Chapter Text
Roger had been unusually quiet all day. They’d been in the studio since the break of dawn, but even recording some of Roger’s favourite songs for the new album hadn’t pulled him out of his funk. Brian had no idea what had set him off, either. Granted, they’d all been a little focused on their recording sessions and hadn’t been spending too much quality time together in favour of finalising riffs and perfecting lyrics, but Brian liked to think that he would have noticed if something had happened to his partner or if he’d somehow put his foot in it.
When they’d finally broken for a minute to grab some lunch, Brian had taken Freddie to one side and shared his concerns. He’d asked him to try and lure Roger into some of their conversations, to try and bring back his smile. Freddie had done his best and gotten a few chuckles out of their drummer, but that was all. Roger had stayed out of the conversations and Brian had missed his boisterous laugh and his eagerness to derail any and all discussions with outrageous suggestions of drum solos and raunchy lyrics.
Also worrying had been that John hadn’t seemed to notice that anything was amiss, keeping his head bent over his bass for most of the day as Brian and Freddie exchanged progressively troubled glances. It was nearly always John who was the one to notice if someone was out of sorts and to offer up words of comfort. In fact, John had barely said a word for the entire day, only speaking when spoken to and more often than not those questions had been about the music they were making.
It had just been a shit day all round, despite their progress, and Brian had longed to go back home and come back fresh tomorrow. He hated feeling as though there was an underlying tension between any of them, a rubber band stretching further and further until it was likely to snap and ricochet off every nearby surface, causing immeasurable chaos as it went.
They finally called an end to their day at around eight, when their throats hurt and their fingers were raw. Brian had hurried through his packing up to help his partner, the younger man flagging visibly and eyelids drooping.
Back in their house, away from the busy world and finally alone, Brian could take some time to pamper Roger, to try and bring him out of his funk without half an eye on the rest of the band and their commitments to the studio. Brian had made them a cup of tea each and quickly prepared some toast that he pushed in front of Roger, staring him down until the other man ate in.
Being curled up on the sofa was one of Brian’s favourite pastimes outside of the studio, nothing better than the feeling of Roger in his arms pressed against him from head to toe. They’d been married for around three years and it was something that Brian was never going to get over, that the beautiful Roger Taylor had chosen to settle down with him and wear his ring. Seeing Roger so down and upset for a reason that Brian didn’t know hurt him more than words could say. Brian never wanted to see Roger as anything other than happy, his head thrown back in laughter as he danced in a club or with his tongue poked out in concertation as he and Freddie worked on a new song.
It had been a long day and between the comfort of finally lying down and Roger’s soft breaths on his neck, Brian could feel himself falling asleep and he knew that if he did, he’d pay the price in the morning.
“Hey, baby.” Brian ran his hand through Roger’s unruly hair, loving the feeling of it curling around his fingers. “I don’t want to sleep on the sofa. Let’s go take a bath, huh?”
Roger turned into Brian’s stomach and hid his face in the soft material of Brian’s sweater, making a whining noise in the back of his throat.
“What was that?”
“I don’t wanna,” Roger muttered. “I don’t wanna move.”
“I know, baby, but you’ll feel better. Wash off whatever happened today that’s got you down. I’ll even use those fancy oils that Fred got us. Get undressed and I’ll start running it, okay?”
“No.” Roger rested his hands on Brian’s thighs and pushed himself up with a scowl, glaring at Brian before he stood up fully. “I don’t want a fucking bath. Just leave me alone.”
/
Brian knocked on the door to the bedroom, hovering awkwardly in the open doorway. “Hey. Can I come in?”
Roger was lying on the bed in the middle of the room curled around a pillow with his back to Brian. He sniffed loudly and nodded his head, more of a rub against the pillow than it was a real movement, but Brian understood.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, softly, “it’s your room too.”
Brian sighed as he crossed the room in a few steps and perched on the edge of the bed. He reached out and rested his hand lightly on Roger’s back through the duvet, half-expecting to be shrugged off. When Roger leant back into the touch, however, Brian was pleasantly surprised and he splayed his fingers out, stroking gently to try and get Roger to relax.
“What’s wrong, Rog? You’ve been upset all day.” Brian didn’t stop rubbing Roger’s back as he waited to see if the other man would actually start talking. “Talk to me, please. I’m here.”
The room stayed quiet for a long time, the minutes ticking past in silence. After a while, Brian started to hum. Just softly working through a tune he’d had in his mind for a few days that he hadn’t been able to get out at the studio. He lifted his leg onto the bed as he settled into a comfortable position to wait Roger out, rubbing circles with his hand in time to his singing.
“I don’t want a bath.”
Brian startled when Roger finally spoke, his voice horribly quiet and shy. He stumbled over the next phrase of the song he had been humming and waited with baited breath for Roger to continue.
“I don’t – I, I don’t want one.”
“Okay,” Brian said immediately when Roger turned his face further into the mattress, showing he was finished talking. He didn’t even need to think about his reply; at this point, comforting Roger was second nature and Brian knew the best ways to placate him. “Okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to have one; it’s alright. I just thought it would feel nice.”
“I don’t want to. I don’t want to be coddled and treated like I’m different. I just don’t want to have a bath.”
“Okay.”
It really was as simple as that. If Roger didn’t want to do something, then he didn’t have to do it. That was one of the easiest ways to make Roger do something; just pretend that he didn’t have to do it and soon enough Roger would make the decision all on his own. But even if he didn’t, it was only a bath, anyway – it wasn’t the end of the world. Brian stayed there for a moment more before he stood up and reached into the bed for his pyjamas.
Although it was only nine in the evening, Roger was clearly ready for bed. And if Roger was ready for bed, then so was Brian. Even if Roger didn’t want to talk for the rest of the night, Brian wasn’t about to leave him alone. When Brian had changed into his pyjamas and re-entered the bedroom, crossing the room to flick the light off, Roger lifted his head just enough to look over his shoulder and furrow his brow.
Brian didn’t say anything more or give an explanation as he got into the bed and slid up behind Roger, throwing one arm over Roger’s waist and pressing his lips against the other man’s neck. They laid there in silence for a long while, Roger still staring even as Brian settled down into the mattress and closed his eyes, the stress and hard work of the day catching up to him almost immediately and sending him off into a light doze.
“That’s it?”
Blinking awake, Brian cleared his throat before he met Roger’s incredulous gaze. “What’s what?”
“As easy as that?” Roger shuffled out of Brian’s hold to turn around, eliciting a grumpy noise from him, and squinted through the darkness at his husband. “I say I don’t want to have a bath, storm out of the room and go to bed before it’s fully dark outside and you’re okay with that?”
Brian smiled and leant forward for a sweet kiss, his hand sliding down to Roger’s stomach. “You are carrying my baby. You can do whatever the hell you want.”