Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

John sucked lazily on his almost burnt out cigarette and kicked with his feet. They dangled just above the floor, from where he sat on the stage in the dusty locale. On the other side of the large room, in a corner each, Freddie and Brian were being interviewed.

“Look at her! Look at those hungry eyes, ugh. Freddie better not be flirting back.” Roger scowled, kicking his legs more aggressively than John.

The drummer was perched next to John on the elevated scene, making evil eyes at the two reporters interviewing their boyfriends.

“We can’t even see her eyes from here Rog.” John dully replied, killing his smoke on the scene floor.

Roger scoffed. “I don’t need to, I know her kind.”

For some reason Roger had chosen to get pissed about the poor girl talking to Freddie, who in John’s opinion hadn’t done anything wrong, instead of getting pissed about reasonable things. Like John and him being ignored and left out. Again.

They were in the outskirts of London, having played an early evening gig at an old, charming building. After they finished they’d agreed to meet some reporters from a music magazine, who wanted some pictures and to interview them. Well, interview Freddie and Brian.

John ignored Roger’s continued bitching and fished a new cigarette up from their shared package. Him and Roger had been in the photo shoot at least, John probably barely visible behind Freddie’s bright grin and exaggerated posing. After that they’d been left to their own devices, while their remarkable, special and songwriting boyfriends had been lead aside for their interviews. Real, serious interviews, about their music and dreams, and their thoughts behind the lyrics.

It hadn’t really come as a surprise of course. Since the lead singer and guitarist were the only ones important and interesting in a rock band. And the rest of them were only background noise, a machine chugging along to support the real music. Once again, John was nothing. His hard work and talent, all hours spent practising, everything. It all amounted to nothing. Honestly, he was disappointed. Very disappointed. And bitter.

At least this time he wasn’t alone. Roger was right there with him.

“How long are they going to go on for?” He muttered, rolling his eyes. “It’s been a bloody hour.”

“Right?” Roger shook his head. “Bloody ridiculous is what it is. Couldn’t they just have done an interview with the entire band?”

John snorted. “Nah. We’re not really that interesting. No one cares about the bassist and drummer of a rock band.”

“Deaks,” Roger sighed, his hand brushing lightly over John’s thigh. “You know that’s not true. People who get music cares about us. There won’t be any rock at all without the bass and drums.” He leant closer to John and smirked. “Without us Freddie and Brian would be a cute, regular sing-and-songwriter duo. That would have been something right?”

“Oh they’d have killed one another within a week.” John smiled back, leaning in to lightly bop his forehead against Roger’s. “It’d have been a disaster.”

Roger chuckled softly and trailed his fingers down John’s cheek. “Exactly. So you stop that self-pitying party right now baby, or I’ll push you off this stage.”

John pulled back, gnawing at his lip. “But I’m so tired of it. We work at least as much as they do, we’re pouring our hearts and souls into this too.” He was tired. It wasn’t fair. He was finally getting better at accepting himself, at being confident. But still the world fought against him, threw him back in the cold, lonely pit of insecurity and worry (and lately more and more fury), every time he got ignored and cast aside like this.

“We’re not writing as many songs,” Roger shrugged, leaning back on his hands. “And it’s not odd that the lead guitarist and singer, especially such a flamboyant singer like our Fred, gets the most of the attention. I’d say that’s usually the case with rock bands.” He poked John’s foot with his own and smiled. “But fuck ‘em. We’re important. We’re gonna show them. And one day, we’ll be getting interviewed left and right, people will be lining up for a chance to interview the bassist and the drummer! Everyone will want to listen to us.”

He grinned at his own fantasy and closed his eyes. Some of the last sun rays of the day found their way through the clouds and through the window, bathing Roger and John in light. The blonde hummed happily and tilted his head back, enjoying the faint heat on his cheeks.

John sat and just watched him, a fond smile playing at his lips. Roger was always, constantly gorgeous (seriously, he was attractive when he brushed his teeth). So you got kind of used to it after awhile. Or at least you thought that you had gotten used to it. Then suddenly, when you least expected it, his beauty punched you in the face, made your knees weak and your heart flutter.

The warm light made Roger glow, his long hair on fire with it, where it was cascading down his back. His lips were pouty and slightly parted and thick eyelashes cast shadows over his cheeks. He was still wearing his gig outfit, which consisted of velvet pants and a jacket, open over his chest. All that smooth skin, the flat of his stomach, the slight indication of ribs, the slender line of his throat, made John’s fingers itch with the need to reach out and touch.

A sudden, loud click made both John and Roger jump. John had somehow completely missed the arrival of the man now in front of them, holding a large camera in front of his face.

“Ah! What a great shot!” The man said excitedly, lowering the camera from his face. It was the same guy who’d taken the pictures of them before. He grinned widely at Roger, who frowned and sat up straight.

John stared at the intruder. Had he just… Could he do that? He frowned, not liking this one bit. To take photos of them when they were posing was one thing, but to just sneak up like that? He glanced at Roger. The drummer was watching the still grinning cameraman curiously.

“You want an interview with us too?” Roger asked, looking excited at the prospect.

Oh. John hadn’t considered that possibility. Could it be? Maybe the man had taken the picture of both of them, and wanted to talk to them, ask them some questions too? John felt himself getting excited. Maybe they could have just a short interview?

His budding optimism and eagerness were punctured like a stabbed lung when the man looked sheepish and scratched at his neck. “Eh… sorry. I’m just the photographer.”

“Oh.” Roger said, smile falling.

The man cleared his throat awkwardly. “Sorry. But I just had to take that picture of you.” He continued, cradling the camera to his chest like it was a newborn baby. “You’re absolutely stunning.” He continued, smiling at Roger. “I must say, I’ve photographed hundreds of people but I never saw a man as pretty as you.”

“Thanks.” Roger’s voice was monotone.

John stared at the photographer, hot tendrils of rage crawling through his gut and upwards. Who the hell did he think he was? Who the hell did he think they were?

He glared at the other man. “Actually, we’re professional rock musicians, the both of us? Go find some model to take creepy pictures of.”

The man gaped at John, taken aback. “Eh right… Sorry.”

“Whatever,” Roger muttered, getting to his feet. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine! It wasn’t fine at all! John couldn’t for his life understand what Roger was doing, why wasn’t he decking this creep? Why was he letting him get away with it? John knew how much Roger hated to be treated like this.

“Great!” The man beamed, fingers cradling his beloved camera. “Can I put it in the reportage?”

Roger shrugged. “Do what you want.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

John followed him with his eyes until he disappeared behind the back of the stage, and turned back to glare at the photographer.

To his credit the man looked a bit embarrassed. “Sorry mate,” he said to John, smiling carefully. “Perhaps it was a bit rude but I just couldn’t let that golden moment slip away. I’m sure you understand.Things like that sell like crazy.”

Things like that? Things like what? Things like Roger? John’s hands were shaking with barely restrained anger. He was so close to jump down from the stage and punch this wanker in the face, but didn’t get the chance before the photographer bade him a nervous farewell and hurried off.

John was left on the worn, old stage, seething. The sun had set, darkness was starting to seep towards the middle of the room from the corners. Brian and Freddie were just finishing up their interviews, John could see how they were thanking the reporters, shaking their hands.

He didn’t even know what felt shittiest anymore. If he was most angry for his own sake or for Roger’s.

The hot and rising rock band Queen. The extraordinary, charming singer Freddie. The talented, intelligent guitarist Brian. Some sexy blonde everyone wanted to fuck. And a fourth guy, who most people didn’t even knew existed.

John gritted his teeth until it hurt.

Chapter Text

To say that John’s mood didn’t really match up with Freddie’s and Brian’s would be an understatement. The two older men were ecstatic after their interviews and wanted to go have drinks to celebrate, both the successful gig and getting a reportage.

So they’d ended up in a small, quite shitty bar close to the locale. They decided to have some drinks before grabbing a cab home. A friend had offered to drive the van home with the equipment, so they could go all out partying if they wanted.

Not that John particularly felt like partying. He more felt like punching a wall or starting a fight, aggressions bubbling just under the surface. At least there was alcohol. Blessed, numbing alcohol.

He’d already emptied his first pint of beer and ordered a second, before the others had barely started. How his lousy mood went past both Freddie and Brian, he had no idea. Roger was off too, but the two older men were hyped and cheerful, not noticing the tense set of Roger’s shoulders or the rapid tempo in which John was getting drunk.

“It feels so good to finally be noticed like that!” Brian grinned at the three of them and nudged Freddie who was sitting in the booth next to him. “That’s a good, serious magazine. It’ll give us some good attention.”

John snorted. Good attention huh…

Roger gave him a warning glance and grinned back at Brian, nodding and clinking their glasses together. John didn’t know why the drummer was even trying to keep up with the others cheer and joy. And that Freddie and Brian didn’t notice how fake he was acting was just embarrassing. John really was by far more perceptive than the other three together.

“So what did they ask?” Roger asked, crossing his legs under the table.

Freddie smiled widely, eyes glittering. “Oh all kinds of things dear, our plans for the future, our inspirations, the story behind how we all came together.”

“Huh,” John muttered into his beer. “The story how we all came together or just you and Bri?”

Roger kicked at his foot and glared at him. “Stop being a sourpuss Deaky, let’s try to have a good time yeah?”

“I’m sorry that it was only us two darling,” Freddie looked genuinely sympathetic. “I’m sure it will be all of us next time.”

Brian nodded, smiling warmly. “It’s just how it’s usually done I think, eh the drummer and bassist rarely gets as much attention, which is bollocks of course. But I’m sure they didn’t mean anything by it. They were really kind actually. And me and Fred made sure to represent the whole group, told them we’re all equals.”

Pretty words. John nodded glumly, finishing of his second beer in two gulps. Roger finished his beer too, the fingers of his free hand tapping out a rapid beat against the table.

“It wasn’t even that fun anyway,” Freddie tried, bopping John’s shoe with his own. “You didn’t really miss anything.”

John slammed his empty glass onto the table. “Oh no? Funny that, how lucky we are, right Rog?”

Roger shook his head, looking tired. “Please just drop it.”

“You alright Deaky?” Brian asked, frowning. “You’re drinking quite a bit.”

John snorted again and waved for the bartender to come out with another beer. “I’m not drinking nearly enough to put up with your happy-go-lucky bullshit.” He felt a bit bad at the way both Freddie’s and Brian’s faces fell at his words and sighed. “Sorry. It’s just… It happened again, didn’t it? It feels like I’m worth fuck all in this band. Nobody ever cares or even seem to know I’m part of the group.”

“I’m really sorry about that dear.” Freddie’s voice was quiet.

Brian looked uncomfortable, shifting in his seat. “It’s gotten better though, hasn’t it? I mean, we were all in the picture at least?”

God, sometimes Brian really sucked at the comforting business. Weird, since he usually was so good at it.

“But I was only in the group picture!” John knew he was sounding ridiculous but he just couldn’t help it, he was upset, and the beer was working its magic. “All of you guys had close ups too.”

Freddie frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“There were no more photos.” Brian looked confused.

Roger’s fingers were basically drilling through the table top now. He didn’t say anything, staring down at his empty glass.

John swore, reaching for his new beer as soon as it was put down in front of him. He should have known. That fucking photographer. “Oh there was one more photo.” He took a large swallow before putting the glass down with excessive force. “Wasn’t there Rog?”

“Fuck off,” Roger snarled, head whipping around to glare at John. “Can you just shut up? Forget about earlier, alright? It doesn’t matter.”

John felt his shackles rising, he didn’t deserve Roger’s anger. Here he was trying to bring up a problem and only got shit for it. “No of course it doesn’t matter to you, so used to it aren’t you?” He rolled his eyes and downed half his beer in one go.

Roger basically shoved him out of the booth and stood up. “You’re being a dick,” he gritted his teeth. “I’m going to the loo. Cool down Deaky, you’re ruining everyones’ night.” With that he strode past the bassist, leaving the pissed off John with their two confused boyfriends.

“What was that about?” Brian asked, frowning. Freddie looked after Roger, eyebrows at his hairline.

John shrugged and sat down again. He finished his beer and grabbed Freddie’s instead. “Oh nothing, just Roger having a private photo shoot, but apparently it doesn’t matter.”

“But that’s my beer…?” Freddie looked baffled.

“What do you mean?” Brian’s voice was getting gruffer, a clear indication that he was also starting to lose his good mood.

John waved at the bartender again, this time for four new beers, and smiled bitterly at Brian. “The photographer came up to us while you were having your interviews. Took a pic of Rog.”

“Just like that?” Freddie seemed lost.

“Just like that.” John growled. “Guess he wanted wanking material.”

Brian glared at him. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” John glared back, hands clenching to fists. “It’s true isn’t it? You two get a real, serious interview, I get fuck all and Roger gets to model. Fucking great huh?”

The bartender appeared at their table, curiously looking between them and put down their beers. Then suddenly, the door to the bar was kicked open, and the bartender froze, nervously looking behind himself.

John, Freddie and Brian all turned to watch the door, and John felt his mood worsening even further as four loud, clearly unpleasant men came in.

“Barry,” a muscly, grinning brute with shaved head, yelled at the bartender, “We’re feeling thirsty, hit us up yeah?”

The poor Barry hurried back to the bar, starting to fill up pints of beer as his life depended on it. Maybe it did… John really didn’t like the look of those men. Freddie and Brian also seemed tense, straightening up in the booth.

Everyone in the bar quieted down, nervously making themselves small. A few people even left. John was not feeling optimistic at all, especially not when the group of men grabbed their beers and headed in John’s and the others direction.

John felt his heart sink as he realized that he himself was in an unusually gaudy satin shirt, Brian had eyeliner and a collar and Freddie was… well Freddie. There was no way they’d pass by unnoticed.

Barely a second later the large, shaved man spotted them and let out a hoarse chuckle. “Oho what’s this!”

He came up to their table, smirking down at them. Two of the others came up on either side of him, efficiently trapping John, Freddie and Brian in the booth. “A gang of cute poofters!”

“We don’t see your kind here often,” the fourth man, who was taller and slimmer, and looked a bit more groomed, stepped up beside the large man, one of the other two immediately moving to the side. He put his glass down on their table and the rest followed cue, slamming their pints down. It appeared as if they were there to stay.

John was quite aware that this wasn’t a good situation. The entire bar was holding its breath as they watched the spectacle unfold but no one came to their aid.

Freddie tried a placating smile and held up his hands. “We don’t want any trouble boys, were just about to head out actually.”

To see the usually cocky Freddie be so demure and nervous made John’s stomach fill up with ice.

“Oh we don’t want any trouble either,” the tall man smiled. He had pale, green eyes, which would have been very beautiful if not for the cold way he looked at them. “And you’ve just ordered more beer I see, please, don’t let us interrupt.”

Even as he said so the other three snickered, the large guy leaning down to be in Freddie’s face. “As boss said, we mean no harm. Just want to have a little chat.” Freddie grimaced as the man breathed into his face, but didn’t back down. Brian was tense as a stick, looking ready to throw himself past Freddie and onto the other man if necessary.

“So tell us,” the large man licked his lips. “How is it to fuck another bloke in the ass? Or do you just get fucked? You certainly look like it!” He broke out into hard laughter, soon joined by two of the others.

The tall man shook his head, still smiling. “Don’t be rude Mich.” He leaned down to look at John, and John shivered as those cold eyes looked him over closely. “I’ve heard you can’t really see things like that just by looking.”

“As I said,” Freddie started again, this time not smiling. “Let us leave.”

The large man, Mich, put one large hand on Freddie’s head, mockingly stroking his hair. “Aw princess, don’t be so uptight.”

“Get your hands off him,” John growled, standing up from his seat, fists clenched. His fear had been overcome by the built up anger and the alcohol. He was not going to just sit here and let a bigoted prick touch and threaten Freddie.

Soon four pair of mean eyes were on him, and maybe this hadn’t been such a great idea. Freddie and Brian certainly didn’t look like they thought it was, eyes worried as they also got to their feet.

“Hmm you’ve got some spunk,” the tall man said, voice amused. “Not bad for a little faggot.”

John saw red, leaning closer to what he assumed was the leader of the little entourage. “What is it to you? So hellbent on talking to us, you sure you’re not curious about this whole faggot business yourself?”

Freddie hissed something inaudible at him, looking stressed out. Brian looked a weird mix between proud and panicked. Some people gasped. And the leader’s cold eyes narrowed, smile turning nasty. Still John didn’t break their eye contact. He was not going to take this. He wasn’t letting anyone talk to his boyfriends or him like this.

“What’s going on here?”

Part of John felt relieved to hear Roger’s low growl, the blonde being the best fighter of them together with Freddie. But the other part got very stressed out, as the four men now turned on Roger instead.

“Oh fuck,” Mich sounded surprised and one of the other goons let out a wolf whistle.

Fuck indeed. John wished Roger would have stayed in the bathroom for a bit longer. This was not good. Even if the drummer had changed from his earlier stage clothes, and looked the least extravagant of them for once in regular jeans and a button up, there was still the issue of him being too bloody beautiful.

“Look at you,” the leader hummed, “what a pretty thing you are. No wonder good decent folk go around becoming queers with guys like you around.”

Mich leered at Roger and took a menacing step closer. “Indeed boss… Almost want a taste myself. What ya say sweetheart, ditch these losers? I can give you something better to suck on...”

Roger actually winced at that and John felt his blood pound in his ears. He snarled and shoved past the leader to stand in front of Roger. Freddie and Brian also pushed past the gang to join John and Roger and John felt a rush as the other men looked shocked, apparently not used to this kind of resistance.

Freddie’s fists were clenched and Brian looked furious, using his full height to loom over the muscular Mich. Roger came up next to John, also looking ready for a fight. John was so proud and smirked at the leader, feeling confident and drunk and fucking mad as hell.

“It seems like you’re actually confused about this whole gay business,” he drawled, “because wanting another man to suck your cock generally means you’re the gay one.” He smirked at Mich, satisfied at the angry, offended expression on his face. “Maybe do some thinking and figure yourself out before going after other people huh? Who knows, maybe you’ll even discover you love to get fucked in the ass yourself. Not that anyone would want to, with your ugly mug.”

Some muted chuckles erupted from around them and Mich swore, red in the face. “Fucking slut!” He roared and was about to jump at John, flanked by the two smaller goons, before the leader grabbed his collar and pulled him back.

“Stop it Mich,” he said calmly, eyes drilling into John and making him shiver. “We’re not having a fight in the middle of the bar.” He glanced around the bar, looking unbothered by the now loud laughing. “Let’s go.” He strolled past the band members, smiling at John again as he passed. “See you gents.”

Mich stood fuming for a bit, before pushing past Brian, almost making him fall over, and stomping after the leader. The remaining two gave them dirty looks, one spat at the floor in front of Freddie’s feet before they also headed out.

The back door slammed shut after them and John felt high with power. He grinned, suddenly noticing that he was dizzy and a bit fuzzy. He’d really chugged those beers. Shrugging, he scooted back in the booth and went for his next one.

“God Deaky, you almost gave me a heart attack.” Brian laughed, sitting down as well. “That was something…”

Freddie slumped down next to Brian, looking less amused. “Darling, while that was hot as fuck, you shouldn’t pick fights with basically the London outskirts mafia. That could have been real ugly.”

John scoffed, throwing an arm around Roger when he sunk down next to him. “So I should just have let him fondle your head? I should have let them at Rog?”

Roger threw his arm off, glaring at him. “I could have handled it.”

What the actual fuck. Was Roger still mad? After all that? John turned to him, triumph switching to white, hot fury instantly, like a switch had been flipped. “Why are you so fucking ungrateful? I helped you!”

“I don’t need you to help or protect me!” Roger snarled, eyes flashing. “I’m no fucking helpless girl!”

Freddie shook his head. “Sorry to say dear, but you couldn’t have handled all four of them…” He grimaced and shivered.

John got up close in Roger’s face, fuming. “Well it sometimes bloody seems like it, why didn’t you stop that bastard with the camera earlier if you could handle it?”

“I told you to drop it,” Roger growled at him.

“Why? I thought you hated when people don’t take you seriously, when they just see you as a pretty face. Was that a lie? Or is it just that you know that your looks is the only thing giving you attention, and you don’t want to be forgotten like me?”

Roger drew a harsh breath, looking hurt for a second before his face screwed up in anger again. “You’re a fucking dickhead, I know you’re jealous of that people are actually interested in me but what the fuck am I supposed to do about that? It’s not my fault!”

“Rog, calm down,” Brian tried reaching for Roger only for the blonde to smack his hand away.

John laughed loudly. “Interested in you? Why do you think that is? Do you know why that guy wanted the picture of you? Because “things like that sells like crazy”. I’m not fucking jealous of you, it’s much better to be recognized for your talents than people just wanting you cause you’re pretty.”

“John that’s fucking enough,” Brian raised his voice and Freddie looked shocked, glancing nervously between Roger and John.

He’d maybe gone a bit too far there, John felt guilt starting to tug at him and opened his mouth to apologize, but didn’t have time to before Roger reached out to grab John’s shirt. The blonde was shaking. “Oh yeah? Like you’re so much better, recognized for your talents my ass! No one recognizes you. You’re always whining about people not noticing you or paying attention to you. Grow the fuck up! Do something about it! Stop hiding in the shadows on the scene and grow some fucking balls. You’re a fucking coward!”

“Roger stop!” Brian was roaring now, reaching over to pull Roger’s hands away from John’s shirt. “You don’t mean that.”

John felt awful. He had wanted a fight, but he hadn’t wanted to hear what Roger was saying. His boyfriend’s harsh words were lodged like thorns in his chest and he felt how his eyes stung. But he refused to admit defeat. He was furious at Roger. He’d only tried to help him and this was what he’d gotten out of it. Fuck Roger. If he could say those mean things and make John feel terrible about himself John could fucking well do the same to him.

“He means it.” His voice came out shaky and weak. He cleared his throat and continued with more force. “But you know what Roger, people do recognize me. And talk to me. More and more. And when they do, I know it’s because they’ve really listened to me, that they genuinely think I’m good at what I’m doing. Do you think most people paying attention to you do so for your drumming? They don’t. They don’t care about that. They’ll never listen to you, they just want to fuck you.”

He was breathing heavily, and somewhere deep inside, in the part of him not overcome with wrath, he knew that now he’d certainly gone too far. Brian had stood up on the other side of the table and Roger stared at him, disbelieving. Still, he couldn’t stop talking, the larger angry part of him driving him on, wanting to fight, break, hurt.

“I’m sure that’s why Bri let you start playing with him in the first place. A genius like him and you who’d never even learnt how to play? What did you have to do? Get on your knees and su…” A fist crashed into his jaw and John’s head whipped back, the pain making everything flash white for a moment. John’s ears were ringing and he gasped, shocked when he understood where the punch had came from.

It was not Roger, as he’d first thought, but Brian, who was panting, eyes dark and clenched fist still raised. Freddie was screaming at them, having jumped to his feet, probably to keep Brian from hitting John again.

“John,”

John heard Roger say quietly and turned to face him, wide-eyed and with his face sore and aching. Roger’s expression was closed off, eyes eerily cold.

“Fuck you.”

Roger said in that same quiet voice. He rose from his seat and walked to the exit, ignoring the other patrons who were all staring at him. Without throwing another glance at John or the others, Roger shoved open the door and disappeared outside.

Chapter Text

If John hadn’t already been aware of that he’d just fucked up epically, the fact that Brian Harold May, his sweet, kind boyfriend, had just punched him in the face, would have clued him in real quick.

This was the first time John had been hit by Brian. In fact it was the first time he’d been hit by any of his boyfriends. Maybe Freddie would give it a go too, John certainly deserved it.

But Freddie didn’t hit him. Instead he was grasping Brian’s arms hard, looking furious. “Fucking hell Brian, calm down!”

“You heard what he said!” Brian roared, trying to free himself from Freddie’s tight grip, probably wanting to smack John again.

“Yes I did but nothing’s going to get better from you two fighting!”

“You heard what he fucking said!”

John was suddenly aware of the taste of iron on his tongue. Huh. He must have bitten the inside of his cheek. He distantly ran his tongue over the fleshy wound, hand cradling his sore jaw.

Jesus christ. What had he done.

“Fuck.” He breathed, hands moving up to press over his eyes. “Fuck fuck god damn hell fuck.”

The world was spinning in front of him and he closed his eyes tightly, hoping for the darkness to save him. It didn’t. Everything just kept spinning. Suddenly the alcohol wasn’t such a blessing anymore.

“How could you say that to him?” Brian seemed to have calmed down enough for Freddie to release him. It should have made John feel better, but when he opened his eyes to see the expression on the guitarist’s face he just shut them again. He couldn’t handle that look.

“I… I don’t know.” He took a shaky breath. “God, I’m so sorry.”

Freddie sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I think we’re a bit past a simple sorry darling.” The older man’s voice was so disappointed it made John feel sick. “That was quite awful of you.”

“I know!” John slammed his hand down on the table and opened his eyes to look up at the other men again. “I fucking know alright? I just… I’m mad! It slipped out. I wish I could take it back, I’m really fucking sorry!”

The singer shook his head, sinking down slowly in his seat again. “It’s not us you should apologize to.”

“Actually,” Brian said, voice cold, “I’ll have that apology. Since you seem to think I’m the kind of shallow, perverted idiot who’d recruit someone just because of lust.”

John’s eyes were tearing up with guilt and frustration. “But I didn’t mean it! I really don’t!” He looked beggingly at Freddie. “You know I don’t mean any of what I said.”

“I know dear, I know.” Freddie rested his head in his hands.

Brian crossed his arms, studying John almost scornfully. “Then why?”

“Because,” John swallowed, insides crawling with shame. “He hurt me. And I wanted to hurt him back.” He said quietly.

The guitarist nodded, glaring at him. “Well. You certainly succeeded. Congratulations.”

“Fuck,” John said again, rubbing at his eyes. “He must hate me.” His voice broke. “I must go talk to him, tell him I’m sorry.”

Brian snorted. “Rog’s not going to want to hear it Deaky. You need to give him some time or he’ll just kick your ass.”

“No,” Freddie said, voice strong. “It’s always best to try to talk things through and solve them as soon as possible.” He smiled. “At least that’s what Roger usually says.”

Brian let out a flat chuckle at that. “Sooner’s always better…” He sighed deeply. “Fine, I guess you’re right. I’ll come with you then, to make sure you don’t kill each other.”

John didn’t want Brian to come with him, he didn’t want him there when he grovelled at Roger’s feet for forgiveness. He was ashamed enough as it was. Luckily he was saved by Freddie.

“Let Deaky go darling, the younglings need to work this out themselves.” He gently tugged Brian down next to him. “Let’s just have some more beer while we wait. I’m sure they’ll be fine,” he added when Brian still looked hesitant.

John tried for a smile, which he probably didn’t succeed with and climbed out of the booth. “It’ll be alright. I’ll get on my knees, he can yell at me and kick me and then we’ll be fine.”

He hoped it would be that easy. It had to be that easy. If not John had no idea what to do to fix this. And that thought was just too scary to even consider right now.

“Be back soon, okay?” Brian muttered, still frowning. “I want to get out of this shitty place.”

Freddie snorted an “amen” and waved to John as he turned and made his way to the door. He was a bit unsteady on his feet, the walls kept moving closer and further away from him, and it felt like his inner organs were worming all over the place with anxiety. Still, he was determined to find Roger and make this right.

He didn’t have to look far. Just outside of the backdoor, in the alley behind the bar, Roger was leant up against the wall. It was raining moderately and it was quite dark, a few wall lamps illuminating the narrow area.

Roger looked absolutely miserable, hair hanging in his eyes as he stared down at the ground. He was stomping the butt of a burnt out cigarette into the pavement and didn’t notice John coming up to him before John called out to him quietly.

“Rog?”

The drummer spun around, face going through a multitude of expressions before settling on fury. “Piss off!” He growled, fists clenching. “Leave me alone!”

“No, I…” John took a deep breath and did his best to keep his voice steady. “I need to talk to you. I don’t know why I said those things Rog, I’m so sorry.”

Roger shoved away from the wall and started walking away from John, going further into the alley.

John swore and hurried after him. “Roger please, can’t you just listen to me?”

“I told you to leave me the fuck alone.” Roger gritted through his teeth, taking longer steps when John caught up to him. “Get lost.”

Shaking his head in frustration John grabbed Roger’s arm. “I can’t do that, come on lov…”

“Get your hand off me this fucking second or I’ll break your nose.”

John nervously released Roger’s arm, watching helplessly as his boyfriend stormed around the corner into another alley. Fuck. This was not going to be easy after all.

Of course it wouldn’t be. He’d really messed up here. He’d be lucky if Roger’d ever let him talk to him again.

“But I didn’t mean it!” He shouted, running after Roger. “You’re amazing, you really are, I’ve never seen anyone play like you do!”

Roger swore loudly, also running now, crisscrossing through alleys and trying to lose John. “Shut the fuck up and piss off Deaky I swear to god!”

The rain had picked up and drops were pelting into John’s face as he finally caught up to Roger in a wider backstreet, that was better lit, with several lamps. He had no idea how they (or in worst case, only him) were supposed to find their way back to the bar, having run in a confusing zick zack pattern, but that could wait.

“Roger.” He gasped for breath, slowly coming up next to Roger, who was also breathing heavily with exertion. “Can’t you just look at me, please? I’m a dick, I know. The absolute worst. I fucked up.”

Roger snarled, but finally turned to look at him. “Yeah, yeah you’re a fucking dick!” He spat, eyes burning. His hair was wet and plastered to his face and his shirt was sticking to his body. John was sure he was in a similar state of disarray.

“I know that you’re angry that you weren’t included in the interview and I understand that you are, fuck I’m angry too, but that don’t give you the fucking right to tell me… to say… that! Fuck you!”

Well, at least Roger was screaming at him now. That was much better than him running away. John steeled himself and moved closer, slowly. He had to make Roger understand it was all a mistake. That he never had meant to say those things and hurt him. He needed to solve this, or he’d never forgive himself, ever.

“I know. I’m so sorry. I had no right to take it out on you, it was really low and shitty of me.”

Roger gritted his teeth, glaring at John. “Like do you think I’m happy about all this? To be ignored while Fred and Bri get interviewed? I fucking hate it too! And I hate to be treated… to be ugh.” He shook his head violently, wet hair smacking against his face. “You think I’m not upset about what happened? That I like the attention? Don’t you know me at all after all this?”

John wrapped his arms around himself, trembling. “No I know love, I know you hate it. God Rog, I’m so sorry. I was just so angry and bitter and hurt. And,” he admitted, “I was frustrated because you were just brushing the whole thing off. I just wanted to help…”

“Why the fuck do you think I do that?” Roger fumed, stomping over to grab John’s shirt. “Because it’s embarrassing. It’s so humiliating. You have no fucking idea. You think I want to ruin Fred’s and Bri’s good day with whining about it not being fair and that I keep getting treated like a… like a fucking thing? I’d rather die than lower myself to that.”

The blonde was shaking, voice a pained growl as he clutched at John’s shirt. John felt like shit. He wanted to wrap his arms around Roger but would probably get headbutted if he tried. “But you shouldn’t have to put up with that, you deserve better than that. It’s not fair!”

“Nothing’s fair.” Roger scoffed. “What the fuck does it matter anyway. What can we even do about it? Nothing. We’ll just have to keep on doing this until we’re famous enough for people to not treat us like shit.”

It had stopped raining. John shakily put a hand on Roger’s arm again. This time his boyfriend didn’t shake him off, but he tensed up at the touch. “You still want to continue doing this then? With me I mean?” He whispered, not able to keep the fear out of his voice.

“Don’t really have a bloody choice anymore, do we?” Roger muttered. “We’ve come too far for anything else. And, you really are a great bass player. Even if you can be a mean asshole. But,” He looked at John, eyes dark with emotion. “I’m really mad.. no, hurt. It’s enough to have the rest of the world judging me like that. I need you on my side. I thought you were on my side.”

John let out a shaky sob. “I am. I’m always on your side. Please Rog. Forgive me?”

“Good evening boys, good to see you again so soon.”

The familiar, cold voice made goose bumps appear all over John’s body. He spun around, the sudden movement making his still slightly dizzy head throb.

In the other end of the alley, from the opposite direction him and Roger had come from, the tall man from earlier had shown up.

“Fuck off!” Roger growled, taking a defensive stance in front of John, fists coming up in front of him.

A coarse laugh echoed from the other side of the alley and John and Roger twisted around again to see the other three gang members walking closer. “That’s no way to talk to the boss pretty boy,” Mich grinned, stopping right in front of John and Roger with the two other men flanking him.

This… John was not ready for this. He was in the middle of making up with Roger. What was this?

Roger swore, glancing between the three in front of them and the tall man approaching from behind. The drummer looked nervous and John felt ice cold fear spread through his body. They were trapped.

“Are you out here having a lover’s spat?” The leader chuckled, coming to a stop just behind them. “Cute.”

Roger turned to face the taller man, while still staying close to John. “That’s none of your bloody business.”

Mich laughed again and shoved past John, who stumbled into Roger’s side, coming up to stand beside his leader.

The two men John was facing was also coming closer. One had his head shaved and had a broad, sullen face, while the other one had short dark hair. He had a sharper, meaner face and was smirking. He made John’s skin crawl.

Fuck. Why did he have to start a fight with these people before? How much could he fuck up in one day? That was all he had time to consider before Mich got right up in Roger’s face, hands reaching out for him. “Come here princess.”

And that was that. Roger evaded the large man’s hands and threw a swift punch at his face. John heard the satisfying grunt of pain from Mich, but had no time to enjoy it before the two men in front of him was at him, kicking and punching.

John had been in fights before. But not many. And never outnumbered. It was terrible, a mix of fear, adrenaline and fury raging as he did his best to hold his own, trying to block the blows and also deal some himself.

It didn’t go his way. He received a ringing slap to his already aching jaw and another hard punch to his ribs and then suddenly he was up against the brick wall, with the two men pressing him against it. Everything hurt and ached and there were hands on his neck and bodies pressing him hard against the wall. John struggled against his captors, desperately chipping after breath. He was so scared. He’d never been this scared. And he didn’t see Roger.

“Let him fucking go! I’ll kill you!” The next second Roger was on top of the two goons restraining John. He was wild with fury and almost managed to pull the mean faced one off John before Mich came up behind him and clocked him hard in the back of the head.

John saw how Roger’s eyes went slightly hazy and how he stumbled back, right into Mich’s waiting arms. John screamed. Raw and helpless he yelled at the top of his lungs, fighting to get free from the two men. He had to get to Roger!

“Shut the fuck up!” The mean looking one hissed to him and the next moment there was a knife pressed against his throat.

The metal dug into his skin and John abruptly shut up, eyes wide with panic. They were going to kill him. He was going to die on this god awful day in this god awful alley.

The sullen man grunted and pushed John harder against the wall while the mean one smiled and practically cuddled up close to him, blade teasing over his neck. John was frozen stiff.

“Good boy,” the man giggled, eyes twinkling when they met John’s. “Just stay still and I won’t hurt you. Much.”

“John,” Roger gasped and John moved as much as he dared to see him also up against the wall, just next to him. “Oh my god John. Let him go!”

Mich glared, his lip was split but John hardly found any satisfaction in that under these circumstances. He had Roger pressed face against the wall with one hand on his head and the other holding his arms behind his back. “Fucking faggots, since when do you put up a fight?”

“Let him go! Don’t hurt him!” Roger was panicking, struggling against Mich’s much larger frame to get free.

John’s breath stuck in his throat when the knife skidded over his adam’s apple.

“I’m very sorry but we can’t just let him go.” The leader appeared in front of John, smiling that terrible cold smile of his. “We can’t just let what happened before in the bar slide.”

“I’m sorry,” John gasped, relieved when the knife moved away an inch from his skin. “I didn’t mean to be rude.” God how he wished he’d just kept his mouth shut earlier.

The leader hummed, reaching out to pat John on the head. “Of course. It was a little mistake. Happens to everyone. But,” He gently caressed John’s wet hair. “That bar is our territory, and we have a … let us call it business, going on in the neighbourhood. That means we can’t have small faggots like yourself running around and questioning our authority like that. I’m sure you understand.”

The blade once again trailed over his throat and John swallowed, trying to shut out Roger’s shaky, uneven breathing next to him.

“We need to set an example you see,” the leader continued, removing his hand from John’s hair. “To show people in our area that they can’t just do whatever they want. That their needs to be a certain kind of order.” His cold, pale hand ran down John’s body and started working on his belt.

“Don’t you fucking touch him!”

Mich shoved Roger hard against the wall. “Be quiet or Pete will slit your cute little faggot friend’s throat.”

John met Roger’s eyes for a quick second, trying to somehow soothe his terrified boyfriend. Trying to tell him that it’d be alright. Only problem was, John didn’t really think it would be alright himself.

“So how do we keep the order, you might be wondering,” the leader continued cheerfully, opening John’s jeans. “You see Pete here, he’s very good with the knife. What we do is, that if someone’s making trouble and complicating things, then Peter cuts his cock off.”

A pathetic, scared whine escaped John’s throat and Roger fought like crazy against Mich body weight. “Please don’t…”

“Oh, but you see, it’s not that bad.” The leader rucked John’s jeans down from his hips. “Most people even survive! He’s very skilled with that blade.”

The mean looking one, Pete, grinned and pretended to swoon. “Aw thank you boss.” He let the knife do a little twirl up over John’s jaw.

The leader reached for John’s underwear and John closed his eyes. How he wished that Brian and Freddie had come with him after all. Then they’d probably not be in this horrible situation. John was going to lose his dick and then probably die. In a fucking alley.

“However,” the leader paused, fingers brushing over the hem of John’s underwear. “We know that you didn’t mean the rude things you said, and you also said some other things before that got me curious. So,” he glanced from John to Roger, green eyes unreadable. “We’re willing to make a deal.”

Mich pulled Roger away from the wall and held him in front of himself, smirking. He’d released Roger’s arms and instead held onto the drummer’s shoulders. Roger was focused on the knife still pressed to John’s skin and stayed still, glancing between John, the knife and the leader wearily. “What kind of deal?”

John also stared at the leader, frowning. He was happy that he’d been allowed to keep his underwear on but whatever these men would want from them it wouldn’t be good. Then Mich leered and started grinding his hips against Roger. With a rising sense of trepidation, John started to understand where this was heading. Roger had also caught on, it seemed. He’d frozen on the spot, cheeks flushing with embarrassment and anger as the larger man kept rubbing up on him.

“Oh nothing bad,” the leader said breezily, moving away from John to Roger. “You told us yourself didn’t you? That we should do some thinking and figure ourselves out. About this whole faggot thing.” He hummed, fingers reaching out to stroke Roger’s face. “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather figure myself out with than you sweet thing.”

Roger snarled and lifted his hand to slap the leader’s away, but Mich captured it, chuckling. “You want your friend to lose his dick? If not I’d advise you to stay still princess.”

John looked on as if in a trance as Roger inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them again, steadily meeting the leader’s eyes. “What do you want?”

“As I said, nothing bad.” The leader smirked, fingers running down Roger’s face to his neck. “Not worse than what you get up to every night anyway I’m sure. What do we want Mich?”

Mich grabbed Roger’s hair and pulled on it roughly. “I want you to get on your knees for me princess, and suck my cock.”

“No!” John didn’t give a fuck about the knife anymore, struggling furiously against the two men keeping him trapped. “Stop it! He didn’t do anything, it was me!”

Pete made an ugly face and pressed the knife deeper until it pierced through skin. Roger’s breath hitched. “Bloody hell John, stop fighting! It’s alright,” He said, eyes begging John to stand down. “If I do it you’ll let us go?” He asked the men, voice strained.

“No, I also want a go,” the leader said softly, brushing Roger’s wet tresses out of his face. “You really are exquisite,” he said, voice a bit awed. “If I hadn’t heard your voice I wouldn’t even have known…” He shrugged. “The lord works in mysterious ways I suppose.”

Roger shuddered. John could only imagine how hard it must be for him to stay still under the tender touches. “Okay, I blow both of you and then you fucking let us go.”

“So eager to suck cocks, aren’t you?” The leader chuckled. “But no, I’d rather fuck you.” His voice was so soft and gentle and John wanted to vomit when he leant closer to Roger, cradling his cheek. “But don’t worry sweet thing, I’ll make you enjoy it. Will take my time and find where you like to be touched. Can’t wait to see what you’ll look like overcome with pleasure...” He stood back, glancing between Roger and John. “So, what’s it going to be? Do you accept our deal?”

John was shaking with pure hatred. He didn’t even have it in him to be afraid anymore. “No we fucking don't!” He roared, managing to free one hand for a short second before sullen face grabbed it again. “You don’t touch him, you don’t even look at him. Let him go!”

Pete hissed and pressed the steel deeper into the already open wound, making fresh drops of blood dribble up and then run down his neck. Fuck it. Let the creep cut his throat. That would still be better than to helplessly watch as Roger was raped. Because of John’s fucking mistakes.

“John, please don’t.” Roger begged, voice breaking. John looked into the stressed, scared eyes of the blonde and realized that no. It wouldn’t be better. Not for Roger. If he got killed now, then Roger would be left alone, forced to watch John bleeding out on the ground as the gang had their way with him regardless.

He gritted his teeth together and shook his head, tears flooding his eyes and running down his face. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too,” Roger gave him an unsteady half-smile before looking up at the leader again, swallowing heavily. “I accept your deal.”

The leader smiled. “Good. Pete, Greg, you keep our second guest under control. We’re going to be busy.” He cradled Roger’s face again and leant down to press their lips together.

John’s vision was blurry with tears but he kept looking as the horrid man kissed Roger, angling his face to kiss him deeper. He could have just closed his eyes but then he’d still hear the terrible soft, slick sounds. And he owed it to Roger to not leave him alone in this.

“You like watching?” Pete breathed into his ear, gently brushing the knife over John’s collarbone. “Can’t blame you I guess, they make quite a sight, boss and your slut.”

“Shut up,” John squeezed out, nails digging into his palms as the other man only laughed.

The leader pulled away after what felt like an eternity, looking a bit flushed. “Hmm, that wasn’t different to kissing a girl I’d say, not bad at all actually.” He smiled and looked down at Roger who was glaring at him. “Mich, you want to try?”

“Fuck yes!” Mich spun Roger around and pushed him against the wall again, manhandling the blonde as if he weighed nothing. He grabbed Roger’s shirt with both hands and ripped it apart, making buttons bounce all over the alley, one hitting John’s knee and falling down to the ground in front of him.

“That’s better,” Mich grinned, grabbing Roger’s hair again in one huge fist and tugging his head up, before thrusting his tongue into his mouth.

John looked up from the small, lonely button below to Mich’s hulking body covering Roger’s, crowding him into that damn wall. Roger’s hands were opening and closing, arms reaching up again and again to defend himself only for them to fall back down to hang uselessly at his sides.

Sobs were racking John’s body now, how he wished this would just end. Where were Freddie and Brian? For how long had he been gone? Earlier this night he’d been furious over not getting a fucking interview. And here he was, jeans by his knees, sopping wet and pressed up against a wall with a knife against his throat. Watching as Roger was violated. Everything was his fault.

“Shh don’t cry,” Pete chuckled. “It’s not so bad! You’ll get to keep your cock after all. Don’t know what I’d do without my cock... “ He licked his lips when Mich released Roger and took a step back. “Hope I’ll get a chance later after boss and Micky are done. Wanna fuck him too.”

John tried to block the words out, and focused on looking over at Roger. The drummer was defiantly staring back at Mich, head held high. His lips were swollen and his hair a mess. The wet, ruined shirt was sticking to the sides of his body, leaving his chest mostly bare. Still, he stood strong and so fucking beautiful. John was starting to hate that beauty. It just ruined things. In this moment he wished that Roger would have been really ugly. Because then they’d probably gone for John instead.

“You’re bloody hot, princess…” Mich’s eyes roamed Roger’s body before meeting the blonde’s loathing, blue ones. He smirked. “It’s great isn’t it? To finally be shown a good time by real men.”

Roger spat on the ground. “You’re no fucking real men. You’re disgusting, cowardly cunts.”

Mich snarled and lifted one muscular arm, slapping Roger in the face. The force of the blow made Roger’s head twist to the side, but the drummer still held his ground, turning back to glare at Mich, cheek an angry red. John let out a quiet whimper, straining against Pete’s and Greg’s hold on him. He needed to fix this somehow, needed to help Roger.

“Don’t hit him,” the leader said, voice sharp. “It’s a waste to bruise that face. Besides,” He continued softly, leaning in closer to Roger, “I don’t think pain will break this one.” He ran his long fingers over Roger’s red cheek and down over his chest. “You know pain, don’t you gorgeous.” The tall man smiled, rubbing a nipple lazily with his thumb, making it harden beneath his touch.

Roger gritted his teeth and said nothing, body tense like a bow string. The leader hummed and turned his head over his shoulder, giving a nod to Mich.

Mich grunted and started to open his jeans and John felt like throwing up, the panic rising up within. This was really happening. “Wait!” He tried, voice a thin and miserable thing. “Please don’t,” he begged, making the leader turn from Roger to eye him amusedly, hands slipping away from the drummer’s wet skin. “Not him, he wasn’t the one who challenged you, I was.” Words were stumbling from John’s trembling lips, the only thing he knew was that he wanted to get Roger out of this. “Do it to me instead, please. Let him go and keep me.”

“Ah,” the leader sighed, “Sorry to say, when you’re so eager and all, but I like so many others have a thing for blondes.” His smile was almost kind as he stepped back from Roger, it was only his eyes that gave his true vile nature away.

Mich shook his head and snickered, pulling his cock out of his underwear. “There we go.” He crowded Roger back against the wall again and grabbed his hair roughly. “Down on your knees princess, or you know what happens.”

John felt the knife press harder against his neck again, Pete just barely opening the skin up, but he didn’t care. “No!” he screamed, trying to kick out at Greg, getting in one good hit and making the larger man swear loudly. “Stop!” His head was then suddenly slammed hard against the wall behind him and John gasped in pain, black creeping in the corners of his eyes.

“John!” Roger’s rough call of his name made him snap back to reality, and he focused at his boyfriend, more tears streaming down his face. “Please stop, just do what they say.” Roger urged, desperate. Mich growled and tugged hard at his hair again and Roger winced, slowly lowering himself to his knees in front of the other man. He closed his eyes and took a quick, shaky breath before glancing at John again. “Don’t look Deaks.” He said, voice quiet.

Mich grabbed Roger’s jaw tightly and tilted his face up. He held his erection in his other hand and brushed it over Roger’s lips, smirking. “Open up princess.”

The blonde’s eyes were cold steel as he spread his lips and let the larger man press inside his mouth. Mich groaned and thrust forward, making Roger let out a small pained noise, his cheek bulging.

John stared. He hadn’t thought, hadn’t allowed himself to think that this would really actually happen. In movies and in stories, it never happened. In movies and stories something would always stop the awful situation from happening, be it a hero, a coincidence or anything. But, real life wasn’t like movies and stories. This was happening.

“Fucking hell, that’s good.” Mich panted. He had an elated grin on his face and tangled both hands in Roger’s hair, using the grip to move him roughly back and forth. “Christ, the princess really knows how to suck a dick.”

“Of course he does,” the leader watched how his henchman slipped in and out of Roger’s mouth almost reverently. “Sweet thing’s practically made for it.”

John was distantly made aware of Pete rubbing his bulge against John’s bare thigh. He tore his gaze away from his boyfriend and saw that the two keeping him trapped also were staring at the scene, eyes dark.

All four of these evil people were watching Roger with something akin to hunger. John wasn’t sure if it was because of the picture Roger made, wet and desecrated with his eyes closed tightly, dark lashes fluttering with every thrust. Or if it was because of the complete power they had over John and Roger, the power to take and hurt and humiliate. It was probably both. John wished they would all fall dead.

“Ah fuck that’s it,” Mich grunted, fucking deeper into Roger’s throat and making him choke, hands coming up to push on the larger man’s hips.

John was shaking with fury while loud sobs racked his body. “Stop it,” he continued to hulk and his voice got Roger’s attention, the drummer opening his eyes to glance up at him.

The raw anguish and outrage in Roger’s eyes would star in John’s nightmares for the rest of his life. The moment was over as soon as it began, then Roger’s gaze continued down the alley, his expression closing off again.

Then he froze for a short moment, face unreadable before he looked back up at Mich, eyes wide as he started sucking lewdly, swallowing the best he could. Mich swore and shuddered, the pace of his hips increasing.

Roger spread his thighs widely and arched his back, shirt slipping open further, leaving him on display. He gently ran his hands over the large man’s thighs, letting out soft sounds around Mich’s cock.

“Damn,” Pete breathed into John’s neck, hips grinding harder against John. He was so captivated by Roger he’d let the knife drop from John’s throat to his shoulder. On his other side Greg’s breathing was also getting affected.

John stared, lost and confused, as Roger moaned and tilted his head back, gazing up at Mich and the leader through his long lashes.

“Ah fuck fuck,” Mich gasped out, hands tight in Roger’s hair. “Boss look,”

The leader swallowed deeply. “Huh, you just can’t help yourself sweetheart, can’t help but love getting fucked. Beautiful.” His constant calm, icy demeanor was starting to slip, hand reaching out to touch again.

Roger moaned loud and obscene and suddenly John understood what he must be doing. None of the gang was paying attention to John anymore, the knife just held loosely in Pete’s slack grip. If he was going to be able to get free, it was now.

John didn’t get further than that. The next second Brian and Freddie were upon them.

Everything became a chaotic blur. Freddie’s fist clocked Pete in the side of the head before he had a chance to even raise the knife, Brian violently shoved Greg from John and further away Mich let out a blood curling scream of pain.

John managed to break free and stumbled from the wall, wild with fright, relief and adrenaline. Pete was out cold on the ground, Freddie having taken him out in one blow. Greg was slumped against the wall, whining in pain, John wasn’t even sure who had brought him down, it didn’t matter, all that mattered was…

“Rog!” Brian screamed, furious as he and Freddie advanced on the other two. Or the other one. Mich was curled up in a pathetic ball on the pavement, howling in panic, blood pouring through his fingers from where he held his mangled dick in his hands.

The leader was the only one who was still standing and of course he had Roger. He was slowly backing away from them, one hand holding Roger’s arms behind his back, the other pressing a knife to his throat.

“No no no,” John took a blind, stumbling step forward. Not when they were so close. Please no.

“Let him go,” Freddie said, voice low and ominous. John had never heard him sound like that, it send cold shivers down his spine.

Roger struggled fiercely against the leader, panting and not seeming to care about the knife at all.

“Kill the fucking slut!” Mich shrieked, trying to sit up. “He almost bit my cock off!”

John’s breath hitched when the leader snarled and pressed the blade tighter against Roger’s throat. “Everybody shut the fuck up and stay still or you’ll regret it.” He pulled roughly on Roger’s arms and then swore loudly when the drummer threw his head back and smacked him in the face. “Enough! I have a fucking knife!”

“You’re not the only one.” Brian growled, roughly yanking Mich up by the collar and grabbing Pete’s dropped blade from the ground. He pressed it tightly against the large man’s skin, jaw set. “You give him back now.”

John was shocked, Freddie was too, but Brian just kept staring the leader down, hand steady.

“Bri,” Roger breathed, desperately trying to get free, before freezing when the knife moved from his throat up to his face.

“Or what?” The leader spat. “You’re going to stab him? Give him some scars? Go ahead, if you think you can do it. He’s already ugly so it’s not like it’ll matter. This one on the other hand,” he traced the tip of the knife over Roger’s jaw, to his cheek. “If I slip and cut his pretty face open, then he won’t be of any use to you anymore.”

Brian hissed expletives, knife digging into Mich’s skin. The large man was wheezing and crying, looking at his boss in betrayal.

Freddie slowly took a step forward. “Let Roger go. You think this is worth it?” He gestured to the rest of the crumbled gang. “Losing all your gang members like this? We’ve already called the police, they’re on their way. How in earth are you going to keep doing your filthy business without people to do your dirty work?”

“I’ll find new ones,” the leader scoffed, knife back over Roger’s throat.

Mich let out a blubbering cry. “But we’re brothers!” He was trying to get back to his feet, blood pooling on the ground beneath him, but Brian didn’t let him. “Please Dave, I’m sorry, don’t let them take me. I can’t go back to jail!”

The air was tense as the leader stared at Mich, then at Freddie and John. Roger squirmed in his hold, breathing hard. John tried to meet his eyes but Roger wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t look at any of them.

“Okay.” The leader finally spoke. “You let my boys go and I’ll give you back yours. But stay out of this area, the next time I won’t be so forgiving.”

Freddie moved even closer, expression cold. “Neither will we.”

Brian pulled Mich to his feet and dragged him up to Freddie, facing the leader. John noticed how Greg gingerly got up and fished up the passed out Pete.

“Pity huh, sweet thing.” The leader purred in Roger’s ear, making the drummer shudder in disgust. “Guess I’ll have to wait to have you til next time.” Then he pulled away, calling out a soft “catch” before shoving Roger hard at the rest of them.

Freddie caught him easily, arms wrapping securely around their shaking boyfriend. Brian glared a final time at the leader and then let Mich go with a harsh push.

The leader turned on his heel and started walking away, his bloodied and wounded gang members dragging themselves after him. A few seconds later they turned the corner and was out of sight.

John realized his jeans were still bunched around his knees. With trembling hands he pulled them back up. It was over.

For a moment he just stood there, mind blank. He didn’t hear. Didn’t see. He felt as if he’d just frozen solid. Then Roger appeared in front of him.

“John, oh god John,” the drummer gasped, hands running desperately over John’s hair and over his shoulders. “I thought they were going to kill you god,” his voice shook, fingers trailing carefully over the drying blood on John’s neck.

John opened his mouth, then closed it again, swallowed and tried again. “I’m okay. It’s fine. I.. Rog I…” And then he started sobbing.

“Fine…” Roger mumbled, letting out a weird, breathy noise. “It’s fine?”

The blonde shook his head wildly, stepping back. “Fuck, god…” He shook all over, eyes darting around like he was trapped.

“Rog,” Brian said carefully, reaching out for him and Roger stumbled over his own feet to get away, breathing speeding up as his eyes flashed crazily between the three of them. He let out a shuddering, raw whine and snarled at Brian when he stepped closer. His face was a grimace of pain and anger and he clenched his fists, haggard breaths growing louder and louder until he started growling like a hurt animal. Before Brian could stop him, Roger abruptly twisted around and furiously attacked the wall, pounding his fists into the unforgiving brick, the growling developing to broken screams.

John slumped to his knees on the ground, Roger’s screams piercing his already aching head. His head hurt, his throat burned, his rib was bruised and his breathing was all over the place.

Freddie fell down to his knees next to him, arms holding him close to his body as John wheezed and gasped, eyes wide. He couldn’t breathe. Everything was tight and he could hear his pulse pounding in his ears.

His older boyfriend’s tears dropped onto John and he could distantly hear the singer telling him to breathe, to relax, that everything would be fine.

It was hard to believe when he felt like he was dying. When Roger fought that wall like a mad man, punching and kicking until Brian finally managed to pull him away. When Brian had to shout at and fight with Roger to stop him from further harming himself.

John’s breathing finally managed to slow down enough for him to get some air. He slumped in Freddie’s hold, arms weakly wrapping around his boyfriend, hiding in his embrace.

Earlier this night, Freddie and Brian had gotten an interview. In a good magazine. That would give them good attention. It was, actually, a great thing. And because of John’s jealousy, anxiety and bitterness, things had ended up like this.

On the ground next to them, two of Roger’s small shirt buttons glimmered slightly in the dim light. John buried his face in Freddie’s shoulder and cried.

Chapter Text

John wasn’t sure how long he sat on the wet, dirty pavement, cradled in Freddie’s arms. It could have been two minutes, it could have been two hours. The police never showed up. They had never even been called, Freddie had apparently made the lie up on the spot to scare the gang away.

The rain clouds had completely cleared up by the time they started making their way back to the main street, beautiful moon light reflecting on Freddie’s dark hair. The singer had John tucked under his arm, continuing to talk softly and sweetly. It was very comforting, even if it was just casual small talk.

Roger was quiet now. He didn’t make a sound as he followed behind Freddie and John. Brian had managed to wrestle him into his own jacket and Roger was basically swimming in the large garment, the arms way too long. It would have been funny. Cute. Under different circumstances. Every time Brian tried to talk to him, Roger ignored it. Every time Brian tried to reach out for him, offer him some kind of comfort, Roger evaded it.

Brian was dangerously close to breaking down as well, John could hear it in the tight, stressed tone of his voice each time he spoke.

John desperately wanted to comfort Brian, comfort Freddie, but it felt as if he was locked inside his own head, his own misery. He was stuck replaying the fight at the bar, the threats, the alley. All of it.

Most of all he wanted to comfort Roger. Wanted to make sure that his boyfriend was alright and still the same old Rog. But, he already knew that it would be futile. Roger was not alright. And he was not the same. Neither was John.

They found a cab in short time and climbed inside, Brian telling the driver to go back to their apartment. Home.

Home was such a distant concept right now. How could John go back to their loved, run down apartment, their scrangly table, their ugly couch, their huge comfy bed. He had no right to be there anymore. He had no right to be with his boyfriends anymore.

Overcome with a fresh wave of guilt and fear, John bent over his lap, letting out shuddering sobs. Brian immediately wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close to his chest, fingers running soothingly through his hair. John had no right.

On Brian’s other side Roger sat, staring out of the window, dead quiet. He still didn’t respond to any attempt at conversation from Freddie and Brian, more than shrugging and grunting now and then.

They must be a sight. The cab driver kept sneaking worried glances at them in the rear mirror, but Freddie, who was sat next to him, always managed to distract him with light chit chat. Freddie’s voice was about an octave too high and trembling lightly, but he was still doing a better job acting normal than John was.

They had been in the outskirts of the city, so the drive home to the apartment took quite a while. It was far past midnight when they finally arrived outside their familiar, scruffy building.

Before Freddie had a chance to pay the driver, Roger was out of the car, disappearing into the building before Brian and John had even managed to climb out.

“Go on darlings, I’ll be right there.” Freddie urged them and Brian took John’s hand in his and dragged him inside.

The older man’s grip was warm but tight, as if he knew that John might run in the other direction if he’d let him go.

The door to their apartment was wide open when they finished climbing the stairs and they could hear the television from inside.

“Christ…” Brian sighed, a deep crease between his brows. He gently pushed John inside and then closed the door behind the both of them. “God Deaky,” he said softly, hazel eyes heavy with pain as he stroked John’s hair out of his face, carefully turning his face to see the full extent of John’s injuries. “Let’s fetch Rog and go wash up a bit yeah?”

John almost had to smile at Brian’s attempt to be calm and rational. It was both heartwarming and adorable. And actually a bit grounding for John’s panicked, overwhelmed brain. He nodded slowly, head throbbing with the movement, and slipped off his shoes before following Brian through the kitchen and into the living room.

Roger hadn’t even bothered to remove the jacket, slumped in the middle of the couch, still wet. He was staring at the television, but his gaze was far away, mind galaxies away from the drama on the bright screen.

“Love?” Brian tried, clearing his voice when it came out all wobbly. Roger didn’t look away from the telly. Brian took a deep breath and carefully took a step closer, holding his hands up in front of himself. “Roger?”

Now the drummer reacted, turning his head to look at Brian and John blankly. “Yes?”

That simple word made breathing a bit easier for John. It was the first thing Roger had said since he’d stopped trying to kill the brick wall.

“We’re going to go wash up a bit, John’s wounds needs to be looked after and I think he has a bump on the head. We need to clean your knuckles too love, and bandage them.”

Roger shrugged, turning back to the telly. “Look after John. I’ll go after.”

“But Rog…” John started weakly, before Brian glanced at him and gave a small shake of his head.

They left Roger in front of the telly and walked back through the apartment.

“Roger needs to be looked after more than me,” John muttered, rubbing his arms. “I’m alright, it wasn’t that bad. It was he who…”

Brian sighed deeply, a small tired smile appearing on his face. “Deaky, you’re not alright. They beat you, and threatened your life.” He looked down, hand reaching out to clutch John’s tightly. “Truth is, that I don’t know how to get through to Roger right now. I think that it might be best to leave him be for awhile, let him sort himself out a bit.”

The thought of leaving Roger by himself, alone to deal with the terrible memories, did not sit right with John. “But he needs us. We can’t leave him alone Bri. God, what happened…” John’s voice broke, fresh tears running down his face.

“We’re not leaving him alone love.” Brian hushed him, wrapping John in a tight hug again. “But right now, when I try to talk to him, he doesn’t listen. When I touch him, he recoils, looks at me like I’m going to… oh my god.” Now Brian’s voice broke too, the guitarist’s body shaking as he also started to cry. “I don’t know what to do! I don’t know how to make this better! Not for any of you.”

Freddie chose that moment to walk in through the door, expression immediately falling at the sight of two of his boyfriends sobbing in the middle of the hallway. “Oh darlings…” He whispered, coming up to rub both of their backs gently.

John whimpered and let go of Brian with one arm, pulling Freddie in too. They stood like that for some minutes, just crying and holding onto one another.

The tight knot that had lived in John’s chest since Roger had left the bar, started unravelling slowly, making it a bit easier to think. A bit easier to be. He was home. They had gotten away. He still had his best friends, his lovers, his everything. Even if they were worn down and hurt all of them, they were still here, together. And that meant everything.

He focused on breathing slowly, smelling and feeling Brian and Freddie all around him, while Brian quietly told Freddie about Roger’s distance. The singer sighed deeply and pulled away.

“He’s probably in shock the poor dear, how could he not be after all that? I don’t think we’ll do him or us any favours by forcing him to talk to us. At least not yet. Actually, I’m surprised you’re so level headed dear,” he smiled sadly at John, leaning close to kiss his hair.

John wouldn’t really call himself level headed, but he knew for certain that he didn’t want to be alone. Just the thought of being left on his own with no distractions, the nightmare still so fresh, made him shudder.

They decided to let Roger be for now. Freddie would fix them something to eat and keep an eye on the drummer, while Brian would help John clean up.

The guitarist first urged John to strip and take a quick, hot shower and John did. The warm water heating up his cold, wet body, felt like heaven. When he stepped out Brian immediately wrapped him in a big fluffy towel and pulled him down to sit on the edge of the tub. Brian bent down and started to carefully apply antiseptic to John’s various wounds.

It stung, but Brian’s hands were soft and gentle, the towel cosy and comfortable and the lamp light warm and homely. John just sat there tiredly, as Brian took care of him. For the moment, he had no more tears to give.

The older man finished and poked the bruise over John’s ribs carefully, frowning when John gasped.

“Do you think you have a crack?”

“Maybe…” John barely remembered the hard hit he’d gotten in the first brawl with the gang.

Brian’s face darkened. “Those fucking… To hurt you like that.” His voice was thunderous. “To do that to you, and to Roger. And I..” He swallowed shakily, brushing his fingers over John’s bruised jaw. “I did it too. Hurt you. God love, I’m so sorry.”

“I deserved that,” John smiled wryly.

“Food’s ready!” Came Freddie’s voice from the kitchen, and John groaned when he felt the pleasant smell of his oldest boyfriend’s cooking. He hadn’t eaten in ages, but hadn’t recognized that he was hungry until now.

Brian helped him up and wrapped him in Freddie’s luxurious bathrobe. While John was trying to wrap the sash, with Brian’s help, Roger walked into the bathroom.

The blonde took a long look at John’s bruised face, eyes darkening, before he squeezed past them to start the shower. Roger unceremoniously dropped Brian’s jacket on the floor and then shrugged off the ruined shirt, kicking it aside.

John watched him, the lump in his throat growing anew. Bruises were wrapped around the drummer’s wrists and travelling up his arms. His knuckles were torn and bloody and his cheek was slightly swollen.

“Rog,” Brian almost begged. “Please let me help you?”

Roger scoffed and shook his head. “Go eat, I can take care of myself.”

John’s heart ached as the guitarist brushed the back of his hand over his eyes, before moving closer to Roger, carefully putting a hand on his arm.

The drummer flinched violently, practically throwing himself away from Brian.

Brian flinched too, looking absolutely devastated when Roger turned towards him, eyes wide with panic. “It’s only me,” Brian whispered. “Love, it’s only us here. You’re safe now.”

“I know.” Roger’s expression went from scared to embarrassed, and a bit annoyed. He turned back to the shower. “I know. Please, I want to be alone. I’m sorry.”

“Come on Bri,” John said, gently tugging Brian out of the bathroom. “You’ll call if you need anything?” He added to Roger, who nodded and then closed and locked the door after them.

Brian took a shallow, shaky breath and then shook his head, leading John by the hand back to the kitchen. “It’ll be alright. We’ll be alright.”

John loved him for for trying to support and cheer John up when Brian was obviously feeling like shit himself. He squeezed Brian’s hand tightly. None of them were alone in this.

Freddie had set the table, and a steaming bowl of pasta and sauce met John when he sat down on his chair. His stomach growled urgently and John threw himself over the food. The food was warm and delicious, and John felt himself relax further. Funny how something so trivial as a hot meal could offer comfort after such awful an experience.

“So I guess Roger’s not eating with us?” Freddie asked quietly, sinking down next to John.

Brian shook his head. “He wants to be alone.”

There was a moment of tense silence, the only sound being John garfing down Freddie’s pasta. Then Freddie shifted awkwardly on his stool. “Are there any sharp things in the bathroom?”

John almost choked on his moutful, whipping his head up to stare at Freddie in disbelief. “He wouldn’t do that! He’d never!” John gritted his teeth, hating the fresh curl of cold fear in his stomach.

“I don’t think so either darling,” Freddie soothed, cool fingers running gently over John’s trembling hand. “But it doesn’t hurt to make sure. You’re both in… bad places right now.”

“I hid everything sharp while John was in the shower.” Brian said tiredly.

Freddie nodded and John went back to his pasta, refusing to think more about broken minds and sharp objects.

His boyfriends let him eat in peace, but John could feel them watching him and they were barely touching their own food. He was sure they wanted to talk more about the mess of a night. From his side, he only wanted to forget.

“Deaky,” Brian said as soon as John had finished. “Could we talk about what happened?” His fingers were dancing nervously over his water glass.

Freddie shook his head. “It can wait. You must be exhausted dear. Don’t you want to go to bed?”

John was exhausted, definitely. But he was also still feeling shaken and awful, and didn’t expect sleep to come easily. Besides, he owed it to his loving boyfriends to let them know what had happened. It was the least he could do after what he’d gotten them all into. “No, let’s talk.”

And so he ended up crowded on either side by Freddie and Brian in the sofa, a mug of tea in hand. Roger still hadn’t showed.

“You really don’t have to love,” Brian said, fingers playing with John’s long hair. “As Fred said, it can wait. It’s still so fresh.”

John sighed. “I want to. Gonna have to talk about it sometime anyway.” The only problem was, he didn’t know where to start, it was all a stinking, twisted mess in his mind.

Freddie seemed to understand his struggle, carefully putting a hand on John’s knee. “When we found you,” he shuddered at the memory. “Your jeans were off. Did.. Did they?” He trailed off.

“Do anything sexual to me?” John said bitterly, clenching his mug in his hands. “No, they only did those things to Rog. I tried you know. Told them to take me instead, begged them to let him go.” His voice trembled when he continued. “They wouldn’t. God I should just have let them cut my dick off.”

“What?” Brian looked part disgusted, part furious. “Cut your what?!”

Freddie squeezed John’s thigh supportingly, but his eyes were haunted. “Start from the beginning please, dear.”

John did. He told them about chasing Roger through alleys, about the gang finding them when they’d just started talking to each other. He told them about the short fight, how he ended up with a knife to his throat and how they were going to cut his cock off to set an example. He told them about the deal, how Roger had agreed to do anything they wanted for John’s sake. His boyfriends turned paler and paler as he went on.

“I’d gladly have lost my dick to save Rog from that. It was all my fault anyway.” John’s eyes were blurry with tears, it seemed he had some left after all. “I did it. All of it. I was mean and rude to you two, I acted as a fucking monster towards Roger and I started fighting with people I shouldn’t have. I did everything wrong and Roger had to pay for it.”

Brian pulled him close, burying his face in John’s hair. Freddie stroked his cheek and tilted John’s face to look at him.

“Listen to me.” The singer said, expression grave. “This isn’t your fault. None of it. Do not think that. There are evil people out in the world, and I refuse to let you shoulder the blame for their actions.”

John sniffled pathetically. “But why did they have to go after Roger? I should have been able to stop it. I’m so fucking stupid and helpless.”

“How could you have?” Brian’s voice was a low growl. “You were outnumbered and they had weapons. Christ love, they almost bloody killed you.”

“Maybe they should have,” John whispered.

Brian’s arms tightened around John. “Please don’t say that.”

“Dear,” Freddie’s eyes were dark with anger. “It wouldn’t have mattered, not if you’d offered your dick on a gold platter to them, not if you’d let them slit your throat. There was nothing you could have done. Do you think they actually gave you a choice? That’s not the kind of people they are.” His voice was cold with contempt. “He played with you both. Let’s say they had cut your cock off as you wrongly think you deserve, do you think they’d just leave you and be on their merry way after? Of course not. They’d gone after Roger anyway. And then, he would have had to handle your mutilation and suffering on top of being raped.”

John remembered the leader’s disturbing fixation with Roger, shivered. “Then why? Why threaten me at all?”

“To make it seem like you had a choice. They forced Roger to choose to be assaulted. He couldn’t even put up a fight. It’s all power and humiliation tactics my dear.” Freddie was shaking. “And I was the idiot who let you go by yourself and made all this possible.”

Brian shook his head, sighing. “Please stop blaming yourselves, both of you. Weren’t you the one who said to not shoulder the blame for evil people Fred?” He smiled wearily. “Let’s just agree that none of us are to blame, that we all did the best that we could and thank god that we found you before things could get even worse.”

Freddie’s jaw was set, but he nodded and looked down. John nodded too, sluggishly. The talk had been very tiring and upsetting, but he also felt a bit better now when they’d done it. He’d feel even better if Roger would stop avoiding them, but everything had to take its own time. His lids were drooping shut when he suddenly remembered the drummer’s odd behaviour just before Freddie and Brian found them.

“Did Roger see you?” He mumbled, head sinking down to rest on Freddie’s shoulder. “When you found us in the alley? Before you started fighting I mean?”

Brian nodded. “Yeah. That’s why he started making a spectacle of himself I suppose, to give us the opportunity to surprise them.”

“Smart boy,” Freddie said fondly.

Brian untangled himself from John, getting up. “I’ll go check on him.”

John just nodded, closing his eyes again. Even with a cock forced down his throat Roger still managed to help them get out of that nightmare. He had sacrificed everything, pride and body, to save them. And John had done nothing.

Freddie wrapped his arms around him and sang softly, lulling John’s agitated mind into a fitful sleep.

The cold metal feels awful and familiar against his skin. But this time it doesn’t just caress, instead the blade presses, deep, cuts open flesh and dives in. Ruins. Blood gushes down John’s neck, it gurgles up his throat, spews out of his mouth. He’s choking on hot red and falling. Everything’s getting cold. Everything’s getting dark. The last thing John sees is Roger’s terrifed eyes full of tears.

John awoke abruptly, covered in cold sweat. He could still feel the burn of the knife and he raised trembling fingers to his throat, stroking over the scabbed over wound. He’s alright. He’s alive. Roger’s alive.

Forcing himself to take deep breaths John finally manages to calm down enough to take in his surroundings.

He was still on the sofa, with Brian and Freddie on either side. His boyfriends were also sleeping. Freddie’s neck was hanging in a weird angle, he was going to have a crank in it tomorrow, John could tell, and he was drooling slightly. Brian was huddled up in the corner of the sofa. The still visible tear tracks on his cheeks told John that he hadn’t had any luck with Roger. They also told him that he couldn’t have been asleep for long.

He was in the middle of trying to wrestle the blanket out from beneath Freddie when he heard soft noises from the other side of the apartment. From the bathroom probably. Roger.

John was up on his feet and leaving the living room before he was even aware of what he was doing. He hurried past the bowl of cold pasta still left on the table, set aside by Freddie for Roger.

When he reached the bathroom he slowed down, heart pounding. The door was slightly open, warm light flooding the hallway from the room. John took a deep breath and carefully pushed it further open.

Roger was hunched over the toilet bowl, hands clenching the seat as he breathed shakily into the basin. He lifted his head when John opened the door, tired eyes meeting John’s. They stared at each other for a moment, silent, before Roger looked away and reached up to flush the toilet.

“Hello.” John said and immediately wanted to kick himself for being so damn stupid.

The corner of Roger’s mouth twitched. “Hello.” He said, scooting back from the toilet to rest his back against the wall.

“Can I… can I come in?”

“Sure.”

John took two awkward steps into the bathroom, arms coming up to wrap around himself. He didn’t know what to say. What the bloody hell should he say? Honestly, he just wanted to throw himself at Roger and hug him and cry and never let him go, but that probably wouldn’t turn out too great…

“Typical,” Roger muttered. “I already brushed my teeth like 20 times, and now I have to do it again.”

Oh god. Roger was actually talking to him, making actual sentences. And he was still caring about his dental hygiene. John was so relieved he could faint. On the other hand, the reason for Roger’s obsessive tooth brushing… The relief quickly morphed into John feeling sick.

The drummer looked so small, so fragile and tiny, slumped back against the tiled wall. He looked exhausted, even if he was showered and fresh, hair combed into perfection over his shoulders. His fists were wrapped up in white, crisp bandages and so were a couple of toes on his left foot. The wrappings looked impeccable and John hated that Roger was so good at bandaging himself. That he had had the practice.

Roger was only wearing underwear and a ratty t-shirt, and it took John a second to recognize the shirt as one of his own. That his boyfriend consciously had sought out one of John’s garments to wear, after all this, made John want to cry. He felt miserable, and almost started bawling when Roger’s eyes caught his.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Roger’s voice was quiet.

John bit his lip, desperately trying to keep his eyes from welling up again. “Like what?”

“You damn well know,” the drummer gave him an unimpressed look, pulling his legs up against his chest. “Like I’m going to break. No, like I’m already broken.”

But you are, John wanted to say. Instead he swallowed and cocked his head to the side. “Can I sit down with you?”

Roger shrugged, but didn’t move away when John sat down, didn’t tense up too badly when their shoulders brushed up against each other. John took it as a small victory.

“I’m not you know.” Roger continued, clumsy bandaged hands tapping over his knees. “Broken. And neither are you.”

John hummed wearily. “Well, I certainly don’t feel whole.”

“For now.” Roger waved him off. “This night. Fuck it. I won’t let it bring me down. And definitely not you. I need you Deaky.” He looked over at John, eyes bright, but a bit too bright. “We need to forget about this and move on. Nothing has to change.”

John couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way Roger was still trying to be brave, still trying to protect him. Even now.

“Things have already changed.” He said quietly, slowly reaching out to touch Roger’s face. As expected, the drummer winced and moved away. “Look. You don’t want me to touch you. No, you don’t,” he continued when Roger looked angry and started to protest. “Not right now. And that is completely fine. I understand. God knows I don’t deserve to anyway.”

Roger frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It was my fault.” John whispered. “I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am. For everything.”

“If you somehow think that we getting harassed by a group of abusive dickbags is your fault, you’re much dumber than what I thought.”

John huffed, frustrated. “But it is! I picked the fight, I was awful to you, said so many…”

“If you’re going to do this I’m kicking you out.” Roger growled, gripping onto John’s shirt the best he could with his bandaged hand. “I don’t need you telling me how bloody sorry you are. I don’t need any apologies. Fuck, don’t you understand? I thought I would lose you. I thought you were going to die John. And that the last memory we’d have together, all four of us, would be that terrible fight. So don’t you come here and ask for forgiveness, not right now. I am just so glad I still have you.” He patted John’s chest, looking down at the floor. “The rest’s just… it’s not important. Not in comparison. I just want to forget about it.”

For Roger to be able just forget about the rape, the humiliation, the leers, as well as the general degradation he’d suffered, even from John, didn’t sound very likely. Or very healthy. Still, John was in no position to tell him what to do. Besides, Roger’s words had broken him down once again. He’d since long lost track of the number of times he’d cried this night.

“I’m so glad I have you too,” he sobbed, ridiculously grateful when Roger let him cradle his hand to his chest. “You have my shirt.” He sniffled.

“Yeah,” Roger smiled a half smile, making John release his hand before getting to his feet. “It smells like you.” He squeezed out a fat dollop of toothpaste on his tooth brush and started on his teeth.

“Darlings,” Freddie had appeared in the doorway, Brian at his side. “What are you up to in the middle of the night?” The singer’s voice was so warm and full of love that John just started to cry harder.

“You want to join us?” Roger managed to garble out around his toothbrush and Brian’s open, hopeful expression served as another boost for John’s tears.

Freddie chuckled quietly and went to sit down on the edge of the bathtub, stroking John’s hair soothingly. “Shh Deaky darling. Breathe honey.”

Brian stayed in the door post, expression fond and exhausted as he looked between John who was cuddling up to Freddie’s leg and Roger who was rinsing his mouth and spitting into the sink, before straightening up.

“Fuck,” Roger murmured, staring at his reflection in the mirror. “I look like shit.”

“Nope,” Brian shook his head.

“Blondie, are you blind?” Freddie teased gently.

“Never,” John tried to brush the tears out of his eyes.

Roger let out a small chuckle. He continued to stare at his reflection, one hand reaching up to touch the glass. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s true.” He said softly.

“If what’s true dear?” Freddie asked.

“If what everyone says is true. If this,” he absentmindedly gestured at his face, “is all I’m good for.” He tapped the glass lightly. “If that guy had cut my face open, would you have kept me in the band?”

John wanted to puke. To hear Roger repeat back to them what he’d heard so many times was the worst. He wanted so badly to tell Roger it wasn’t so, that it wasn’t true, of course not, but he couldn’t find the words, throat thick and useless.

“Of course we would have.” Freddie said, gaze piercing as Roger turned from the mirror to face him. “You’re the best drummer I’ve ever seen or heard, and as far as I know you don’t play the drums with your face. You might be very pretty dear, but that has nothing to do with your skills. And anyone who says otherwise is a bollocking idiot.”

Roger trembled, nodded jerkily. “And in the relationship? I… I’d still get to be with you? Even if I wasn’t pretty anymore?”

John was so close to just starting to shout how sorry he was again. He’d never heard Roger say things like these before. Never. And he wanted him to stop, wanted him to get that bright, beautiful confidence and pride back. Not this… This wasn’t how his boyfriend was supposed to be.

“Rog,” Brian said, voice strong. “Stop giving your bloody looks credit for everything. You think we put up with each other every hour of every day, four strong, crazy messes of personalities because of looks? You think you’ve been one of my best friends for six years because of looks? We love you. You’re smart as hell even if you don’t always show it. You’re so funny and brave. You brighten everything up. You’re one of the kindest, most caring people I’ve ever met. You made John feel welcome in the beginning when me and Fred couldn’t get our heads out of our asses. You take care of us, we’d be bloody nowhere without you. You’re also damn stubborn and a pain in the ass sometimes and you really can’t handle your temper and by god I can’t stand when you smoke right in my face and you’re so damn loud and can’t sit still. And we love you all the more for it. Love,” he smiled warmly. “Looks never had anything to do with it. It’s always been you.”

Roger was tearing up. He was unable to meet Brian’s eyes, cheeks flushed a dark pink. Freddie was smiling so wide it looked like it must hurt, his hands were still stroking through John’s hair. John rested his cheek against Freddie’s leg, watching, heart full, as Brian took a step closer to their fourth boyfriend, opening his arms.

“Come here,” Brian said in that soft, kind voice and Roger practically fell into the embrace. He wrapped his arms tightly around Brian, face in his neck, finally letting go of everything and sobbing into his older boyfriend’s shoulder.

When he’d started he couldn’t stop, Roger cried harder and harder, clutching onto Brian desperately. Brian was weeping too, but silently, just squeezing Roger to his chest, as if afraid to let him go.

“Let’s give them a moment,” Freddie whispered to John and helped pull the bassist to his feet. John reluctantly agreed, following Freddie outside. While he didn’t at all want to leave the other two when they were so upset, he understood that he’d only be a hindrance at the moment.

He’d never be able to comfort Roger the way Brian could. Brian who’d known Roger the longest, and who’d been the only one the drummer had ever really shared these insecurities with. Brian who’d been able to talk Roger out of his toxic mindset. While John couldn’t get a word out, even if he was partly responsible for the drummer’s crash.

“Don’t overthink things darling,” Freddie told him. They’d made their way back to the sofa and the singer sunk down on it before pulling John into his lap, hoisting the blanket up over them. “Rog’s always turned to Bri when he’s sad. I’m sure it’s nothing against you. Or me.”

It was scary how Freddie often seemed to be able to read minds. John sighed, cuddling up close to Freddie. He was grateful that his boyfriend had gone back to the couch, instead of to bed. For some reason the thought of going to bed felt wrong, like they’d just pretend that everything was fine.

“I know,” He muttered, carding his fingers through Freddie’s tangled hair. “I just wish he didn’t feel like he has to protect me and be the strong one all the time, especially not now.”

Freddie huffed out a short laugh. “Dear, the day Rog stops acting like your guard dog will be the day Brian agrees to wear a tutu.”

“I don’t want to know what you’re talking about, do I…” Brian grunted, stumbling into the living room, arms full of Roger.

Roger had both arms and legs wrapped around the taller man and was still sniffling quietly into his neck.

Freddie patted the sofa next to him. “Come here my loves, lets cozy up beneath the blanket together and forget about the world for the rest of the night.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Roger said weakly, not making any attempt to let go of Brian while the guitarist gingerly managed to plop the both of them down on the couch.

John turned a bit sideways in Freddie’s lap and helped pull the blanket up over the other two.

They ended up with him on Freddie and Roger curled up on Brian, legs draped over John’s lap. The four of them were squeezed together tightly under the huge, heavy blanket and it was very hot and crowded. Still, it was perfect.

Roger was out like a light in two seconds, face tucked into Brian’s shoulder. John also closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion take over. He was still hurting everywhere. His head ached badly, between the trauma and the various abuse he’d suffered, it felt like his skull was splitting open.

The ache lessened a bit when Freddie hugged him tighter and Brian’s long fingers lovingly ran through his hair.

“They asleep?” Freddie whispered and John carefully pretended to be so.

“Yeah I think so.” Brian’s answered, voice low.

Freddie shifted beneath John. “Thank god. I don’t know for how much longer I’d be able to try to be the sensible one.” The singer’s voice was breathy and pained. “Fuck. We could have lost them.”

“But we didn’t.”

“You don’t get it, it is my fault. You wanted to go with John. If we’d gone with them from the beginning, it wouldn’t have happened. John wouldn’t have gotten threatened and beaten so badly. Roger wouldn’t have gotten raped. How can I even look them in the eye from now on? They’re our youngest, they’re our responsibility. And I failed them.”

Freddie’s voice was strained, and John could feel him trembling beneath him. He was going to cut in, to tell his oldest boyfriend that the only one who was to blame was John, and John alone, but Brian spoke before he could.

“We couldn’t know that was going to happen. It was all a bloody mess. Please Fred, you have to forgive yourself for it, neither John or Rog thinks this is your fault. But they need you now, to be strong. And I need you too, I can’t look after them by myself.” Brian sighed deeply. “This is not going to just go away. This will always be with us from now on. We’ll just have to learn how to live with it. How to move on from it.”

Freddie took a shaky breath. “I’ll do my best. I won’t ever let anything like this happen again.”

“Neither will I.” Brian’s voice lowered to a dark growl. “And by god, if I ever see those men again, I swear I’ll kill them.”

Roger let out a whimper in his sleep, and fumbled over the blanket until he found John’s hand. His breathing slowed down again as he clumsily took John’s hand in his own bandaged one.

“Let’s try to get some sleep.” Freddie whispered and John could feel a kiss being pressed to his temple. “Tomorrow’s going to be rough.”

“We’ll get through it, together.” Brian breathed back.

John’s mind was slipping into peaceful darkness. The sharp pain floated away as he started to lose consciousness. Freddie’s arms were around him, his foot was tucked under Brian’s calf, Roger’s hand was loosely wrapped around his. He finally felt safe.

To the steady rhythm of his boyfriends’ breathing, John fell asleep.