angrylizardjacket:

ask your destiny to dance [5] {Roger Taylor}

A/N: Light smut.

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

The night Freddie first plays with Smile in her pub, Ash thinks her heart might genuinely burst with pride, buzzing behind the bar, beaming at the patrons who she usually just fixes with her winning, customer service smile. Maureen keeps giving knowing glances at the way Ash is all but singing along with the band, bright-eyed, taking any free moment she got to watch them perform.

“So you know Freddie?” After the show, Brian’s sitting in the back of Roger’s van, his guitar already packed away, smiling at Ash who was still grinning with pride.

“‘course I do, he’s the one who suggested you guys to me.” She’s filled with so much overwhelming joy that she can’t help but laugh a little, just basking in the moment, still marvelling at how talented her best friend is.

“He’s the Freddie who suggested us?” Brian asked, eyebrows raised, before turning to the new bass player, a soft spoken man named John, who had a smile like sunshine. “Ash’s mate suggested to her we play here a few months ago.” Brian explained, to which John nodded in understanding, and Ash made a noise of confirmation. After a moment of silence, the back door came crashing open and Ash jumped as the door hit the side of the milk crate she’d been sitting on, and Freddie himself joins them, with Roger’s arm around his shoulder.

“You did good mate, sang almost all the right words and everything.” Roger crowed, smiling at the boys by the van before turning. “Didn’t he, Pocket Rocket?” He asked, and Ash stood, reaching out for Freddie’s hand to pull him out of Roger’s grip and wrap him up in a hug.

“Freds, that was awesome!” She gushed, and he picked her up, spinning her around.

“You really think so?” He asked, pulling back, grinning at her starry-eyed expression, and she nods emphatically, moving to hug him again, letting him rest his chin on the top of her head, both practically glowing with pride.

“Rog, did you know Freddie’s the one who introduced us to Rocket?” Brian asks as the drummer joined the others by the van, pulling out a cigarette.

“Figures, I knew they were mates.” He says it so casually, lighting the cigarette and pocketing the lighter, before he finally acknowledges Brian’s confused expression. “She’s got a photo of them together, would be weird if she didn’t know him.” He says, like it’s answer enough, and Ash goes completely still. 

“What?” Brian asks with a half laugh, and Ash is glad that she’s mostly hidden from view by Freddie, but then he pulls back from their hug, his eyebrows raised in amusement. He knows exactly which photo Roger’s talking about, it’s the Polaroid she has pinned up on the cork board in her room, taken at a uni event at the end of the previous year, up along with some other pictures of friends and family. He also knows it’s the only photo she has of the two of them.

“In my wallet.” Ash, quickly stepping  thinking on her feet, speaks with a clipped tone, heart in her throat. She steps around Freddie’s knowing look to face at the others, Brian squinting at Roger, who had frozen, cigarette hanging from his lips. “I left it out here once and he found it.” After a beat, she sees Roger relax and breathe out a cloud of smoke. “’s why I don’t bring my wallet anymore.” That part’s only partially a lie, she never brought her wallet to begin with, never had a need for it.

“In your wallet? Darling, that’s so sweet.” Freddie cooed, teasingly, and though Ash’s expression was bright, she’d never wanted to smack him more in her life; they both knew he knew she was lying.

“Of course!” The smile she wore didn’t reach her eyes when she turned to look at him. “How else would I be able to say,” and she mimed pulling out her wallet, holding it up, displaying it, “did you know my best friend is in a band?” And Freddie burst out laughing at that, though it’s when she hears snickers from the rest of the boys that she finally lets herself relax. 

Roger shoots her a small smile when she turns back, and she rolls her eyes at him. At first, Ash had been surprised that Roger wanted to keep it quiet, but then he’d said something offhand about how Brian would probably deck him if he learned Roger put one of their regular gigs in jeopardy. As for Ash, she didn’t want her boss knowing she’d hooked up with the member of one of their most profitable bands, so she was happy to be discrete.

After a few more minutes of small talk with the band, she heads back in to the bar, and takes a moment to breathe. She loses herself in her work, forgetting the momentary slip-up, pouring drinks and pandering to the tipsy customers, and she finds herself actually enjoying the rest of her night. That is, until she comes out of the bathroom to find Roger waiting for her.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” He starts, and Ash rolls her eyes at him, breezing past, back to the bar. There’s not a lot of people left, Maureen’s got it under control, and so Ash grabs a cloth to start wiping down the tables.

“How’d you even remember the photo?” She asked, barely paying him any attention as she worked. He sat at the table she was wiping, and after a beat in which he didn’t answer, she paused in her movement, looking up at him. He just shrugged at her. “You know Freddie definitely knows something’s up.” She told him, eyes narrowed.

“It’s not my fault you apparently only own one photo of your best friend.” Roger snorted, and Ash looked up, glaring at him, suddenly paranoid of being overheard.

“Who is where exactly?” Ash asked, and Roger rolled his eyes.

“The rest of the band have gone home, don’t worry.” He told her, and Ash’s anger deflated at that, dropping her gaze.

“No, it’s your fault for mentioning the photo at all.” She snapped, moving on to the next table. “You could have just said no to Brian when he asked if you knew about me and Freddie.” And when he followed her to the next table, she gave up, moving to throw her cloth over the bar.

“I said I’m sorry, what more do you want from me?” He threw his hands in exasperation, leaning on the bar as she picked up the bin and headed for the back door. If they were going to have this conversation, she wasn’t going to let it happen in the bar.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Roger.” She scoffed, not even looking at him as she tipped the bar’s bin into the skip outside, practically fuming by now.

“Oh, that’s rich,” he spat, following it with a humourless laugh, and Ash whirled around, dropping the bin and stalking up to him where he was leaning against his van, her expression furious.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She snarled, the two now toe-to-toe. They were so close he could practically feel the anger radiating off of her. 

“It means I wasn’t the only one in that bedroom.” He said, voice low and dangerous, but his words just made Ash confused.

“But you’re the only one who’s managed to fuck up; I’m the one who cleaned up your mess! See, this is why you’re an-” 

“Don’t you dare call me an idiot.” He warned, and Ash gave him a sharp, malice laced smile.

“Make me-” She doesn’t even get the first syllable of the taunting nickname out, because Roger crashes his lips to hers. They’re both acting out of instinct, rough and angry, her hands in his hair, tugging as a response when he bites her bottom lip. After a moment, she pulls back, both panting as they glare at each other. Without a word, Ash jumps, wrapping her legs around his waist, and he catches her, nails digging into her thighs enough to sting as he flips the two of them so her back is pressed to the side of his van.

“Are we really doing this again? Right after we almost got busted?” He asked, giving her thigh a squeeze, more out of habit than anything else.

“After you almost got us busted?” Ash asked, raising a single eyebrow. Roger just glares in response, choosing to kiss her again instead of shooting back an angry reply. After a few more moments where Roger presses against her, lips against hers hungry and desperate, Ash pushes him away, finding her feet before she goes crashing to the ground.

“I gotta do my job.” It sounds like the thought’s just occurred to her, breathless, leaning against the van to catch her breath.

“So we’re… not doing this?” Roger asked, frowning in his sudden confusion. Smoothing out her wrinkled shirt, Ash smirks up at him.

“Oh, no, we’re definitely doing this, I just need to clock out for the night.” And she heads back inside. Roger, for his part, leaned his forehead against the van, replaying everything that had happened, trying to figure out how it had led here, again, not that he was complaining.

“This,” the moment the back door of the pub opens, he can hear her voice, and when he looks over, she’s gesturing between the two of them, expression strangely determined, “is not a thing. We’re not a thing.” She’s adamant, and Roger rolls his eyes, opening the driver’s side door to the van.

“I don’t care what you call it.” He responded with an eye roll, climbing in the van, waiting for her to climb in the passenger side door so he could drive them both back to her place. 

There’s a tension in the air the moment she closes her door, and they sit for a moment, his hands on the wheel and keys in the ignition, but the van remains quiet. Then, she’s leaning over and kissing him, climbing over the centre console to sit in his lap in the driver’s seat, his hands on her ass, her hands on his shoulders grinning as he groans against her lips when she grinds against him.

It’s not like last time, it’s angry and desperate, both furious at the other for almost being caught out earlier that night, a little mad at the fact that they’re sleeping together again, despite the fact that they were thoroughly enjoying every minute. They bruise, and bite, and hold each other a little too tight, a little too rough, and when Ash feels his teeth against her shoulder where he’s muffling a moan, she’s pretty sure it’s the best night she’s had in a very long time.

“I’m not kidding,” she finds herself saying, sitting up as she reaches into her drawer to pull out her cigarettes, coming down off the high of endorphins. The both of them are panting, “this isn’t going to happen again.” And she tries to sound firm about it, but when she looks over, Roger’s smirking up at her where he’s still sprawled out, heart beating erratically in his chest.

“Sure,” he doesn’t sound convinced, and holds out his hand for the cigarette after she’s taken a draft.

“I’m serious, I don’t do casual anymore!” She told him, and she waves off his response before he even says it. “I don’t do casual with the same person anymore.” She corrects herself, and Roger laughs, low and warm.

“I think you do casual very well,” and he reaches over to give her thigh a squeeze before passing back the cigarette. Time drifts by lazily in the silence, Ash taking a few puffs before she passes the cigarette back, fiddling with her fingers.

“We can fuck whoever we want.” She speaks, but it doesn’t sound like it’s entirely directed at him, actually, it sounds more like a nervous question, and Roger frowns.

“Yeah, of course.” He agrees, and Ash takes a deep breath. On the exhale, he looks up at her, and sees her quiet, reserved smile. It’s… it’s not something he’s seen before, she’s usually so sure of herself, it reminds him a little of their last conversation, and he hears himself asking about it before he can even register the full thought. “Why don’t you do casual?” 

Ash pulls out another cigarette and lights it up, expression dark as she focuses on the task. She’s closing off again, he can tell, and he’s not sure why, but his heart hurts just a little.

“Bad experiences.” She makes a point to enunciate around the cigarette, avoiding looking at him altogether.

“Do you think I’m a bad experience.” He asks it honestly, curious as to what her answer will be.

“‘re you seeing someone?” She asks frankly, and he answers that he’s not. “You gonna fuck whoever you want, and let me do the same?” 

“Of course.” He half laughs, and finally she looks at him, eyes narrowed, analysing. Taking another long draft, she hums thoughtfully.

“Then I don’t know.” After another drag, her lips twist into a sad little smile that makes Roger frown. “I haven’t fucked around like that with someone half-decent before.” Which only makes him frown harder.

“Who have you fucked around with?” He scoffs, and Ash raises her eyebrows, laughing a little, surprise written all over her features.

“I never claimed to have great taste.” And when she says it, Roger presses a hand to his heart, mock offended. The gesture has her laughing, bright and genuine, the sound brightening up the whole room, and Roger grins in return.

“Well I think you’ve got a great taste.” He purrs, propping himself up to reach across her to stub out his cigarette in the ash tray on her bedside table. This, of course, only causes her to laugh harder, blush rising on her cheeks as his hand find’s it’s way to her inner thigh, not letting her miss the double meaning in his words as his fingers drifted higher.

He presses a kiss to her jaw as she finishes off her cigarette, not looking at him for fear that she would burst out laughing again, and start coughing for the smoke. He starts kissing his way down her chest when she stubs out the cigarette, and when he feels her fingers card through his hair, he looks up. She’s smiling at him, warm, amused and affectionate, and something in his chest tightens a bit. He grins back, and moves lower.

The next morning, she warns him to forget everything in her room, but he knows he’s not going to forget the mug with the little cat face on it that she passes him, full of tea, or the fluffy blue bathrobe she’s wrapped around herself, and later, when they’re both crammed in a shower in the dorm’s shared bathroom, trying to be quiet and failing miserably, he knows the mandarin scent of her shampoo is one that he won’t forget soon.

Things between them are… well, they’re easier after that. Whenever the band comes to play at her pub, she greets them all with a warm smile, hugging each of them in greeting, even Roger, getting them all drinks, and cheering them on throughout the night. Sometimes Roger goes home with other girls, and there’s a weird mix of feelings in Ash’s heart, a relief that he’d kept his promise, that they could keep seeing other people, but part of her, well, if she was being honest, she was a little jealous.

There’s anxiety in her heart the night a pretty boy flirts with her, and she realises she wants to take him home, but she’s still got a lingering fear of Roger’s reaction, not because of Roger himself, but from boys in the past. The band isn’t playing that night, and she decides to throw caution to the wind. The boy diligently waits until she’s dismissed for the night, and then he laces his fingers with hers as they leave the pub. He’s soft and kind, knows what he’s doing, mostly, which is nice, and it’s a fun night. Ash lets herself have fun.

But sometimes they do go home together, not super often, once, maybe twice a month, he’ll catch her during her break before the others join them, and he risks kissing her in the light of the street lamp, and something in her chest eases. Or he catches her eye when he’s playing, and she’s drying glasses behind the bar, and she grins at him, giving him a wink, and he looks away, laughing. 

“You guys are playing really well.” She grins when the band comes up to collect drinks, and Roger’s suppressing a smile, trying not to look at her, and the others just enjoy the praise.

The rest of the band hasn’t caught on, which they’re both grateful for, though Freddie has his suspicions. Maureen knows, but has been sworn to secrecy, and so Ash lets herself feel safe. Being with Roger is easy, it’s fun, he makes her laugh, and he eases the anxiety that clutches at her chest, not that she’d ever tell him that. 

“What’s he doing here?” Brian’s voice is low where he’s tuning his guitar, nodding over to a man who’d just entered the bar, looking out of place. “You think he’s some executive or something?” He asked, a little hopeful, and Roger snorted.

“He’s wearing tweed, so I doubt it.” The man looks too old to be part of the crowd they usually draw in, but he doesn’t even spare them a passing glance. Instead, he makes a beeline for the bar where Ash is hanging up champagne flutes.

“Ashley, is that you?” His voice is smooth as honey, and the moment he speaks, Ash drops the glass she’s holding. It shatters, but she’s frozen, face blank, looking at the newcomer. The hairs on the back of Roger’s neck stand up the moment the man leans casually on the bar, like he owns the place, and he’s watching the exchange like a hawk.

“I’m working.” Is all Ash can say, still frozen in place. The man looks old enough to be her father.

“I can see that; you look lovely, by the way.” He tells her, and there’s something soft in his voice, the way he speaks to her, so familiar and intimate, and Ash unfreezes. The surprise comes when she ducks her head, smiling bashfully.

“Yeah, I, um, can I get you anything?” She asks, flushing, ducking quickly to find a dustpan and sweep up the broken glass. He orders a pint, and sits himself at the bar, letting Ash get on with her job, but his very presence flusters her, a state Roger had never seen her in at work, since she as usually so calm and confident. 

None of the rest of the band seems to notice him, and they start soon enough, but the man’s there all night, waiting quietly and nursing his drinks, never straying too far from the bar. Roger sees the leering gaze flicks over the young girls in the crowd, and knows instinctually that Ash can’t see it. She doesn’t look to Roger all night, but she keeps glancing over at the man, surprisingly nervous, and when the third set ends and she’s due to take her break, she says something to him, and the two of them make their way out to the car park, the man taking her hand once she’s out from behind the bar.

Roger feels ill. Not because Ash is paying someone else attention, they’ve both been very clear about getting with other people, but something about the man sets him on edge.

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