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"Okay don't be nervous," Freddie drags John by the arm down the road. "But the other two are kind of mental when they spend too much time together."
John lets out a short laugh, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder. "I've met them, Fred. I knew what I was getting into."
Freddie manages a polite grin but that's about all the confidence he exudes. Roger is waiting by the car, smoking his cigarette and scaring pedestrians who pass. He lights up when he spots John and Freddie approach and stumps the cigarette out so he can pull Freddie in for a kiss.
John fiddles his thumbs until they are done, staring up at the sky. When his eyes flicker down again, Freddie's holding Roger at arm's length and frowning deeply. "What is that?"
"A septum piercing, do you like it?"
Roger tries to flick the ring with his tongue. It's hardly the worst of the bunch, John's stomach still turns at the sight of the safety pin hooked in his cheek.
"You look like a cow," Freddie grimaces and slowly turns back to John. "Never mutilate your face like that darling, there is no going back."
"You like my face!"
They ignore Roger. Freddie shows him the trunk and presses the button to open it without chipping his acrylic nails. John throws his bag in the back along with his bass, feeling oddly giddy.
"Getting excited, are you?" Freddie has to do a little jump to close the trunk again, even in his mile-high platform boots.
It's their first major U.K tour. They have college gigs booked in over 13 shows. Of course John is excited. "This is going to make or break us."
The sun catches Freddie's smile and the bleached tips of his hair wonderfully, he hooks an arm around John's shoulders and drags him along. "You got it Deacks."
Roger swings the car door open. Brian and John Harris are cramped in the back together and scoot all the way back for John to squeeze in too.
Fucking the driver apparently has its quirks, despite being the shortest member, Freddie gets to sit at the front and kick his platformed legs out on the dashboard while the three long-legged men awkwardly cross ankles and bump knees.
John doesn't see the point of Brian wearing a long black skirt when he hikes it up to his thighs. He's knitting away furiously at a mystery project, next to him, John Harris is bleeding out his fingers trying to punch buttons into a leather jacket.
"For merch," Harris tells John when he notices him staring. He has a kind smile and a mohawk that brushes against the roof of the car. "Think we might earn back our petrol budget."
"Ain't that the dream," Roger says before he flicks on the radio, flooding the car with a sound blast that will have permanent effects on John's hearing. He puts his hand on the gearshift and kisses Freddie again when he covers his hand with his. "Ready?"
Freddie dazedly stares into the back of the car and yells over the music. "Are you ready?"
"Yes!" the John's shout back.
Brian levels him a look. "We're going to be late."
"Anti-establishment my arse," Roger puts the car in reverse and rolls out the parking space. "Fame and fortune, here we come!"
God Save The Queen
Don't be told what you want
And don't be told what you want to need
There's no future
No future for you
"What you think that is?" Brian asks John through the bathroom mirror. There is a stain on the corner that smudges their reflection of Brian rubbing his black lipstick off and John brushing his teeth. "Cum or urine?"
"I was thinking toothpaste."
"Don't think people who stay here use toothpaste."
"Next time why don't you book the bloody hotel then?" Roger squeezes past them into the overcrowded toilet, lifts the lid of the toilet with his boot, rolls down his fishnets and proceeds to piss without as much as warning them. "You have this unbelievable knack for always finding a way to take the piss."
"Ironic."
Roger shakes the rest of the pee out with a dignified sniffle. Freddie is on one of the double beds, flipping through the pages of a punk zine. He has this admirable talent of tuning their bickering out. John rinses his mouth and wishes to quickly learn the same.
He and Brian are sharing a bed tonight, John has to shuffle out the door so Roger has room to wash his hands and sits down on his side of the lumpy mattress.
Freddie is already wearing his black silk pyjamas, John can't remember seeing him change. When Roger strolls out the bathroom he has no problem stripping to his knickers and draping himself half on top of Freddie.
"We're not done talking about that thing in your nose."
Roger runs his bare foot up Freddie's leg, like a cat stroking him for positive affection as he folds his arms on Freddie's chest. "I like it."
"It takes over your entire face."
"I don't complain about your claws either, do I?" Roger sticks his tongue out, Freddie swallows it in a kiss, quickly discarding his magazine on the floor so he could dig his aforementioned nails into Roger's cheeks.
John sees a window to quickly change into his pyjamas. He rummages through his bag for his clothes. After sweating in his underwear all day and throughout the gig he wants nothing more than to feel clean again. Privacy is hard to come by. He turns his back on John Harris, who is fast asleep on his single bed, and Roger and Freddie, who are too busy sucking each other's faces to look at his bare arse cheeks.
Just as John's stepping through the fresh pair of white knickers, the shower tap turns off and Brian slams the door open.
He breathes furiously without as much as pausing on John's naked lower half. "No hot water."
"Bummer," he quickly hoists his package safely away.
"Did you hear that?" Brian gets in bed fully clothed, probably wise, John is pretty sure this hotel is mostly used by prostitutes. "Roger? Hello?"
Roger is straddling Freddie, suckling lazily on his lip like it tastes divine. Without a pause, he gives Brian the middle finger.
"Unbelievable." Brian magically manifests his knitting project out of thin air which is starting to look more and more like a beheaded pig. Upon second thought, Brian blinks at John and scoots further away from the centre of the bed. "Sorry, you can sit Deacks."
"Thanks." Still fighting a blush, John sits against the headboard. Between the sound of the smacking of Roger and Freddie's lips, Harris' snores or Brian's clicking needles, he wouldn't be able to concentrate on his book. "What are you making?"
"A reminder that we should strive for a cruelty-free world where we don't rip highly intelligent species apart for our own pleasure."
"Right," John remembers Brian glaring at him while he ate his ham sandwich for lunch.
It's quite relaxing watching him work away on his project. Brian looks different without the dark makeup contrasting his white skin. He's still got the little ring punctured through his left nipple and a tattoo that spells 'punk rock' on his knuckles. Somehow he is effortlessly elegant, somewhat surreal.
"You like it?"
Brian holds the sweater to his chest so the head of the bleeding pig is where his neck begins.
It's graphic but extremely well crafted, John can honestly nod enthuasitcally. "I think it's great."
"Don't let him trick you," Roger says suddenly, "you don't have to eat like a rabbit to be punk."
"You do if you believe in a more sustainable, less-cruel world."
"A less cruel world begins with the emancipation of human beings, not strips of walking bacon." Freddie gives Roger a weak slap on the wrist for that, before tugging on it to wrap around his chest so that they are spooning on their sides, facing Brian and John.
"I think it looks great, Bri," Freddie says.
The corners of Brian's lips quirk up high. "Thanks guys."
"So what do you think we should do with dear John for our photoshoot tomorrow before the gig?" Things do not bode well for him when Freddie's smile turns into a grin.
"There is no time to get him a tattoo before tomorrow," Brian muses.
"All I need is a needle and a lighter and I could give him a piercing," Roger points at the safety pin in his lip with a glint in his eyes. "I did this one myself."
The idea of a rustic safety pin jammed through his cheek makes John feel a little sick. "Please no."
Freddie kisses Roger's wrist to stop him from pouting, even Brian's choking back a laugh. Instead, Freddie suggests, "I was thinking clothes, actually. Did you bring anything special?"
He thought about it but he hadn't managed to gather finances for stage wear. Tonight he'd worn his black jeans and gone shirtless until someone threw them a bra which Freddie helped strap him in, which had gone over well with the crowd of rowdy teenagers. Other than that, John was empty-handed. "Not really."
"We can rotate our clothes?" Roger suggests. "I don't mind! Brian is usually glad to share his makeup."
John shoots him a look. Brian levels him a smile. "I'll help you apply it. It's tricky the first time."
"We'll make something work," Freddie declares solemnly, ending the conversation right there on an optimistic note. Roger snorted and buried his face in his neck. John couldn't quite make out what he murmured, but it sounded like, "you're adorable."
John slides down the mattress until he lays flat on his back with his face buried sideways in the mouldy pillow. "Thanks guys," he whispers with a swollen heart.
Brian goes back to knitting and Roger distracts himself by peppering kisses down Freddie's collarbone until he squirms. John's eyes flutter shut while he allows himself to drift off to sleep.
Anarchy in The U.K
I am an antichrist
And I am an anarchist
Don't know what I want
But I know how to get it
I want to destroy passerby
Freddie did end up finding a solution to the clothing situation that would dispense John's anxieties about his wardrobe. The downside was that this required getting completely nude in front of the photographer.
Without clothes on the others somehow look the part even more. Roger and Brian both have piercings in their limp cocks, and Freddie has a chain to connect Brian's nipple piercing with Roger's cheek safety pin.
"You guys are something else," Mick Rock comments with an amused smile without looking away from the lens.
Freddie ignores the comment and promptly grabs John by the arm to stand between Roger and Brian, "now you two play nice unless Roger wants a very long smile or Brian wants his tit ripped off. Deacky, come here and put this in your mouth."
John obediently takes the length of the chain attached to Roger and Brian and keeps tugging on it with his teeth.
Freddie takes one look at it and clasps his hands at his own brilliance. "Excellent." He turns to the photographer. "Thoughts?"
"Too many."
"Perfect, exactly what we're looking for."
Freddie quickly joins them in front of the dark blue backdrop. They have used several props throughout provided by Mick, opting between a white angelic aesthetic and the wild punk look for a striking contrast. Freddie puts a hand just above John's groin so it looks like he's covering it on the photo while he crouches to lick Roger's chest.
"Chin up John," Mick comments between rapid snaps. "Keep your eyes on me."
"You're doing amazing," Roger murmurs from the corner of his mouth, looking strangely good with a thick smear of eyeliner accentuating his already enlarged eyes. He catches John off guard when he squeezes his bum. John yelps around the chain.
Mick snaps another picture. "That's great John. More of that."
Roger stifles a laugh until Freddie bites down on his nipple. Roger arches his back and makes a face of pure agony. "Ouch!"
"I like that, that's it guys."
The longer the shoot goes on the more comfortable they get. They use the feather props, crowns, Brian brought a BDSM harness and Roger sucks on the end of a princess plug. They finish the shoot off by applying numerous layers of black lipstick and then peppering Freddie in kisses from head to toe, showing Freddie sat on a throne while they rest at his feet, lapping at whatever patch of his skin they could reach and smearing their makeup about.
By the end of it, Freddie is covered in a sticky mess and John's knees are as sore as his lips tingly.
Mick Rock finally lowers his camera and gives the band one hard look.
"One thing is certain," he chuckles. "You are one of a kind."
Pretty Vacant
Don't ask us to attend
Cause we're not all there
Oh don't pretend
Cause I don't care
I don't believe illusions
Cause too much is real
So stop your cheap comment
Cause we know what we feel
They are in the middle of rehearsing Roger's new song when Brian abruptly stops playing and puts his hands on his hips where his skirt hangs dangerously low on his waist. John pretends not to look at his treasure trail peeking out.
"So what alternative system do you suggest Roger?" Here they go again. "Tell me how that would work?" John rolls his eyes at the ceiling. "You think you can get your fucking manicures in a socialist society?"
"You think they don't have nail polish in socialist countries, you pussy?" Roger ironically asks from where he is squatted behind his drums in fishnet tights and ripped shorts.
"You don't seriously think we should ignore the massive amount of oppression that goes on in countries where-"
"Do you want me to point out the massive amount of injustices that go on in countries that were affected by Western powers?"
"That's not what this song is about, though."
"It is exactly what this song is about, I'm against the establishment. That is the establishment I live in."
"And this," Freddie finally steps in and John can finally bear to look down again. Freddie has an arm looped around Brian's sweaty back, "this is why I don't like singing about politics."
"We're a punk band, Fred," Brian reasons, pulling on the collar of his knitted pig sweater. "We can hardly exclude politics."
"Fine then, let Roger have his communist manifesto song."
"It's hardly a communist ma-"
Freddie levels him a look that instantly shuts him up. Roger slams his lips together but his face is still warm and flustered. Satisfied at his complicit silence, Freddie blows him a kiss and squeezes Brian. "You two play nice, you're wearing poor John down."
"Ready to go again?" Harris calls from the back of the stage to set up the lighting.
"Yes!" Brian calls as he tightens the guitar strap around his shoulders.
Roger fiddles with his sticks and fluffs up his hair, carefully plucking a strand free from his face piercing before it can cause damage.
John gravitates towards the back of the stage where he is comfortably out of the spotlight, shifting his weight from one studded shoe to the other.
Picking up his microphone and setting up to rehearse the song from the beginning, Freddie twists all the way around to meet his eye. "You all good Deacks?"
John can do is shrug under the weight of his bass and fiddle with the end of the plug to hide his growing smile.
"I knew what I was getting into."