Not With Those Teeth, Mate (Maylor/Froger/Deacury)

Chapter 1

It was almost the start of the new year, and in the heart of London, EMI was bursting at the seams with anyone who was someone and wannabes on their way to becoming someone. The record label was hosting its annual New Year's Eve party, and they accommodated these two kinds of guests by throwing two parties – one for the hopefuls, giving them the chance to show the label what they could offer, and the other for the veterans, showcasing some of their more long-term residents.

Sitting in one of the hallways, far away from the commotion that shook the floors and walls of the building, was a tall, slender boy with a mop of dark brown curls surrounding his face, his knees drawn in and a book in his angled lap. He always preferred the quiet and peaceful over the loud and chaotic, but his stepmother, Anita, had dragged him to London in hopes of him meeting someone who could further his career as a guitarist.

She'd listened to him pluck the strings of his Red Special late at night, and she felt it would be a shame to waste that kind of talent on an unreliable career in Astrophysics. What kind of jobs would he even apply for? she constantly wondered, taking matters into her own hands and setting the boy up with the label. They weren't due to meet with the executive until a week later, but she figured it wouldn't do him any harm to get an early taste of who he'd be working with.

"Brian," she snapped, lifting his gaze up from the physics textbook as she approached him – arms crossed over her chest and a disappointed look on her face, "It's New Year's Eve. Enough reading."

"But I'm almost done," he lied to her, a desperate whine in his voice that couldn't be disguised as she snatched the book out of his hands.

"I didn't bring you here to read, mister," Anita reminded him, skimming the indecipherable pages herself before furrowing her eyebrows together in confusion and closing the book with a force that startled the boy at her feet. "Now get up and go make some friends."

"Can I at least have my book back?" the guitarist pled, holding his hand out. His stepmom rolled her eyes and begrudgingly relinquished possession of the textbook. "Thank you," he muttered, picking himself up from the floor and brushing off the back of the nicest pair of jeans he owned.

"Come on, Bri," she mumbled, leading the two of them down the hallway towards the party.

Meanwhile, in one of the studios, John Reid and his stepson, Roger Taylor, were working on the beginnings of one of his new songs. The blonde was sitting behind a set of drums, tapping the skins with a ferocity that brought a proud grin to the music manager's face. If there was one thing the boy could do, it was playing the drums. He liked to dabble in other things like guitar and synthesizers and singing, shaping a promising solo career around it, but he shone best when he was behind the kit.

Roger stopped at the end of the rhythm he'd been working on and set his sticks down on one of the drum heads, slinking into the control room where his stepfather stood and asking, "How was that?"

"Good, but I'd keep working on it," John suggested, giving the boy a playful punch on the arm, "You've got that record deal coming up, and we want to blow them away!"

Still breathless from the intensity he played with, Roger rubbed the back of his neck and heaved a sigh. "So, what do I need to do then?"

"Oh, you know, just—"

"Boys?" The father-and-son pair turned their heads towards the door, where John's boyfriend, Elton, stood in the threshold – hands on his hips and a ridiculous outfit on his back that embarrassed the blonde to no end but hadn't fazed the manager at all. "Please don't tell me we only came to this party for you to work more on your bloody music."

"Well, yeah," John answered with a chuckle, "He's gotta get these songs down, and we can't let a stupid party get in the way of that."

"This is the one party a year this record label throws for people like him..." Elton threw a finger in the blonde's direction, "...and you can't even have the decency to show up? You're a manager, John, people are asking for you!"

The manager groaned in displeasure, averting his gaze to the drummer who'd folded his arms over his chest and hung his head in silence, not wanting to be a part of this conversation. It wasn't that he agreed with Elton or disagreed with John; in fact, he wanted to do both, but making his stepfather proud was more important to him, and so he acquiesced to John's suggestion of sneaking off and slipping into one of the studios to work out this new idea of his instead of mingling with other musicians, or even possibly – hopefully – getting lucky with one of them.

"Can we at least do one more take?" John begged.

"Last one," Roger tacked on, earning the two of them an eye roll from the manager's flamboyant boyfriend before he strutted away, leaving behind a trail of sequins as he retreated to the party. The duo shared a triumphant high-five, the blonde running back into the studio and repositioning himself behind the drums while the manager sat down in front of the console.