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

Chapter 5

It didn't take long for the others to take Miami's lead, Roger pushing his way around his girls and his competition to catch Brian before he could get far. Luckily, the curly-haired man had similar intentions and was waiting right outside the door, back pressed against the wall and eyes flickering between every person that passed through the threshold in hopes of catching a glimpse of the blonde. However, when he did, the words he wanted to say got caught in his throat and it became Roger's responsibility to speak first, turning around and meeting Brian's expectant gaze.

"Hey!" he greeted, unable to hold back the grin that appeared on his lips and instantly eased the tense guitarist's nerves.

"I don't..."

"Believe it," Roger finished his sentence, shortening the distance between them.

Brian chuckled. "Well, me—"

"Either." The blonde folded his arms over his chest, shaking his head in disbelief. "What are you doing here? I thought we performers intimidated you too much."

The taller of the two blushed at the shorter one's mocking comment, wanting to but struggling to find an equally teasing reply. All he could come up with was the honest answer of, "Well, you see, I kind of was already a studio musician here when we first met."

Roger's clicked his tongue, the corners of his lips perking upward into an amused smirk. "Oh, were you, now?"

"Y-Yeah," Brian stammered, embarrassed for having lied to the blonde when—looking back—he had no reason to. "I don't...I don't know why I didn't just tell you."

"Probably because you love it when people tell you how good you are," he continued to tease, his smirk growing with the blush rising in Brian's cheeks.

"No, erm, quite the opposite, actually—"

"Oh, stop it with the modesty," Roger jested, playfully punching the guitarist in the arm and saying, "We're all self-absorbed, conceited arseholes here. Especially this guy." His final three words coincided with the emergence of Freddie from the conference room, the dark-haired man stopping in his tracks and eyeing the blonde from head to toe.

"What about me, darling?" he insisted on knowing, joining Roger's side and glaring at the tall man standing before them, forgetting his initial question and replacing it with a, "Who's this?" as if he hadn't remembered him interrupting their meeting.

"This is Brian," the blonde introduced him, "He's one of our new studio musicians."

Freddie hummed and folded his arms over his chest, snarling, "Well how nice it is of you to find time in your so busy schedule to pity him a welcome. Were you going to sign up for the chance to be Mott the Hoople's opening act too?" He extracted a pink sparkly pen from the inside breast pocket of his fur coat and scribbled down his name on the sheet tacked to the bulletin board outside the conference room—his signature consuming nearly half the page. "John and I have toured with a lot of great artists, but we always encourage others to try out because, well, there are a lot of other things we'll need help with...like lugging around our wardrobes and testing our mics and—"

"Oh, no. No, no, no," Brian replied, shaking his head, "I just, I just was looking at what other opportunities the studio has to offer because there's just..." his eyes wandered to the board covered in flyers, "...so much to do." He took a quick look back at Roger—hoping he would save him from the sinking ship of a conversation he found himself in but seeing that his attention had been stolen by the cigarette he was working to light—before glancing back at Freddie and commenting with a deceptively friendly grin, "Nice penmanship."

With his compliment that came off rather insincere, the guitarist walked away—Freddie's gaze following him before he snapped back into reality and took the open place beside Roger. The blonde brought the ignited white stick to his lips and took in a deep breath, finally looking up to disappointedly watch his new friend disappear around the corner at the opposite end of the hallway.

"So, Roger," Freddie remarked, resting his arm atop the blonde's shoulder and grinning, "I missed you over break. Who'd you do?"

"What?"

"Any good shags you want to tell me about? Girls? Guys?"

The blonde gave the singer a strange look and took another slow drag from his cigarette, blowing out the smoke he'd been holding in to the side and answering, "Neither, Fred. I was in the studio with John the whole time."

"Ahh, right, your album," the dark-haired man replied, plucking the white stick out of Roger's grasp and bringing it up to his own lips. "When's that due to drop?" he entertained, inhaling the nicotine and exhaling it slowly.

The drummer snatched his cigarette back, grumbling, "I don't know. Two weeks, maybe?"

Freddie scoffed in admiration, pulling the pair closer together and praising him for his dedication. "You're just like me!" he gushed, earning an awkward chuckle from the blonde whose gaze flickered over to Dominique, wordlessly pleading for her to notice and come rescue him. Before she could sense his telepathic cries for help through her conversation with Debbie, Freddie drew Roger's attention back by trailing a sensual finger down his chest. "I hope you'll come to see John and me on tour, Rog. Promise?"

"S-Sure," the blonde stammered, hoping that his no-hearted agreement would send the clingy singer on his way.

Freddie squealed in delight and finally let go of the blonde, bidding him farewell with a cheerful, "Toodles!" before strutting down the hallway.

"Toodles," Roger repeated smugly under his breath, watching as Dominique wrapped up her talk with the other blonde and joined the drummer who stood in the center of the hall with a scowl on his face. The dark-haired French girl smirked and hooked her arm with the blonde's, leading him down the hallway.

"So, let me guess," she started teasingly, "Freddie talked you into being his personal assistant for when he and John tour with Mott the Hoople."

Roger laughed. "He couldn't handle me as his personal assistant."

Dominique allowed herself an agreeing smile before biting her lip and looking over at her friend with a more serious expression. "You know you couldn't audition even if you wanted to, Rog. John Reid would throw a fit, and besides, do you think Mitch Mitchell and Jon Bonham auditioned to be some other band's opening act?" Before the drummer could chime in, his backup singer answered her own question with a stern, "No, they got asked. You need to focus on your album."

"Don't you think it'd be good experience, though?"

Dominique chuckled. "If you consider waiting on the princess hand and foot as good experience, sure."

Roger's cheeks turned a faint shade of red, and he brought his free hand to the back of his neck nervously. "I know, I just...I thought it'd be a good laugh." The two walked down the hall a little bit further in silence before the blonde mumbled, "Freddie's kinda cute, too."

"Yeah, and so is your dad, but you don't fuck him."