Lover || Roger Taylor x Reader

Chapter Eleven

The walk to the pool felt like a death march, each step you took leading you closer and closer to your demise. You faltered on the last stair as your legs threatened to give out, but Brian hastened to put one arm around your waist and hold you steady, "oh dear," he let out a little gasp, "are you alright?"

You were quick to nod the affirmative. Obviously Brian wasn't buying it, but he wasn't one to argue and so he let the subject drop. His thoughts were more centered around Roger anyhow. Where the hell was that bratty blonde?

You and Brian walked down the hall and emerged in the living room to find it utterly empty and, even more surprising, silent. It looked as if someone had tidied up. Television was shut off, blankets were folded and put back in the basket, dirty dishes were rounded up and returned to the kitchen...

Brian was even more surprised than you. None of them ever cleaned when they were over for a stay. What was this about? It was apparent that no one was still in the house. They must all be at the pool.

A sweet scent wafted from the kitchen and you silently remembered the brownies that Roger had been guarding. Had he...made something of his own? That couldn't be possible, you knew your Roger well enough to know he couldn't cook or bake worth a damn. And yet, he must've.

As if Brian's nose was as keen as yours, he stepped towards the kitchen and glanced into the open room. Sitting in a dish, right on the counter where Brian's had been the day before, was a pie.

A little smile appeared on Brian's face as he walked closer and discovered a note beside the freshly-made dessert. Roger's scrawling handwriting was a bit of a difficult read, but not even close to Brian's illegible cursive. Brian held the note closer and read: 'for all your trouble. consider this as thanks, as well as sorry. Rog.'

"What is that?" You leaned in the doorway, a confused look on your face as Brian was reading.

Brian laughed, "bastard made a damn pie," he chuckled lightly, running a hand through his thick curls, "he did all this."

"What can I say, Roger is an enigma. Just when you think he's had it up to here with you, then he's cleaning your whole house." You laughed uneasily as you made your way over to Brian. The guitarist set the note down and you glanced at it, not sure whether to be proud of Roger for being big enough to apologize or be uncertain that he wasn't trying to scheme in some way.

"Roger knows when he's in the wrong. He just...isn't always able to admit it right away."

"Hm...so we've met," Brian scoffed, "well. At least he's come to terms with it now. So, shall we go surprise the boys?"

You chortled when Brian picked you up and slung you over his shoulder. Usually you hated being picked up by anyone who wasn't Roger, but something about the way Brian was doing it made you want to trust him. You kicked a little and giggled adorably as your face started to turn red, "Brian what are you doing?!" you squealed, "I can walk, you know!"

The two of you laughed your way out of the kitchen as Brian carried you out the still-open back door. You could hear the whirring chirps and buzzing of busy bees as you were brought out to Brian's lovely gardens. You wanted to stop and gaze at the flowers a while, though Brian trudged onward, spurred on by the whoops and hollers of Freddie and Roger coming from the direction of the swimming pool.

"From the sound of it the neighbors might think they were drowning from all that noise," Brian chuckled under his breath, "you're not going to add to the mix, are you?"

You innocently shook your head, "no, of course not," you lied, knowing full-well how much you were going to squeal if a single one of them splashed or dunked you, "I'd never annoy you, Bri." "You would. And you know it."