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“Bitch, did you just steal my literal spotlight?”
Queen’s performance had been total rubbish even before this point, but apparently things can always get worse.
Freddie promptly punches their latest bass player in the face with his bejeweled fist.
||
Brian and Roger are sat in a corner at the latest happening disco after the disastrous show working on fourth pints each.
“I just wanted a band to play my fireplace in,” Brian moans.
Roger scrunches his face adorably. “What are you on about?”
“I’m going to have to play the bloody bass on our bloody first album!”
“It’s not the end of the world,” Roger half-heartedly says. You know things have really gone to shit if he’s the one trying to maintain some level of optimism. “I can help with the guitar. Let me play the damned fireplace.”
“No one plays the Red Special but me,” Brian unsurprisingly insists. “You’d only use and abuse her. Break her fragile heart.”
Oh, Lord. “Quit anthropomorphizing your stupid guitar and using that as a way of keeping me from playing it. I am a very capable guitar player. I’m fucking versatile!”
Brian’s not too drunk to retort, “Hey, Rog? When was the last time you let me drive your car?”
“You bloody well know Guinevere’s lush driving seat is to never endure your bony backside.” Roger’s either too drunk to realize his hypocrisy or, more likely, he doesn’t care.
Brian huffs and drops the matter, instead looking at their surroundings. “I thought Freddie was supposed to meet us here,” he fuzzily wonders. After the band’s frontman punched Doug the Now Former Bassist of Queen, he stomped off to the storage room that was being used as a dressing area and refused to come out until he felt he had regained his composure. Roger simply screamed at the door his and Brian’s intentions to get pissed at the new disco.
“He probably buggered off … quite literally by now. You know what? Good for him. That’s exactly what I should be doing now instead of sitting in this ridiculous club listening to crap music.”
“Why on Earth did you suggest we come here then?”
“The latest spots always have the best birds,” Roger answers. At that moment, a few girls in the shortest tops and tightest skirts walk by their table. “Stay sat here bitching if you must. I’ve got better things to do. I’ll be sure to give you their names later.” He gets up to follow the girls.
“Like you’ll even remember their names!” Brian bitterly spits out. Good riddance. He can sulk in peace now.
The peace is short-lived when a “Brian!” comes out of nowhere. He looks up from his pint to see two men coming his way. He thinks he might know the chap in the silver sports coat. Speaking of remembering names …
“Oi, long time!” Silver Sports Coat shouts as he and his companion reach the table. “I saw the show tonight. Wild, man!”
And Brian no longer cares to remember the man’s name because he is immediately reminded of his current sad predicament. “Um, it was not our greatest moment, no.”
“Who knew Freddie could throw a punch like that?”
“He used to box as a child, so he’s a man of many talents, honestly.” Despite being down yet another bassist, Brian actually wasn’t mad at Freddie for his actions. Doug was a prat who would try to show off constantly, always speeding up or slowing down the rhythm to Roger’s dismay and riffing over Brian’s parts. And while Roger and Brian were proper English chaps who bitched under their breath or secretly slashed holes in his luggage over the treatment, Freddie Bulsara was not so passive. Doug’s lucky he didn’t lose a limb.
“Guess he was feeling generous,” the man’s companion joins the talk. “A rock show and a boxing match for the price of one ticket.”
Silver Sports Coat laughs. “Bri, meet John Deacon. The answer to your prayers.”
Brian blearily takes in the young man with long chestnut hair and a gentle air. He’s bouncing a bit to the music despite being part of a conversation away from the dancefloor. Brian’s yet to get clarification on what prayers this John Deacon is supposed to be the answer to, but he is ridiculously cute, so Silver Sports Coat’s claim isn’t completely off.
“I play bass,” John simply explains with an indulgent eye-roll.
Ah.
"Don't be modest, John! I've seen him play with all the local bands."
"Why haven't you really joined any?" Brian's curious.
"I'm busy with my studies," John shrugs. "Plus, I haven't found the right fit, I suppose."
Despite the club noise, Brian's keen ears can parse out the sweet voice. John looks down bashfully, plays with his hair some. So cute so cute soocyooot, Brian's sloshed brain can't help but annoyingly repeat. "Oh, join Queen then," somehow comes tumbling out of his mouth.
John looks stunned.
Silver Sports Coat looks too pleased. "Brilliant!" He claps John on the back. "My job here is done. Sit and drink, work the details out. I'll send another round to the table. I have to be going. Great seeing you again, Bri! You owe me, mate!"
And he's gone.
"Hey, John?"
"Um, yes, Brian?"
"Who the hell was that?"
John shakes his head in confusion. "I thought you knew him?"
"Uh, no. Looks familiar, but I haven't the slightest suspicion of his name."
"Well, I don't know either. He screamed for me while I was dancing and insisted I come over here to talk to you."
"Huh," because there's nothing else really to ask or deduce about the true identity of the man who made his and John's meeting possible, as if he was some kind of matchmaking angel for Brit rock musicians. While Brian is still kind of curious who Silver Sports Coat truly is, there's John here to keep him enamored. John finally takes a seat next to him. John's cute — as has been already established. John's going to be in his band.
"I haven't agreed to be in your band yet, mate."
Oh, Brian said that out loud. "What else did I say out loud?"
"I'm flattered you think I'm cute," John smirks.
"Oh, God," Brian groans and tosses his head back to avoid looking at John with his face aflame from embarrassment. "So, you saw us play?" he asks, still facing the ceiling instead of the other man.
"Yes."
"What'd you think?'
"Not bad."
Brian huffs. "Which means not good, right?"
"That's not what I said."
Brian dares to turn his head, silently urging him to continue.
John has the most charming smile on his face. "Just … not bad. Could use a better bass player.”
“Your powers of perception astound, Mr. Deacon.” Brian drinks what’s left of his beer.
John huffs, continues to smile. “I’ve seen worse. Played with worse.”
“Well, now you have the chance to play with the ‘not bad.’ ”
“You’re serious about the offer?”
“I’ve already gotten an endorsement of you from a mysterious stranger in a garish coat,” Brian tries to joke. “A totally reliable source, I’m sure.”
“You haven’t heard me play.” John sticks with the practical matters at hand, ignoring Brian’s attempt at playing off his blind acceptance of him.
Brian sighs, forgets he finished his pint and embarrassingly tries to drink from his glass. He pushes it away and turns to John. “You’re cute-”
“You can’t hire me because I’m cute,” John interrupts.
“That’s only 20 percent of what I’m getting at,” Brian shoves on. “And this may very well be the drink talking, I’ll admit that, but you’re charming and fair in your assessments. Your presence, at least for me, is surprisingly soothing and beatific, and I’ve only just met you. Perfect counterpoints to my bullheadedness, Roger’s brash ego, and Freddie’s overt everything.” Without a glass to fiddle with, he’s left with drumming his fingers on the table and looking away shyly. “If you’re looking for the right fit, I think it’s us.”
As promised by Silver Sports Coat, another round of drinks arrives at the table finally. Brian gratefully takes his pint as John remains silent, assessing, probably judging Brian on how presumptuous he’s being. He knows he sounds insane for just offering a total stranger the spot in the band. Brian just knows he’s right about John. He’s Queen’s missing puzzle piece.
John doesn’t drink from his glass, just cradles it, looks at it like it has the answers to his unspoken queries. “I meet the rest of the band,” he finally says. “I audition properly.”
Brian smiles unrestrained and raises his glass, nodding for John to do the same. He rolls his eyes but indulges Brian. “Cheers to that.”
||
John finds himself at Imperial College looking for the room number Brian had given him as the place he would audition.
What has he gotten himself into?
Sure, he had been looking for a steady performing gig, but when Brian practically granted him the keys to Queen’s kingdom, his first instinct had been to fucking run.
This was for understandable, reasonable reasons, he thought. 1. Who just offers a spot in a band without hearing the person perform? 2. Queen’s previous bass player had been punched on stage by the lead singer, and John didn’t think being part of a band in which getting punched by one of its members was a real possibility was the most sane life choice. 3. John wanted to climb the band’s guitar player like a tree.
Brian was undeniably handsome, almost otherworldly with his height and halo of dark curls. John knows Brian was drunk when they talked last night, but even inebriated, the guitarist had been a total class act. Charming, earnest, and so bloody smart.
Completely out of your league, John’s insecure inner voice told him. Both Brian and Queen.
The irony was that Brian would probably disagree with that inner voice. John couldn’t believe his ears last night. Again, who just up and offers a place in their band when they haven’t even heard you perform?! Brian had been awfully flirty though, and John had been concerned that the opportunity was a means to get in his trousers. However, despite declaring how cute he thought John was, the guitarist didn’t pursue anything further. That reinforced how serious Brian was about the offer, leaving John equal parts musically excited and sexually frustrated.
John finds the room, takes in a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
||
“You already told him he could join the band?” Freddie asks, quizzical brow arching practically above his forehead.
Brian clears his throat. “Uh, yes.”
“Wow, Bri,” Roger starts, “I haven’t even done that for some action. Free tickets are as far as you go. It’s rock star law.”
“You’ve told countless girls that their brothers can be our roadies!”
“That’s not the same as, ‘Oi, let’s shag, and you can get a quarter of my band’s royalties.’ ”
“It’s not like that with John.” Brian puts his face in his hands. Ugh, his head is pounding.
“I agree with Roger,” Freddie begrudgingly admits. “Darling, what on Earth possessed you to make such an offer without an audition?”
“He’s cute.”
Freddie and Roger look at him with matching “what the hell” faces.
“He must have fucked the smarts right out of you,” Roger concludes.
Brian sighs. “Again, nothing happened. He insisted on this audition. As outrageous as my offer might seem, when you meet him, you’ll both understand why I made it right away.” He thinks back at John’s sweet smile and practical judgments. “Gentlemen, I have no doubt that our search for the right bass player ends today.”
The door opens at that moment.
John barrels into the room with his bass guitar in a case slung over a shoulder and wheels in his own amplifier.
“John!” Brian gets up to meet him and help if he can. “I’m so glad you made it!”
They settle in front of Freddie and Roger. “Of course, I’m here. My better sense seems to be on the losing side of my brain as of late.”
“Oh, you’re deliciously sarcastic,” Freddie wastes no time making his presence in the room very apparent to the newcomer. “Let’s get started right away before everyone’s better sense has the chance to take over.” He pointedly looks at Brian. “Shall we, dear?” directing him to come back to his seat with them.
“You’ll be brilliant,” Brian half whispers to John before sitting.
“Well, allow me to make the formal introductions,” Freddie begins. “You seem to already know our very single lead guitarist, Brian May.” Bri shoots him a dirty look. “I am Freddie Bulsara, grand pianist and vocalist extraordinaire, and to my right is drummer and screamer, Roger Meddows Taylor.”
“Mate, you brought your own amp?” Roger inquires.
“I wasn’t sure you’d have one available, so I just brought the one I built.”
“You built that amp?!” Roger’s amazed. “And it sounds good?”
“Better than any of the cheaply manufactured models,” John responds confidently.
“What do you study?”
“Electrical engineering.”
Roger whistles at that. “He’s clever,” he says low enough for just Brian and Freddie to hear. “Might be cleverer than you, Bri.”
Brian simply smiles brightly in response, looking entirely at John so he knows they’re saying good things about him.
“Why don’t you tell us more about yourself?” Freddie requests.
John stands up straight after bending to plug in his amp and bass. “Uh, my name is John Richard Deacon, born 19th August 1951.”
“A baby,” Freddie breathes in wonder.
“Am I the youngest?” John looks surprised at the possibility.
“Oh, those two are practically granddads compared to us,” Roger says. “Ow!” Freddie elbows him in the side. “Uh, but even I have a couple years on you.”
“Brian,” Freddie hisses, “how could you even think of subjecting this sweet, innocent flower to the debauchery of rock ’n’ roll?”
“You’re being ridiculous, Fred. He’s clearly quite mature for his age.” Brian sees a potential way of convincing Freddie to let John in the band. “And, besides, you’ll be there to guide and protect him. You’ll be his idol.”
Freddie seems touched by the possibility. He blinks out of his thoughts though, picking up on Brian’s scheme. “He’s not in the band yet, May.”
Brian winces, looks back at John apologetically.
“John Deacon, eh?” Roger gets the young man’s attention again. “Bit boring name for rock ’n’ roll, don’t you think?”
“Like Roger Taylor’s any more thrilling?” Brian snarks back, indignant for John.
Roger ignores his friend. “What if we swapped them? ‘Deacon John.’ That sounds much more interesting.”
“Yes, because deacons are known to have the most riveting positions within the church,” John replies, sarcasm and eye-roll at their maximum.
Roger laughs with genuine delight. “Oh, God, I deserved that one! You’re hired, Deacy. I totally get why Brian’s already in love with you.”
Brian mutters “wanker” under his breath. Roger smiles with false innocence in response.
“Deacy?” John simply questions.
“Yeah, that’s your nickname now,” Roger declares. “Congrats on getting the cutest nickname in Queen.”
“Deacy’s still not in the band yet,” Freddie reminds them all, the nickname coming out quite naturally, John has to admit.
“Yes, please, if I could go ahead and perform something-”
“Not yet,” Roger interrupts.
John lets his hands drop to his sides in defeat.
Roger makes eye contact with Brian, alerting him to what he’s about to say. “Fred, how about we try out that one part in ‘Liar’.”
Freddie lights up at the suggestion. “Oh, darling, what a wonderful idea! John, can you sing?”
“Sing?” Christ, he hasn’t even touched his bass strings. “Um, no. I don’t really sing.”
“I’m not asking you to sing lead. That, of course, is for me and occasionally these two divas sitting next to me.”
“Oh, right,” Brian snorts, “we’re the divas at this table.”
Freddie ignores the pissiness. “There are some songs that will need a little extra help in backing vocals when performed onstage. ‘Liar’ has some special moments that will require another voice.”
“All right,” John begrudgingly accepts. “Let’s try it.”
Freddie bounces out of his chair, grabs his half mic stand and gets right in John’s space.
“Um, what are you doing?”
“We have to share a mic,” Freddie explains.
“Have to? You lot are that hard up on money that there aren’t enough microphones?”
“It’s all for the show, dear. The act of sharing a mic is all part of the appeal of the performance.”
“How?” John’s confused.
“You have to look hot singing alongside Freddie,” Roger explains.
Freddie nods in confirmation. “Now, you only have one lyric to sing. The boys and I will begin, and you can join in when you’re ready.”
John swallows hard, mentally preparing himself for doing this. He’s also trying not to swoon being this close to Freddie. The man is quite sexy, and John can’t imagine how singing with him could do anything to add to the lead singer’s raw appeal.
“Listen!” Freddie starts singing suddenly and looks straight into John’s eyes. “Are you gonna listen?” He turns suddenly and practically snuggles into John, they’re cheek to cheek. “Mmmama I’m gonna be your slave,” Roger and Brian join Freddie in singing, “All day long!”
“Mama, I’m gonna try to behave,” Freddie sings on his own.
“All day long!” all three again sing together.
John catches on quickly. Here we go.
“Mama, I’m gonna be your slave,” Freddie again.
This time, John sings into Freddie’s mic, “ALL DAY LONG!”
He gets an up-close view of Freddie’s toothy smile. “I’m gonna serve you till your dying day!”
Again, all four sing, “ALL DAY LONG!”
“I’m gonna keep you till your dying day!”
“ALL DAY LONG!”
“I’m gonna kneel down by your side and pray!” Freddie turns to face John again, never moving the mic away from their lips though.
“ALL DAY LONG!”
“And pray …”
“ALL DAY LONG!” John has his eyes shut now, getting into the moment.
“And pray …”
“ALL DAY LONG!”
The “And pray”s and “ALL DAY LONG!”s go on a couple more times before Freddie breaks John’s spell and pulls away slightly to sing his own “All day long”s before he finishes with an adorably cheeky, “We have lift off! Ow!”
John can’t help the grin on his face.
Freddie hugs the bass player without warning. “Oh, darling, that was grand!” He keeps hold of John’s shoulders and looks to the other two men in the room. “What do you all think? How did we look?”
“Well, I’ve got a stiffy,” Roger freely proclaims.
“Rog!” Brian’s scandalized.
“Hahhhht!” Roger practically growls out.
Brian can’t help but laugh at his friend’s ridiculousness. “Agreed,” he finally admits. “I wish I had my camera. It was quite a sensual moment to capture.”
“Luckily, ‘Liar’s’ the highlight of our concerts, so there will be other opportunities,” Freddie says. “Darling,” he looks at John, “we are going to be responsible for so much horniness. We should probably hand out free condoms at our shows.”
“Freddie,” John hates to be the one to keep bringing this up but “I still haven’t even played my bass for you all.”
The band’s frontman seems to have sincerely forgotten that little detail. “Of course, dear.” He looks at the bass player with care and softness. “The stage is yours.”
He moves back to Roger and Brian, who are sitting at attention. All three members of Queen are looking at John with — not judgment — but encouragement and excitement.
It’s at this moment that John finally accepts that he’s already part of this band. John’s confident in his own musical talent. He knows he won’t do them wrong. But Brian was right all along. It was the fit that actually mattered at this point.
John fits.
He can’t help but still want to show off for them though.
“I suppose this is all a formality at this point,” John dares to look at Brian, who winks and looks at him with pure adoration, “but allow me to play some Jimi Hendrix Experience for your listening pleasure.”
The riff of “All Along the Watchtower” is immediately recognized by the rock musicians and Hendrix fanatics in the room, who express their approval with “ahh”s and humming and light drumming to John’s spot-on performance of the popular work.
The bassist can’t help but lift off his Rickenbacker with a confident flourish when he’s finished. He hugs the instrument and takes a bow. The three men in the "audience" give him a standing ovation.
Brian looks to his bandmates for approval of what he’s about to say. They nod and Freddie offers a “go on, darling” as encouragement. John’s standing quietly, still hugging his bass guitar, staring at Brian expectantly. So cute, his sappy brain supplies yet again. He thinks this is the start of a partnership that’s not purely musical. There’s so much potential for he and John, and so many possibilities for all of them.
Brian tries to make his words as memorable and monumental as this moment deserves. “Welcome to Queen, John Deacon.”
-end-