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It’s the rain that wakes Brian, steady and thrumming against the hotel windows.
The room is still dim, only the barest hint of daylight cutting through the gap in the curtains, and warm as he is in the bed the world feels like a cocoon. There’s a heaviness in all his limbs, some kind of bone-deep tiredness of the past few weeks having finally settled in overnight, and nothing in Brian wants to move, doesn’t even want to lift his head from the pillow, is begrudging even of the small crack he’s opened his eyes.
It’s the first night they’ve stopped, really, since the tour began. As always, they’ve thrown everything into it, long days of sound-check and rehearsal and then the evenings of the show, the almost immediate get-out onto the bus and head off for the next city, the next venue, the next day of it all over again. It’s been a punishing pace, and last night marks the first night any of them have slept anywhere that wasn’t the back of the tour-bus or whatever flat surface they could find between final sound-check and the opening of the show. Even that only a fluke of booking, the next venue not free the next day they needed it and nowhere else available in the interim. So they’d driven through the night only to stumble off the bus at around 2am, bleary-eyed and disoriented, and dropped into the first rooms the hotel near the venue had.
They’ve got a free day, all to themselves, and whilst Roger and John had made exhausted but excited plans to go sightseeing - Brian’s not even fully sure which city they’re in, let alone what sights there are to see - Brian had privately made his own plans not to leave his bed for love nor money.
And why would he, when he’s got a deliciously warm Freddie Mercury curled up in front of him, asleep, softly snoring, just begging for a day in bed.
They’ve not had much chance for, well, much of anything so far on the tour. The days filled up with practicalities, though they usually get a chance to sneak away during Roger’s drum set-up but even then only for a quick ten minute fool-around in whichever closet they manage to find, and the nights spent cramped in the back of a moving bus with Roger and John less than a metre away. Which, ordinarily, wouldn’t have been enough to deter Brian except for how they invariably fall straight asleep as soon as they lay down.
Freddie had made a couple of noises about joining the others on their day around the city, until Brian had quietly circled his fingers around Freddie’s wrist beneath the shitty plastic pull-down table on the bus, pressed his fingertips firmly to Freddie’s pulse point, and Freddie had gotten the hint pretty quickly.
Roger had rolled his eyes, Deaky had hidden a smirk, but Brian hadn’t cared about anything other than the light blush gracing the tips of Freddie’s ears as he squirmed a little in the seat.
They’ve got the whole day. Brian could easily go back to sleep right now, wake up in a few hours and still have so much time for everything he has planned. But it feels a waste, when he’s awake now and has Freddie’s pressed up against him. And Freddie must have been shifting in his sleep, maybe, or maybe Brian was, because as consciousness comes back to Brian in a slow, syrupy manner, he becomes aware of the stirrings of interest his cock is showing in the whole situation.
Brian starts small. It’s been so long since he’s had Freddie for more than ten rushed minutes wherever they can find them; today he’s going to take his time. He brushes light, achingly light, kisses up and down the line of Freddie’s neck, barely opening his eyes as he goes. Sleepiness causes his lips to be imprecise, dragging a little on the upbrush, and each kiss gets a little firmer as he spends a little more time at each point - the crook where Freddie’s neck meets his shoulder, the pulse point that jumps a little beneath his tongue, the corner of Freddie’s jaw, behind the curve of his ear.
Freddie moans a little, still asleep, as Brian catches his earlobe between his teeth, just for a second. The sound goes straight to Brian’s cock and he has to move his hips back an inch or two, the urge to grind up slow and careful behind Freddie almost too overpowering to resist.
Freddie is the heaviest sleeper Brian knows, with the ability to fall asleep in any position, on any surface, at any time of day. He might make a song and a dance about having a plush mattress with silk sheets, but the realities of life on the road has forced him to adapt. Brian has found Freddie asleep curled up in chairs much too small to fit him, on top of amps large enough to hold him, once curled up underneath Roger’s drums. Freddic can fall asleep at the drop of a hat, but it takes a little more work to get him up again.
Which is fine by Brian. He doesn’t strictly speaking need Freddie awake right now. In fact, it’s sometimes better to start this way, getting Freddie stirred up enough that when he wakes he’s absolutely desperate with it, in too much of a state to mouth off about the time Brian’s definitely planning on taking with him this morning.
Freddie is also one of the least patient lovers Brian has ever had. Freddie knows what he wants and he wants it now, hard and fast and rough, and there’s a place for that which Brian is more than happy to provide, but there’s something to be said for taking one’s time. Brian likes it slow when he can get it, likes to take Freddie apart piece by piece and hold each part up to the light to examine it.
Like this, Brian can set the pace and he sets it slow. He rubs at Freddie’s stomach, lazy and slow, lingers around the dark hairs there and tugs at them softly. He places a final kiss at the base of Freddie’s neck, then moves to lightly scrape his teeth along the path he just kissed, soothing a little with the drag of his tongue. Freddie’s skin is warm and tastes a little of salt; Brian bites at the edge of his jaw and is treated to a small intake of breath as the sensations begin to hit Freddie.
Again, it’s light, both to prolong the experience and to avoid leaving such an obvious mark. At some point today Brian will get between Freddie’s legs and mark up the free space there, litter the skin with bruises until Freddie is crying out, because Freddie loves the physical signs of this almost as much as Brian does, but only when he’s more awake to do so.
He does give in, just a little bit, lower down, reluctant as he is to move away. Sucks just long enough that a small red bloom appears beneath his mouth, visible even in the half-light. They’ve got a whole day for it to go down, and Freddie can definitely cover that with a well-placed collar, but something in Brian thrills at the sight of even that at the jut of Freddie’s neck.
Freddie’s eyelashes flutter as Brian’s hand meanders its way up from the thatch of hair on Freddie’s abdomen, to catch Freddie’s nipple between his finger and thumb. This has never really done anything for Brian himself, but Freddie always has such a reaction that as Brian starts gently pinching, leisurely scratching his nails across the pert dark circles, Freddie’s hips start moving dangerously beneath the sheets, seeking out some kind of purchase.
Brian slips a solid knee inbetween Freddie’s legs, nowhere near close enough, and continues working Freddie’s nipples into swollen, sensitive things.
Freddie is, at-most, only half-asleep now. Brian can see the tight grip he has on his bottom lip with his teeth, the wrinkle in his forehead as he shudders a little. Brian moves to swipe his fingers across his tongue, rubs wetly at Freddie’s nipples one last time before he finally reaches down to slip his hand into Freddie’s dampening underwear.
Freddie breathes Brian’s name as he circles him, barely clinging to the last vestiges of sleep, and after the second pump of Brian’s hand grows slick, Freddie moans proper and tips his head back in blind search for Brian’s mouth.
Brian leans over and places a closed-mouth kiss to the corner of Freddie’s mouth which earns him a low whine, “Good morning, baby.”
“Good morning.” The words come out slurred with sleep and pleasure, a slight tinge of amusement. “Haven’t you been busy-” Brian twists his hand on the next upstroke and can feel the shudder of Freddie’s body pressed against his. “-Oh.”
The room is quiet but for the sounds of the rain gentle on the window, their breathing, and the movements of their bodies beneath the sheets. Brian’s hand is getting wetter with each pump, and he thumbs at the head of Freddie’s cock to slick the motion more. While Brian likes a rough palm, Freddie has always preferred it wet, messy and overworked, and he moans as Brian finally presses himself up against him, leaking through his shorts.
Freddie’s head is still pillowed on Brian’s left arm, and Freddie seems to realise this as he muffles the sound of his moan on Brian’s bicep. His hand comes up and clutches at Brian’s, and Brian rubs a soothing thumb across the back in time with the lazy movements of his right hand.
He could easily come like this, Brian thinks. Warm and content, practically soporific, in his boxers and with Freddie spilling into his hand. He’s so achingly hard that it’s tempting. But there’s a sweet sort of satisfaction at the idea of drawing this out. Brian’s always been a believer that if something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right, and he can’t think of anything more worthwhile than lazy morning sex with Freddie.
Freddie mumbles a complaint as Brian ceases the movement of his hand, and Brian kisses his cheek, a silent patience . Too sleepy and turned on to do anything else, Freddie complies.
His underwear peels away easily, kicked away and lost somewhere under the sheets, forgotten by the both of them instantly as Brian places a hand on Freddie’s hip and turns him, pushes him more forward onto the mattress. Freddie’s whimper is slightly muffled as Brian finds the rim of his hole by touch alone, circles him with a single finger, and his legs fall open like he’s tired of keeping them closed.
The first finger slides home beautifully, still slick, though Freddie’s tighter than he has been in a while. It’s been too long since they’ve done anything but trade hurried handjobs wherever they can, the occasional blowjob in a bathroom - all the more reason for them to take their time today.
But Freddie’s body remembers Brian’s like it was made for this, and soon enough he’s ready for the second.
Brian holds it back, kisses at the curve of Freddie’s shoulder and rests his forehead heavy against him there, as he picks a pace that’s kind on his wrist so early in the morning and nothing short of cruel to Freddie.
“You- ” Freddie breathes ragged as soon as he realises what Brian’s doing, a low noise cutting off whichever expletive he was planning on throwing at him as Brian curves a finger just right. “-bastard, ” he gets out anyway, and Brian’s smile is satisfied and slow, pushed into the dip between Freddie’s shoulders so Freddie can definitely feel how pleased he is with himself.
Brian’s hands are the most dexterous part of him. If he can play his most difficult solo with his eyes closed then he can definitely finger Freddie stupid, even half asleep.
As he rocks his hand, the steady motion almost soothing as it pitches them both in the sheets, Brian mouths inexactly across the planes of Freddie’s back. The angle pulls his neck as he ducks, but he thinks he could stay like this for as long as he could steal it for, caught in the midst of awake and asleep, teetering on the edge of absolute pleasure and bathing in the utter gratification of having Freddie with him, uninterrupted, unhurried, and verging on absolutely desperate.
Fuck ever leaving this bed, this room. Fuck the rest of the tour and the world waiting outside. Brian could live and die in this moment of dragging Freddie Mercury back and forth across the lines of release. Because Freddie is hot and tight and writhing as much as he can when Brian has a knee holding him in place, hips fucking stacatto into the mattress and whining as the angle Brian is holding him at just isn’t enough. He’s absolutely perfect, and Brian murmurs a quiet shushing sound against his ear, barely loud enough to hear over the rain, the muffled noises tripping out of Freddie with no restraint, and finally tucks a second finger inside.
Then, a third, and Freddie has to turn and bite the pillow, the curve of Brian’s arm, as Brian opens him up with painstaking care.
Brian knows what Freddie needs to be able to take him better than Freddie does. Freddie will always try and rush, desperate to get Brian inside him, and Brian will often indulge that. When they’re rushed and frantic, when Brian has him up against an amp and wants Freddie to feel him for the rest of the concert, he’ll stop a moment too soon and allow Freddie the burn of taking him. Sometimes just for the satisfaction of watching Freddie fidget in his seat the next day or even decline a chair altogether.
Freddie passed ready three gasping ‘Brian, please’s ago and Brian knows it, can feel it, Freddie open on his palm.
His own hardness is a sweet ache, and as he kisses the curve of Freddie’s shoulder, he grinds a little, slow, against the small of Freddie’s back. Freddie grinds back, impatient as ever, even if Brian can feel the way he’s enjoying this just as much as he is, the chance for a single moment drawn out, just them, just this.
The air around them smells of sex. Brian can taste it on his tongue and loves it. It smells like the two of them, sleep and salt, and he noses at the space behind Freddie’s ear, kisses the soft skin there, bites at the lobe and rolls it between his teeth until Freddie is turning his head back like a flower to the sun, finding Brian’s mouth with unerring accuracy.
They pass kisses back and forth, lazy and open-mouthed, kissing away any taste except the heat of each other.
Freddie’s mouth has always been Brian’s downfall, even before the first time he ever kissed him.
Then one of Freddie’s hands finds his hair, pulling it tight between his fingers with a sharp tug , which is just plain cheating at this point. Brian hisses, hips stuttering, and Freddie makes a noise like victory.
“Behave,” Brian murmurs through a breath of laughter, and doesn’t that work like a dream on Freddie.
Loose-limbed and fuckable before, he goes boneless. His voice is so thick with pleasure he’s nearluy slurring as he says, “Well, if you’d get on with it and fuck me, darling, I would.”
Brian slips his fingers free from Freddie’s body and Freddie groans at the loss. “You want me to fuck you?” Brian asks, tugging his underwear down to his thighs. The head of his cock grazes the crease of Freddie’s ass and Freddie whines . “Is that what you want, baby?”
Brian wraps an arm tight around Freddie’s stomach and pulls him close. All of the lines of Freddie curled up in the arc of Brian’s body, his knees tucked behind Freddie’s knees, his nose pressed into the crook of Freddie’s jaw, their feet tangling together. And now Brian’s aching to slide inside of him, to feel Freddie hot and perfect around him.
“Like this?” He asks, lining himself up and slowly rolling his hips once, twice, until he breaches Freddie. Freddie’s hand flies out, fists at the sheets as Brian pushes inside, unhurried, slow, everything Freddie really wants from him because while Freddie would usually wriggle, try and take Brian in a heartbeat just to feel filled up and loved, now he shakes with sensation. “God, Freddie,” Brian groans, because he can’t not, when his hips meet the plump curve of Freddie’s ass. “So good, baby, so good for me.”
Freddie, already closer to gone than not, melts at the talk. He’s easy, always has been, a few words here and there and he’s putty in Brian’s hands. Which is also easy, because Brian always means it, can’t help it when he’s buried inside Freddie and the words come spilling out of him.
He doesn’t realise he’s closed his eyes again until he rocks into Freddie, the barest movement of his hips.
Fucking Freddie can sometimes feel like Brian’s dying, all self robbed back to barest instincts of want and have and Freddie, and he gets desperate for it the same as Freddie does. He doesn’t know how to not want Freddie Mercury, how to not take what Freddie’s offering him with both hands and take it now in case it ever slips from his grasp.
But here, now, there’s no sense of urgency. Brian’s limbs feel like honey, warm and without substance. His eyes are still heavy, first with sleep then with sex, and keeping them closed only seems to heighten the feeling of Freddie so tight around him, so why would Brian bother to try and keep them open. Why would he do anything except fuck into Freddie again, and again, pushing them into the soft mattress, barely moving to drag back and back in because Freddie is here beneath his hands, all his for the taking, with all the time in the world.
Freddie grabs at his hand and their fingers twist together automatically. Freddie’s hands are so delicate, as if he has bird bones in his wrists, and Brian’s covers his so easily, presses them into the sheets and holds them there as they move, as always, together in perfect sync.
The barest of movements feel a thousandfold; the slightest tilt of Brian’s hips has Freddie clenching around him, the pitch of Freddie back against him makes Brian shudder. He can feel his body giving over to the rise of heat in his belly, twisting in his gut and radiating out into his fingertips, the curls of his toes, and reaches blindly down to where Freddie is hard and leaking into the mattress. He scratches his nails along the soft flesh of Freddie’s thighs before he finds his goal and circles Freddie firmly, jacking him in time with the rock of their bodies.
It doesn’t take long. Every movement a slow build, and Brian chases the feeling in Freddie’s body with a single-minded determination. Under his hands he can feel Freddie stiffen, hear the way all his breath catches up in his lungs, all the desperate noises and truly filthy sounds falling away to the pinpoint of one, quiet, stuttering gasp.
“Bri.”
When Freddie says his name like that, voice cracked, spilling over his hand, it sounds like a whole sentence on its own.
Brian’s own orgasm takes him over like a slow rising wave, hips still working their leisurely back and forth between Freddie’s thighs until he comes, hard, and finally stills completely.
Coming would feel almost beside the point, if he weren’t still buried inside Freddie and couldn’t feel the way Freddie is quivering with aftershock after aftershock, and he wipes his hand in the covers before taking Freddie’s back into his, sweeping a thumb over the skin. He raises Freddie's knuckles to his mouth and kisses them softly, lips dragging tiredly across each digit.
If Brian thought his limbs were heavy before, it’s nothing compared to the way contentment threatens to drag him under, back to warmth and sleep and Freddie in his bed. He manages to rearrange them, rolling onto his back and pulling Freddie out of the damp patch of the sheets and onto his chest. Freddie allows himself to be moved, already wavering on the edges of consciousness.
“Go back to sleep, baby,” Brian murmurs, almost pointlessly. Freddie falls asleep after sex anyway, let alone when Brian’s drawn him out like this, and Freddie’s answering hum is already fading away. Brian wraps his arms around Freddie and closes his eyes. He can hear the rain on the windows again, a barrier protecting them from the outside world for a little while longer. “We’ve got all day.”