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I said 'c'mon baby down come and rock with me'

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 - 1984

 

 Roger shimmed his underwear back over his hips, then paused. They were a nice, freshly washed pair of briefs, but they were also lilac. Was lilac sexy? Black was sexy. But did he even want to be wearing them? Was going without knickers sexier?

 

 He backed up against the far wall and went up onto his tiptoes, turning this way and that to try and get a good look at himself.

 

 No, with underwear was best, Roger thought with a firm nod. He dropped back onto his heels and adjusted his half hard dick as he waddled over to grab the lube from the toilet cistern. He checked his teeth, fluffed up his hair, and then rolled his eyes at himself. He was Roger fucking Taylor and he was hot shit, he didn't need to try and seduce anyone. Especially not John.

 

 He still nervously fiddled with his shirt as he went to find John, pushing the cuffs down to his wrists and then rolling them up again. He undid another button so his shirt was half open as he stood in the hallway, bouncing on the balls of his feet to get some of his nervous energy out.

 

 Roger took a deep breath, gave his dick another squeeze, and slinked over to lean casually against the kitchen doorway. “Hey Deaky.”

 

“Hi,” John muttered, not looking up from the magazine he was reading as he sat at the island drinking his tea.

 

 Roger waited a moment, and then said in a much more demanding voice. “John.”

 

 John finally looked up, eyes raking over Roger’s body on the way to meet his gaze. “What?”

 

 Roger, barely containing a roll of his eyes, wondered if John had ever had to do more than give Roger a coy look to get him ready and raring to go. He crossed the room and set the bottle of lube down in the middle of John’s magazine, not missing the way his eyes widened when he saw it.

 

“Wh…” John started, holding his tea to his chest when Roger rounded the island to crowd into his space, standing with John’s thigh between his legs.

 

 He pulled the mug from John’s hands and set it out of the way so he could start undoing John's shirt. “You looked so good today,” Roger said, voice pitched low enough that John looked away from Roger hands and up to his face. “You’ve never looked bad on stage. You drive me crazy. But today…” Roger slipped his fingers into John’s chest hair as he copped a feel of what all those trips John had taken to the gym with Freddie had done. He was still as skinny as anything, but the lithe power in his upper body was very much appreciated. “God you were really feeling it weren’t you? I bet half the people in that room wanted to suck you off,” Roger held John's gaze as he reached down to grab his dick. “But they can’t, ‘cause this cock is mine and I want it.”

 

“Oh,” John gasped, and before Roger could think of anything else to do that might get him with the programme, John stood.

 

 John's awful posture and narrow build often made him seem shorter than he was, but Roger felt every one of those few inches separating them when John backed him against the island. Roger tugged John's shirt from his trousers, touching his waist as John's big, strong hands curled over Roger's hips.

 

“What do you want me to do with it?” John asked, ducking his head to brush their lips together.

 

“Fuck me,” Roger purred. “I want you to fuck me.”

 

 John stroked his thumb slowly over Roger's hipbone, the gentle touch a reassurance that he knew just what it had taken for Roger to let himself want like this. It had been a couple of years now since Roger had first allowed himself to admit that he wanted to be fucked; there had been a lot of personal growth, a few steps back, and a lot of pointless frustration on his part get to the point where he could look John in the eye and demand it.

 

“I can do that,” John murmured as he finally kissed him.

 

 Roger fumbled to tug John's trousers open while they traded dirty kisses, shoving his hand into them to grab John’s dick through his underwear. He swallowed John’s moans as he groped his hardening cock, making a few of his own when John's calloused fingertips brushed over Roger's thighs to push his underwear down, Roger kicking them away dismissively.

 

 They traded dirty kisses while they felt one another up, and then John had the audacity to take one of his hands off of Roger. He squeezed John’s dick in revenge, tipping his head back to moan when John just slipped a finger between his cheeks to rub over his lose, lubed up hole.

 

“Oh, you really want it don’t you?” John breathed, a wicked glint in his eye when he pulled Roger’s hand from his trousers and stepped back, pressing firmly on Roger’s chest when he tried to follow him.

 

John quirked one perfect fucking eyebrow at him, his perfect bloody cheekbones dusted pink to match the flush running up his sodding perfect chest. God, Roger had never been more ready to get fucked. 

 

  He opened his legs when John reached for the lube, ready to get turned around, bent over the island, and fucked hard - becoming so caught up in the image that it took him a moment to realise John wasn’t getting his cock out.

 

 Instead he was lubing up his fingers, a sight so fucking filthy it had Roger’s dick twitching against his thigh. He grabbed on to the counter that was pressing into his lower back, toes curling when John dropped to his knees and pushed Roger's shirt up to lay sucking kisses over his stomach, the faint stubble on his cheek a wonderful scratchy sensation against the soft skin. He reached between Roger's legs to press two fingers into him, twisting them just how Roger liked as he mouthed at his balls.

 

“I said I wanted you to fuck me,” Roger panted, reaching out to ball his fist into the loose shoulder of John's shirt

 

“I will,” John said, catching Roger with the same firm look he often gave promoters as he wrapped his lips around the head of Roger’s dick.

 

 All John did was press the flat of his tongue against the head of Roger's cock and crook his fingers into his prostate, but it was enough drive Roger wild. “Oh god,” he moaned, pushing up on his heels to thrust into John's mouth. “ Shit,” Roger groaned, “Yes!” and then dropped onto his heels to push back onto John's fingers.

 

 Roger rocked himself between the two, fucking and being fucked, gradually losing all coherence and ability to think of anything but John and what he was doing to him.

 

 His movements became desperate, a heat building in his gut and Roger didn't even care that he had wanted to cum on John's cock. He’d bounce on it while barely hard and overstimulated, he didn’t care. Not after this felt so fucking good.

 

 His knee’s were already starting to wobble, the rush of pleasure at John swallowing noisily around his cock making him squirm. Roger ground back on John's fingers, then thrust short and sharp into his mouth before pushing back again, his orgasm building hot and bright.

 

 And that was when John pulled away from him.

 

 Roger’s heavy, agonised gasp echoed around the kitchen as he reached for John. “You bastard . Get back...no!” he pleaded when John rolled back onto his heels and stood. Roger let out the most whiney noise he think he had never made, sagging back against the counter as he watched John wipe his hand on his trousers.

 

“If you don’t…” Roger started, then his eyes landed on John’s lips that were wet and red from sucking his cock. He pushed himself off the counter and dragged John into an open mouthed, wet kiss, licking the taste of his cock from John’s mouth.

 

 John dragged Roger tight against him with a hand on his lower back, a shudder running through Roger when he felt how hard he was. He shoved his hands into John’s shirt, tugging at his chest hair as he rocked his aching cock against John’s clothed hip, dragging spit and precum all over his shirt.

 

“Fuck,” John gasped when he pulled away from the kiss, nipping kisses down Roger’s tanned throat before straightening. “Bed,” he ordered, and Roger didn’t even think to argue.

 

 He grabbed John's wrist and they skidded across the hall, laughing into their stolen kisses as they tripped up the stairs.

 

 Roger let John herd him into their bedroom, slipping his fingers into John's belt loops as he was backed against the bed. He sat down heavily, palming at his throbbing dick as he watched John slip his trousers down his long, shapely legs.

 

 John went to pull his shirt off next and paused, his eyes flicking over Roger. “This is what started this isn't it? Me with my shirt half undone.”

 

“Fuck yeah it was.”

 

 John ran his hand down his chest and popped open one more button, hesitating before opening his shirt wider. “Like this?”

 

Deak…”

 

“Get on your front,” John said, stepping into Roger's space and cupping his jaw when he didn't move. “Roger…”

 

“I want to see you.”

 

 He pressed his thumb to Roger's bottom lip, tipping his chin up to make Roger look at him. “Roger. Get on your front.”

 

 Roger swallowed at the pitch of John's voice, giving his wrist a squeeze before pushing himself backwards.

 

 He got up onto his knee's in the middle of the bed and pulled one of the pillows towards him, placing it where his hips might go and then grabbed another pillow in case he wanted something to hang on to. Roger glanced back when he felt John get onto the bed, having to press his fists into his thighs as he watched John roll a condom on.

 

 Roger had got a hold of himself by the time John glanced up at him, shooting John an exaggerated wink as he let his shirt slip down with a roll of his shoulder.

 

 John snorted, pressing his smile to Roger's bare shoulder as he pressed himself against his back. He ran his hands over Roger's chest, undoing the one button holding Roger's shirt closed and kissed over his neck as he chucked the shirt off the bed. He brushed his rough fingertips over one of Roger's nipples, grabbing his hip to pull his arse back against his dick.

 

“Oh Jesus,” Roger hissed. He tried to reach for his cock, looking to take the edge off, but that was when John pushed him just hard enough to tip forward.

 

 John was always gentle even when he was being firm, so he left his hand on Roger’s chest to support him as he lowered himself onto the bed. Roger stretched out, making a point of wiggling his bum as he got himself settled with the pillow under his hips. It was a trick John used on Roger all the time, so he didn’t react to it. Unless you called John kneeling between Roger’s thighs and pressing his cock deep into Roger in one smooth, slow thrust not reacting.

 

 Roger groaned deep in his chest, pressing his forehead against the sheets as he breathed through the still shocking fullness. He was already on edge from almost cumming not ten minutes ago, and it was John smoothing his hand over Roger’s back that stopped him becoming overwhelmed from just from the press of John's cock inside him.

 

 He ran his fingers up into Roger’s hair, giving his scalp a little scratch that felt so good to Roger’s sensitised nerves that he moaned. John was careful when he shifted, ghosting is fingertips down Roger’s spine to press into his lower back as he rocked back and then pushed into him again.

 

“Ah hhh shit,” Roger ground out, gasping when John rocked into him again and again. He opened his legs further apart, bracing himself against the mattress to push up against John’s hand so he could get up onto his knees. He let his head hang between his shoulders as he rocked back against John's thrusts that he kept slow at first, knowing intuitively (just like when they played together) when Roger was ready for him to pick up the pace.

 

 John started to let out the same punched out noises as when he was the one getting fucked, planting his hand into the mattress to get the leverage to fuck Roger hard if not all that fast or deep. He knew just what to do to make it good for Roger, driving him wild just by making sure he felt the fullness of John’s cock inside of him. Roger grunted and groaned and swore as he pushed back on John’s dick, trying to drive him to fuck with abandon even though it never worked.

 

 John was controlled, and that steadiness did as much for Roger as the dick in his arse.

 

 He slowed slightly when he ran his lips across Roger’s shoulders, kissing along his neck and into his hair while Roger shuddered and tried not to whine. He twisted his head to meet John in a sloppy, ungainly kiss that turned into little more than panting into one another’s mouths as John ground into him.

 

“Ohh God,” Roger groaned when John smoothed his hands down his sides to grab his hips, angling them up so he could get a better angle on this thrusts. He slipped his hand under Roger, bypassing his leaking cock that was hanging hot and heavy between his legs to press his fingers just behind Roger’s balls.

 

 Roger jolted, almost headbutting John in the face as he let out a loud, breathless moan.

 

“Yeah?” John panted, doing it again and Roger almost fell off his elbows.

 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. OH... fuck.”

 

“You wanted to see me?”

 

“Yes. Yes. Please,” Roger grabbed a handful of John’s hair and dragged him in for a kiss. “Yes.

 

“Okay,” John whispered against his lips. He straightened slowly, holding Roger’s hips to give him a few lazy thrusts before pulling out.

 

 Roger flopped onto his back with a sigh. He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to puff his hair out of his eyes as he stretched out a leg to hook around John's waist. He didn't need any encouragement to drop on top of Roger, running his palm down his thigh as he pushed Roger's sweaty, wild hair out of his face.

 

 They traded noisy, wet kisses as John pressed back into him. Roger grabbed at John's hair, growling into his mouth when John pushed one of his legs back towards Roger’s chest and started to fuck him again.

 

 He felt fucking amazing. The kind of amazing that was just this side of too much. The kind of amazing he could only handle when John had his big, sure, safe hands on him. Other people might do all sorts of kinky shit to feel as barely tethered as Roger was right now, but he thought he was rather lucky that all he needed was the desire to get fucked and John willing to do it.

 

 Roger dug his heels into John’s arse, aching his back so he could bare down on John’s cock, his own slipping against John’s stomach. He had never done that before, had never really wanted to encourage John deeper than he usually went. Even though it did nothing special for Roger, John still shuddered and snapped his hips into him as deep as he could go.

 

 John pulled away from the kiss, tipping his head back with a moan as he braced his hand on the headboard. It made his shirt fall open more than it already was and Roger immediately slipped his hands inside it.

 

“God yeah, do I feel good darlin’? Get why I go so fucking wild when I get deep in you," he ground out just as the depth of John's thrusts become uncomfortable. "Shit,” Roger hissed sharp enough that John glanced down at him, his hips stilling at once. Roger let the leg curled around John slip as he sagged, running his hands over John’s shoulders to cup the back of his neck. “Too much. Sorry.”

 

“I don’t like it if you don’t,” John murmured, digging his fingers into Roger’s thigh as he rocked into him with smooth rolls of his hips.

 

“You're hot as shit. Jesus look at you. Fuck. Fuck Deaky. Yes!” Roger started to babble nonsense as he trailed his hands over John's shoulders and chest. “You look as good as you feel, fucking me,” he gave John’s chest hair a sharp tug to make him gasp. “Yeah that’s it. I wanna feel you...fuck your shoulders …”

 

 John put his hand over Roger’s mouth, which in hindsight Roger was glad of because he was starting to get embarrassing. At the time Roger’s one track mind, plus his indignation at being shut up, had him slipping two of John’s fingers into his mouth. He sucked on them to be obnoxious, running his tongue over the calloused pads of John's fingers because it was a weird, if not unpleasant sensation. He held John’s wrist to stop him pulling his hand away, moaning around his fingers every time John thrust into him a little harder than before.

 

 Every nerve ending was alight, liquid head pooling near the base of his spine and Roger knew that if John touched him right now he’d cum choking on his fingers. And he didn’t know if he’d care much if he did.

 

“Wh... shit.”

 

 Roger felt John tense. Felt the muscles in his shoulder flex when he grasped the headboard tighter as he gasped and grunted and moaned. John lost the rhythm of his thrusts, pulling his fingers from Roger’s mouth to grab his thigh again as he came.

 

 Roger dug his fingers into John’s thighs and ass, feeling the tremble of the aftershocks going through John as he kept on fucking him, reaching between them to grab Roger’s cock. John’s fingers were slick with Roger’s own spit as he jacked him off with just the right amount of pressure to have Roger writhing into his own orgasm.

 

 They kept rocking together until Roger’s ears stopping ringing, basking in the kiss John gave him when he pulled out. A feeling of emptiness welling up inside of Roger when John went to get rid of the condom, but that was brushed aside as soon as he came back. John curled his arm around Roger’s head while they shared kisses and nuzzles and whispered nothings, Roger’s hands pressed against John’s abdomen just to feel him breathe.

 

 Eventually they had to pull apart, Roger pushing himself to sit up as he watched John wipe his face on the sleeve of his shirt before finally taking it off. He caught Roger looking and offered the bundle of pale blue fabric for him to clean himself up with, no doubt. Roger took it, looked over John in all his sweaty, flushed, post coital glory, and shoved his face into the shirt to take in a big breath of the smell of sex, sweat, and John.

 

“You’re disgusting!” John protested, giving Roger’s leg a shove.

 

“Yes. Vile,” Roger agreed, tossing the shirt aside and moving to tackle John to the bed. His legs and arms were still a little wobbly so John definitely let himself be pushed back but Roger still counted it as a victory, pressing his face into John’s neck to take exaggerated sniffs.

 

 After more wrestling and kisses and laughter, John went to hop into the shower, Roger following a little while later when his post orgasm glow faded enough for him to be bothered with such things like washing. They kissed in passing under the warm water, John smoothing his hand over the heated skin of Roger’s arse as he told him to take his time.

 

 Roger watched him potter around the bathroom before heading back in to the bedroom, unable to take his eyes off the towel slung low on his narrow hips or the still perfect skin of his back. He ended up having a post shag wank in the shower like he was still in his twenties, and then had to take a twenty minuet nap on the freshly made bed he was so deliciously exhausted.

 

 

 “I am so fucking sore.” Roger declared as he followed the smell of Chinese food into the kitchen. “Not bad sore. Don’t give me that face, Deaky! How do you get up and run around and go on stage after I shag you, and I’m hobbling around.”

 

“I’m used to it and...bendy?”

 

“You’re a bastard that’s what,” Roger grinned, shuffling up to John and wrapping his arms around him. “A magnificent bastard with a wonderful cock.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“A wonderful cock that I’m going to be feeling all tomorrow.”

 

“I’m not kissing it better.”

 

 Roger pouted, then smiled. “I’ll just kiss yours better,” he said, and then smacked John on the bum.

 

“Oi!” John protested even though he was laughing. “What has gotten into you today?”

 

 Roger (deciding that the innuendo was just too easy and beneath him) shrugged, resting his cheek on John’s shoulder. “You looked really hot today. Not that you don’t anyway...or I think you do at least which is the only opinion that matters.”

 

“And Freddie’s.”

 

“Obviously,” Roger snorted, picking his head up to arch an eyebrow at John. “Good thing I’m not the jealous type, hey.”

 

“I’m not Freddie’s type and you know it.”

 

“And he’s not yours,” Roger prompted, digging John in the side when he didn’t answer. “John!” he protested, trying to keep a straight face as John laughed. “He’s not yours.”

 

It wouldn’t matter even if he was,” John grinned, pecking Roger on the lips. “Because I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” Roger smiled, kissing John before launching back in to his rant. “Urgh! All these years, it’s...over a decade of you wearing tight, tight trousers. I mean, how was I not supposed to want to fuck you with your legs and you bum,” he gave the body part in question a squeeze. “And you’re so pretty. Fuck me. Then you come out today in loose white trousers and shirt with your fucking chest out and all I wanted was for you to fuck me on the risers…”

 

“I think there’s a compliment in there.”

 

“There is,” Roger slipped his hands up the back of John’s t-shirt. “I don’t think I trust anyone like I trust you. With me. I can’t imagine ever feeling...I dunno…” he ran his calloused palms lightly over John’s skin. “I feel very...warm, to know that you trusted me like that. Trust me like that. Not that I didn’t trust you before. You know I’ve always trusted you.”

 

“I know,” John said kindly, no judgement in his eyes. “You don’t need to explain.”

 

“You’re bloody wonderful, you are,” Roger declared and kissed John’s cheek, stepping away to go and peer into the take away bags.

 

 They ended up curled on the couch full of too much sweet and sour chicken, laughing softly at the contestants failing miserably at the tasks set on The Generation Game. John had sprawled out in that awkward way of his, leaning against Roger who had slipped his hand up John’s t-shirt so he could pet his chest hair.

 

“Is this going to be a thing for you now?” John asked, eyes still on the TV Roger was only half paying attention to.

 

“Maybe.”

 

“You know, I have had body hair for a while now,” John said so blandly it made Roger laugh. He pressed a kiss into John’s just damp curls, heart clenching wonderfully when John tipped his head back to smile up at him.