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Freddie was in one of his moods. Melancholy, he liked to call it when he was like this. It sounded much better than ‘depressed’ or ‘moody’.
Something about the changing season, the disappearance if warm summer days, lounging by pools and chasing a shirtless Roger around the gardens, teasing Deaky for his short shorts, knowing soon would come the chill and snow and terrible cold. Worse, knowing the holidays were coming.
Not that Freddie hated the string of holidays that ran from October through New Years, per se. It was nice having an excuse to go see his family, nice when they were able to take a break from work, or better when it gave them an excuse to make the shows or recording sessions even more spectacular and over the top.
But often it meant people wanting to talk to Freddie when he didn’t feel like talking, so many things to do and things to buy and plans to make and half the time Freddie was never able to have everything the way he wanted it, and what was even the point of it all then?
Admittedly, it was a bit early to be worrying about things like that. Halloween wasn’t so bad, and then there was a whole month until Thanksgiving. But that didn’t stop his mother from asking what he wanted for Christmas the moment September was over.
Freddie sighed and rolled over in his bed, finding a new spot on the far wall to stare at as he mulled over his thoughts. Sure, Halloween wouldn’t be so bad, at least he already had a costume picked out thanks to some help from his boys. But their flat wasn’t even decorated yet, and it was already freezing outside most nights, and Freddie kept forgetting his damn coat every time he went any where.
The melancholy draped over him like a blanket. He should get up. It was late afternoon, much later than he usually got out of bed. He needed to eat. He needed to shower. He needed to finish the fucking song he had been stuck on for a week now, staring at a page of lyrics and banging uselessly on the piano until he got too frustrated and gave up.
Suddenly, there was a knocking on Freddie’s bedroom door which startled him from his spiraling.
“Fred? You up?” Fuck, it must be even later than Freddie thought if Roger was worried enough to be checking on him. “I was thinking of grabbing something from Rosita’s for dinner if you wanna join me.”
Freddie sighed, he couldn’t quite help the sound, shifting his head just enough so that his voice would project better through the door. “Not hungry.”
Roger spoke again, softer this time. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah, fine. I guess.”
The door opened slowly, hesitantly. So unlike Roger that it sent a pang through Freddie’s chest. Part of him hated it when his friends treated him like he was fragile, but another part of him loved it because he knew it meant they truly cared about him.
Roger, however, seemed to quickly overcome his hesitation at the sight of Freddie curled up in his bed. With a sad look, Roger marched straight to the bed and climbed in with Freddie, not bothered by the fact that Freddie was naked under the sheets and letting his lanky limbs wrap tightly around Freddie until there was as little space between them as possible. Roger nosed at Freddie’s cheek, smirking slightly when Freddie huffed in mock annoyance but made no move to push Roger away.
They stayed like that for awhile, until it was starting to get too hot under the blankets with their shared body heat. Admittedly, a good cuddle from his best friend seemed to be exactly what Freddie needed to pull himself out of his little melancholy funk. At least long enough to realize how hungry he was.
“If we go to Rosita’s, can we get takeaway and eat it in bed?” Freddie asked quietly.
Roger crinkled his nose, probably at Freddie’s breath, but nodded easily. “We can watch a cheesy old scary movie and get in the spooky Halloween spirit.”
It took longer than Freddie was proud of to pull himself away from Roger’s soft form and clamber his way out of bed. He heard a wolf whistle from Roger, and was able to shoot back with a little smile, not shaking his arse or putting on a show the way he would have if he were in a better mood.
Soon enough, though, Roger was taking his hand and leading him out of the flat.
The walk was short and though Freddie wasn’t incredibly happy with the coolness of the evening, it helped him wake up and gave him an excuse to walk closer to Roger. It didn’t take long at all for them to walk away from the little shop, each carrying a bag warmed by the steaming hot food inside against their chests.
When they made it back, Freddie made a beeline for Roger’s bed, letting Roger make the detour to the kitchen for some beer while he rearranged Roger’s blankets and pillows to make them a nice little nest to eat in. Roger happily plopped down next to him, handing him a beer and helping divide the food between them.
They ate together, talking about random things like Roger’s last date and Freddie’s art projects. It was warm and comfortable, exactly what Freddie needed.
Somehow they ended up lying so that Freddie had his head on Roger’s thigh, and Roger’s head was almost falling off the bed. He didn’t complain, though, so Freddie didn’t scoot over to give him more room.
“We didn’t decorate this year,” Freddie pointed out, a bit glumly.
Roger blinked, craning his head just enough to be able to look at Freddie. “Oh shit. I guess we’ve been too busy.”
There was a hand stroking through Freddie’s hair softly, which he appreciated. He wondered if he could convince Roger to give him a blow job. If anyone could suck all the sadness out of Freddie through his dick, it was probably Roger Taylor.
“We still could,” Roger suggested, his hand in Freddie’s hair slowing. “I’ve got an old black shirt we can cut up to make little bats we can hang up. And we have all those cotton balls Brian bought us when I scraped up my arm. We could make spiderwebs or something.”
Freddie’s eyebrows raised at the thought. They would be shitty decorations, but Freddie wasn’t opposed to the idea. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Let’s do it.”
“Okay!”
And then Roger was pushing Freddie’s head off of his lap and flipping himself off the bed in a dangerous move that brought his body a centimeter away from hitting the corner of the nightstand and resulting in a loud thump, an even louder string of expletives, and Roger sprawled out on his floor with a red, grumpy face.
It took Freddie a solid three minutes to stop laughing.
Then another few minutes passed as Roger cussed Freddie out for laughing, and Freddie rummaged through Roger’s old shirts until he found the right one as Roger lay miserably on the floor. Freddie grabbed a pencil from Roger’s desk and plopped down on the floor, carefully avoiding stepping on Roger’s long hair swept out everywhere.
“Go grab the scissors and cotton balls. And maybe if we have some of that wire Deaky left here,” Freddie instructed, his tongue poking out minutely as he began sketching out shapes on the fabric. It was almost impossible to see the marks, but Freddie could certainly make it work.
It ended up being a lot of fun. Roger kept making stupid jokes while pulling the cotton balls apart, making Freddie laugh so hard a few of the bats and spiders came out a bit wonky. Soon, the floor was an absolute mess of stretched out cotton and scraps of black fabric.
“Look, I’m Dr. Brian May,” Freddie said through his giggles in an old man voice, hair covered in cotton fluff, “I enjoy long bicycle rides on the beach and giving lectures so boring I put all the students asleep, not just the ones in my class.”
Roger started laughing so uncontrollably that his laughter was silent, his arms wrapped around his stomach and tears beginning to leak from the corners of his eyes. But in his laughter, Roger rolled onto his back and kicked out his legs in a sudden spasm. Normally, this would be a problem, except they were both sitting on the floor and Freddie happened to be leaning forward just far enough for Roger’s knee to connect with his nose with enough force to knock him backwards.
“Fuck!”
“Shit!”
There was a moment where everything was blurry and Freddie couldn’t breathe before he realized it was because his nose was flooding with blood.
“Fred, you alright?”
There was a chunk of cloth being carefully placed against Freddie’s face, Roger helping Freddie to wrap his fingers around it and hold it against his nose. “Ow,” Freddie muttered, shooting Roger a dirty look when Roger started giggling. “Fuck you. You’re the worst friend.”
Roger couldn’t help the smirk on his face as he helped Freddie stand up and led him to the bathroom. “You love me.”
“You know I do,” Freddie admitted as Roger ran a rag under the tap for him, sighing in relief when the cool cloth was switched with the bloody one and soothed some of the ache.
Freddie couldn’t stay mad at Roger for long, though. He was finally starting to feel a little better after feeling so melancholy for days. Freddie laughed harder that night than he had since before they started recording their latest album. The bleeding stopped fairly quickly and Roger forced Freddie back into bed for a proper cuddle, insisting on leaving the mess on the floor for the next day.
And, of course, he couldn’t stay mad at Roger after he proved Freddie right about sucking all the lingering sadness out of Freddie through his dick.