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“God, it makes you want to be sick, doesn’t it?” Roger gave one of his cymbals a particularly vicious thrash, staring at the pair across the studio.
John glanced up from fiddling with the tuning on his bass and frowned slightly. Freddie was making up ridiculous lyrics while Brian fooled around on the guitar. The two were standing very close and occasionally Freddie would rub suggestively against Brian, holding his glance a moment too long. “If they are going to do it, I wish they would just get it over with.” John grumbled. “All this flirting is driving me mad.”
Roger twirled a drum stick thoughtfully. “Maybe we need to take matters into our own hands. The holiday party is tomorrow…”
John pursed his lips. “Mistletoe.”
“Precisely.”
***
Their first tactic failed. As the party was at Freddie’s, they merely need to ensure mistletoe in the entryway and that Brian arrived relatively alone. John brought Brian, planning to “forget” something in the car at the last instant. Roger was on hand inside to guide the superfluous guests away and keep Freddie in prime host mode. But at the last possible moment, a crash echoed from deep within the house.
“Those little fuckers,” Freddie moaned. “Roger, be a dear and see who is at the door.” Before Roger could open his mouth, Freddie was gone.
Roger was left to greet the grinning guitarist, who pointed at the hanging mistletoe and gave him a quick peck on the lips.
***
Strategy after strategy was met with unmitigated disaster. Brian was too cold to come out with John to look at the stars. Freddie flatly refused to believe Roger that a group of nudist carolers was at the door asking for him. John’s best attempts at lost kitten noises in the front bushes were not heard over the party’s din. Brian just laughed when Roger told him Freddie needed help changing a light bulb.
Finally, they resorted to just dragging their two recalcitrant bandmates in the right direction.
“Brian! Umphh, come on! I really need you over here.”
“Freddie, for chrissakes, you do not need to talk to them right now!”
Roger and John backed into each other, directly beneath the mistletoe, exactly as their intended victims managed to slip away. They spun and stared at one another, panting slightly from the exertion.
John had never noticed how plump and delectable Roger’s lips looked when they were parted slightly like that.
Roger had never before speculated on exactly how firm John’s arse was. Which it was, he thought vaguely, rubbing his own backside in the aftermath of the collision.
***
Fifteen minutes later, Brian and Freddie returned to the entryway. “Well,” Brian said, placing an emphatically brotherly hand on Freddie’s shoulder. “That worked particularly well.”
“Indeed,” Freddie replied, wincing as Roger attempted to see how far he could get his tongue down John’s throat. “Now we don’t have to deal with their making eyes at each other all the time. Happy Christmas, Brian.”
“Happy Christmas, Fred.”