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“Freddie?” he murmured, and his fingers paused their swirling pattern on Brian’s neck.
“Yes?” he whispered.
“Do you still love me?” he spoke into the pillow.
He felt his heart ache, squeeze in yearning, and pushed himself up to face him.
“Always, Bri. I will always.” But Brian still looked away into the darkness, sighing, before turning around and opening his arms out to him.
“Come here.” And Freddie fell down into his arms, resting his face into the nook of Brian’s throat. Brian held him tight, tighter than before, and Freddie felt enveloped by his smell, his warmth and his curly hair. Even in the dark, he could tell Brian still was sleepless, staring. He pressed his lips to his pulse, waiting for the usual sigh and hum of Brian’s nerves dissipating with his touch, how he would kiss his forehead in thanks.
But Brian just sighed, and clung to him tighter.
-
Sweat pouring down his chest, too hot and sticky, panting- Freddie felt alive.
He blinked into the dim backstage lights compared to the dazzling spotlight, wiping his forehead with a towel he had picked up who knows when, laughing as Roger bounced on his toes, grinning at him. They were brilliant out there, electric. Even in the shadows he felt like he was glowing, every nerve tingling to explode with energy. He winked at Roger, watching him wrap his arm around a pretty blonde, whispering something to her that made her turn pink and scowl.
Where was Brian? He felt like he owed everything to him. They were all perfect tonight, but Bri? He played like it was the first time they were on stage- all hopes resting on this- his finger’s dancing along the Special’s strings in a way that made Freddie blush. At some point John had elbowed him in the darkness, too entranced on the way Brian glittered in his solo spotlight. He had rolled his eyes at him, turning away from the mic to murmur to Fred to get a room. Now Deaky, he thought, remembering the way Brian had pointedly smiled into the crowd, that was an excellent idea.
Patting down his face, he hurriedly grabbed the dressing-gown that hung by the dressing room, already feeling more solid than the dancing, whirling thing he did on stage. Brian liked that about him. Liked to hold him down by his hips, or up against a wall, nipping his throat just to see him squirm. He almost felt intoxicated by it, the rush of sound and adrenaline blurring his veins as he entered the alcove where their equipment was dumped afterward. Brian would be pretty wound up too, his hands drumming on his guitar until he could-
“-these? Mother of pearl, my mum’s old buttons. I don’t know why I chose to make frets out of them, but they shine beautifully don’t they?”
Brian sat on amp case, his beloved red special laid half on his lap, half on the lap of a pretty brunette who smiled even when Brian wasn’t looking. Her fingers were laid on top of his, guiding her along it’s neck as she cocked her head and hummed in fixation as he spoke. Her knee just rested next to his, perched so close on the case that could barely fit one.
Freddie fell, was falling. Felt his heart sinking as he turned back and barged to the dressing room, scrunching his eyes tightly shut as he lay his weight against the closed door.
It was almost strange. He lived music, felt his heartbeat in time with it, but at this moment he couldn’t count to ten without gasping. He focused on his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest feeling monumental, like he was on a rolling ship on a rough ocean. Roger was gone, John’s case and coat were missing, and Freddie felt totally, utterly alone. Not for the first time-
“Freddie? Are you in there?” a soft voice called out from behind the door, gently rapping in a quiet rhythm.
“Yes.” He whimpered, wincing at his voice.
“Okay, are you ready to go? You haven’t been drinking with Roger have you?” Brian’s voice turned stern at that, and he could almost hear how he hummed in annoyance.
“Yes, No- I mean, sorry love! Just getting ready!” he sang, rubbing his eyes and grabbing his bag.
“Okay-“ and Brian’s voice faded as he walked away. He took a deep breath, rubbing his hands on his dressing-gown to wipe away the makeup stains.
-
Despite the blossoming red marks on his throat and thighs, the heat that made him fling off the cover’s off his chest; Freddie felt frozen. Brian lay on his side, huddled on the edge of their shared bed, his hair poofing off the pillow in the way Freddie so warmly remembered. They had a soundcheck tomorrow, early morning before their gig. They had driven over three days to get here, and it would be a waste of time to ruin it with exhaustion. The tightness of his wallet strangled him too, he had to be his best.
But it was the first time, the first time in three years that Freddie hadn’t found himself in his arms, his touch soothing him on his worst nights. Freddie’s dreams lay enveloped in Brian’s skin, painted there with kisses, and he didn’t know how to ask for them back.
“Freddie?” Brian murmured, his voice crystal clear in the silence of the night.
“Yes?” he whispered.
“Do you still love me?” and the question clung to his lips. Holding his breath, feeling Brian breathe.
“If you want me to.”