ask your destiny to dance [4] {Roger Taylor}
A/N: Non-explicit smut.
When Ash wakes the next morning, Roger’s still there, his chest against her back and arm draped over her hip. Something in her chest aches a little, he’s so warm and it’s been so long since she’d had someone stay over; sunlight isn’t even peaking through her shitty blinds, so she lets herself relax, lets herself lean into his warmth a little, and fall back to sleep.
“Your heart doesn’t feel broken.” Before she even opens her eyes, she can feel Roger smiling against her shoulder as he speaks, hand gently cupping her left boob, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth against it. Even the gentle touch has a shiver running down her spine, but before Roger gets the chance to be amused by it, she’s shifting to lie on her back. His hand moves with her, but he stays propped up on his side, grinning at her as he trails his fingers down her ribs, feather light touches moving across her stomach until he’s at her hips, holding her.
Reaching up, she cups his cheek and brings him in for a kiss, his lips warm against hers as he deepens the kiss, tongue gliding against her bottom lip until she parts them obligingly. She’s got a hand on his waist, gently tugging at him, silently insistent that she have him on top of her, which he agrees to without hesitation.
It’s not frantic like it was last night, a little sloppy and a little rough; she knows she’s got bruises on her hips from how hard he held her, and she can see the bite marks on his shoulder that she’s a little bit proud of.
He’s golden in the mid-morning light as it peeks through her blinds, fucking her into the mattress in her dorm in the uni housing, movements deliberate and deep, and so fucking gorgeous where she’s looking up at him. When she’s got a hand pressed to her own mouth to muffle her gasps and moans, he takes her hands and holds them above her head, gripping just tight enough to be a little thrilling, kissing her to swallow the sounds he knows he elicits from her.
“How’s your heart, lover boy?” She asks, grinning and breathless as he moves to sit beside her, reaching down the side of the little, single bed, looking for his jeans. “There’s smokes in the bedside table.” Ash grinned, moving to sit up against the headboard.
“My heart? Absolutely shattered.” He snorted, voice dripping with sarcasm, not even attempting to be serious as he pulled open the drawer, pulling out a cigarette and lighter. “Do you have anything else in there?”
“What else would I need?” And upon hearing her say that, Roger has to actually take a moment, watching her grin at him unapologetically, not bothering to pull the blanket up to cover herself, unselfconscious in her post-sex, late morning glow. His expression is curious, even a little awed. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Fuck, we really are alike, aren’t we?” Shaking his head in disbelief, he doesn’t see her face fall, but they’re shoulder to shoulder on the tiny bed, and he can feel her shift to cross her arms over her chest.
“Stop saying that.” The way she says it, quiet, a little hurt, he’s never heard her like that before, and when he looks at her, she’s avoiding his gaze, expression sullen. However, Roger can feel the indignance bubble up inside of himself.
“Do you really think so little of me?” He asked, lips around the cigarette as he flicked on the lighter, scowling at the sudden shift in mood. There’s silence as he takes a long drag, looking around her room, waiting for her answer. She doesn’t give him one. “Oh what the fuck, Ash?” He asks, and she’s snatching the cigarette out of his hands, taking a draft to avoid answering. “You can be a right bitch, you know that?” He snapped, and Ash pulled the cigarette from her lips once she had inhaled, passing it back and holding the smoke in her lungs for a long while.
“So I’ve been told.” She breathes the words out with the cloud of smoke, and after a beat she adds; “Roger, if we were alike, either I wouldn’t be here because I’d be with someone else, or you wouldn’t be here because -” But she cuts herself off, sighing deeply. Her accent is a little thicker when she continues. “Doesn’t matter.” And she clambers to stand on the bed, stark naked, stepping over him to get to the rest of her room.
“No.” Roger snaps, frowning at her, cigarette sitting loose in his grip. “That’s not an apology or a real answer; do you really think so little of me?” He watches as she rifles through her drawers before pulling out a sundress.
“I think you’re a guaranteed good night, Rog, which honestly, I haven’t had in a long time, despite what you may think. I just don’t think we’re that similar, and, if we were, we wouldn’t be here.” She’s entirely too nonchalant about the whole ordeal, carefully casual in a way that let Roger know that she was quite on edge. Once dressed, she stretches, avoiding his gaze, and he does take the moment to admire her in the sunshine yellow dress with little red flowers all over it. He takes another drag of the cigarette.
“What the fuck does any of that mean?” He finally asks, and Ash hums, not actually answering, heading for the door. “Ashley.” That gets her attention, and she turns, giving him a tight, thin-lipped smile.
“We’re good, okay? No, I don’t think so little of you, yes, last night was fun; you’ve fulfilled your promise. No heartbreaks, no strings. Everything’s fine.” She assured him, before stepping out into her hallway and closing the door behind herself.
He’s not there when she returns, holding singular coffee, not expecting anything more. She doesn’t like to think about the way her heart aches, just a little bit.
When they see each other next, there’s a weird tension in the air. It’s almost three weeks later, Smile walks in the front door, and Uncle Dave had disappeared over half an hour beforehand in anticipation. Her shirt this time is white, the same style as the last, sequinned in the front, silk at the back, and Brian tells her she looks snazzy.
“Yeah, really nice shirt, you’re really knocking it out of the park with this one, Rocket.” Tim agrees blithely. Roger is very quiet, just nods at her and starts loading in his equipment.
“He’s quiet for once, it’s a damn miracle.” Brian laughs, but Ash is quiet too, just smiles at his joke and heads back to the bar.
“You okay, sweetie? You seem off tonight.” Maureen asks, pouring a beer and passing it to Ash without hesitating. Ash downs half of it in one go. Maureen, while impressed, given the girl’s size, only grows more concerned.
“I’m fine.” Ash doesn’t make it sound questionable, voice firm, meeting Maureen’s gaze. “I’m just ready to get on with the night-”
“Oi, Rocket.” It’s Roger, and Ash fixes the most artificial, glassy-eyed smile on her face as she turns to him.
“Hi Roger! How can I help you?” At the sound of her high, fake, customer-service voice, he frowns, and just asks for some beers. Once she gets uncaps all the drinks, Roger hesitates.
“I also- uh, I need your help, if that’s okay.” He asks, and she can feel her heart sink; this, she’s pretty sure, isn’t going to be a band-related decision.
“Sure, ‘Reen, just gimme a few to deal with this.” She smiles at Maureen, who gives her a kind, understanding smile in return, watching as Roger delivers the drinks to the other boys, leading Ash out the front door to where the van is parked.
“What’s up with you?” He hisses through his teeth, and Ash fixes him with a smile, though it’s still not her real one.
“Things got weird and personal between us, so I’ve decided it’s easier to go back to passive-aggressively hating you.” And she’s using the customer-service voice that he’s learning to fucking hate.
“So like nothing happened?” He asked, still practically fuming in the face of her chipper mask.
“Like nothing happened.” Ash agreed, and Roger stepped back from her, rubbing at his forehead, eyes closed as if the very sight of her pained him.
“So you’re just going to keep treating me like shit and glaring at me when I order drinks?” He asked, and when he was met with silence, he opened his eyes, and saw the hesitation on Ash’s face. She’s looking at the hand he’s got by his side, gaze a little glassy as if she’s watching a memory, a faint blush rising on her cheeks.
“I- I guess I shouldn’t.” She said, wetting her lips, voice soft, and once she realises he’s looking at her, again, her gaze snaps to his, face flushing a darker red. “I mean, it was one of the reasons we hooked up in the first place, right?”
They both know he knows what she was recalling, and he can hear her faint, panting whimpers in his memory, a smile spreading across his face.
“Right.” He agreed. Neither of them break eye contact. “I feel like I’ve earned that.” With the teasing edge in his voice, he sees the moment she stops being embarrassed by the memory, and resumes being exasperated by him in the present.
“Yeah, okay fine. You get that one.” She conceded, turning back to head back inside, though he calls out after her.
“What’ll it take for you to actually be nice to me?” It’s half a joke, but she actually stops, suppressing a smile as she swivelled back to face him.
“You’ll have to really work for that one.” She told him, mischievous glint in her eyes, though there was reservation in her voice. Roger crossed his arms, tipping his head to one side with a smirk.
“Could I do it in a night?” And that gets her to actually laugh, giving him her genuine smile that he’d only seen maybe twice.
“You can certainly try,” she teased, but immediately followed it with, “or you could if I was looking for something like that.” Stepping backwards toward the pub, her smile became tight. “I’ll try not glaring, lets see how we go from there.”
“We’re good though, right?” He asked, his own mask cracking just a little as the concern slipped out in his face. Her smile warmed, and she nodded.
“We’re all good, we had our fun and now we’re string and glare free.” She shrugged, before spinning on her heel and heading back inside.
“What’d he need help with?” Brian asked as soon as you stepped in the door, his brow furrowed. Ash smiled brightly at him.
“He asked me to take in the bass drum; I told him it wasn’t my job and where he could shove his drumsticks.” She lied easily, stepping through to the bar, feeling only the slightest pang of guilt when Brian said it served Roger right, that he had a band to help with equipment, that he shouldn’t ask Ash.
Things are a helluva lot easier after that, and Ash thinks that it could work out, that she could have a passing friendship with the band whenever they would play at the pub, and that if she played her cards right, she probably wouldn’t end up hooking up with Roger again. The very idea of it fills her with anxiety, not from Roger himself, her disposition towards him had mellowed considerably, but her past experience in friends-with-benefits sort of situations put her on edge.
She just wanted things to be light and breezy.
“Ash, I think I’ve joined the band. I need your help with deciding what to wear to my first show.”
Freddie calls her the very next day, and Ash can already feel a headache forming.
“Start from the beginning, what?” She answered. Freddie took in a deep breath over the phone, and she could hear him grinning with pride as he started up his story. So much for a passing friendship; Freddie doesn’t do things by halves, and it seems he wants her there… Not that she’s actually complaining.
the ususal suspects: @deakydickfanpage @hollyissuchahoe @laueecakee@smittyjaws @crystalshines2909 @i-am-sarah @legendsaresooftenwarnings @2ptonpt@benhardy24-7 @maiilovely @mickey-yr-a-goner @butter-times @heyyouitskay @tired-eyes-fairy-lights @yepimthatperson @missieluvsmurder @ironqueen98 @ceruleanrainblues
Published
andtheytoldustotellyouhello 