn from my mouth, my eyes nearly rolling back in my head and my body giving in to the pleasure that spread throughout my entire being. He took notice of this and made it clear that he was pleased with his success as he brought his hand down my chest, over my racing heart, and underneath my waistband.

In the moment of pure lust, the studio around us escaped me. The fact that Freddie and Brian were just outside the door became a passing thought that achieved the opposite effect it should've. My inhibitions were lowered by the thrilling possibility of them barging in and seeing us so close and intimate, and my drive was heightened by the tantalizing risk involved in how far we could take it.

I slowly closed my eyes as John's hand wrapped around my stiffened member, another moan slipping past my parted lips. My grip on his shoulders tightened as he began to massage the area; his movements slow and calculated as he worked to find the right pressure that would unravel me underneath his touch.

I was so close to reaching my climax, my breaths short and labored and my body wrapped in a warm blanket of ecstasy, when the bassist suddenly gasped and ripped his hand out of my pants, the intensity of the action throwing him back.