#queen fluff

As much as you had found yourself a little captivated by him, he seemed to share in the feeling, his gaze constantly drifting to you throughout the show. At first you chalked it down to coincidence; how much could they see of the crowd with the stage lights in their eyes anyway? But after he performed such an impressive minute-long drum solo without a single error and then immediately winked in your direction, your suspicions of the blinding lights wavered. 

You couldn’t recall seeing him around campus; you definitely would have remembered him. With blonde hair that was chopped shaggy around his shoulders, messy with sweat and exertion from the show, he looked like he already was perfecting that star-studded rock-and-roll persona from the get go. But his features were so soft, as if he had been carved by God’s most gentle angel with a precise and steady hand. It was as if he tried too hard to look hard rock but he was far too pretty to be genuinely convincing. 

They played a forty minute gig in the crowded college bar. It was a show that outright felt like perfection and you were almost reluctant to admit that it might have been one of the best shows you had been to, to date. London felt far too small for them. 

You watched with a warmth in your chest as the four band members lined up in the middle of the stage and took a bow to the cheering crowd. Someone towards the back whistled. The band looked ethereal like that, standing under the hazy stage lights, infinite. 

And the drummer, taking the end of the lineup closest to you, was bathed in sweat that glistened like gold, dripping down his temple and getting caught in his sideburns and the ends of his frazzled blonde hair. You had never felt the urge to lick someone’s sweat off their brow as much as you did in that moment. God help you.

You were only pulled from your unruly thoughts when he looked at you, dead in the eyes, and for a moment you wondered if he could read your thoughts. He had such entrancing eyes, framed with long lashes as if he had put on mascara, his irises pale in the blinding stage light. You couldn’t look away, hardly even noticing how the guitarist and bassist threw some picks into the crowd as the drummer stepped over to the edge of the stage right in front of you, all without breaking your eye contact. 

And then he was holding out his drumsticks to you; an olive branch, an invitation. His chest heaved with his exertion, and when you accepted his gift, his face broke into a handsome grin, a sly little smirk, and something shone in his eyes. The wood was still warm from where he had been holding them, slightly damp from sweat, splinted at the ends, the pair almost buzzing in your hands from the energy of the show. 

No sooner did you receive your generous gift did the stage lights switch off and he disappeared into the darkness. 

You stood there for a beat, the drumsticks still humming in your hands, unsure if you’d imagined it all—that look, that smirk, the slow-burning, unspoken invitation of it all.

But then, not long after, there he was again. At the bar.

Still glistening with sweat and running a hand through his damp, tangled hair, he leaned on the counter like he hadn’t just given the performance of a lifetime. His black tanktop stuck slightly to his back, toned arms shown off beneath the cut-off sleeves, and when he laughed at something the bartender said, the sound reached you through the crowd as clear as day.

With his drumsticks tucked in the back pocket of your jeans, you approached him. He glanced briefly at you as you leaned forward atop the bar at his immediate left and then almost did a double take as if it took him a second glance to register who you were. You didn’t look at him at first, directing your attention to the bartender instead as you placed your drink order with an addition of:

“...and whatever the man of the hour is having.”

And then you looked at him; the blonde haired drummer who was already staring back at you like you were a drop of heaven. When your eyes met, his surprised expression melted into a friendly grin—slightly bashful around the edges where his confidence gave way to something more humble. He turned towards you a little more, one arm still resting atop the bar, his eyes carding down your figure like he was trying to figure you out with just a look. 

“I’ve reached that level of fame now, have I?” he spoke playfully, his voice handsomely raspy and low, warm like firelight, “Where beautiful strangers buy me drinks in bars?”

“Seems so,” you responded easily, “Keep putting on such incredible performances and maybe next it’ll be a car.”

“Do I get to know your name so I can hold you to that?” 

You introduced yourself to him simply and he repeated your name as if testing the way it felt on his tongue. 

He offered out his hand in return, “Roger.”

“Just Roger?” you played, setting your hand in his for a proper handshake. His palm was still clammy from his time on stage.

“Roger Taylor,” he humoured you with a smile.

“A good name for a rockstar.”

“You reckon?”

“Absolutely.”

The bartender set your drinks down in front of you and you rifled through your purse to find a few coins to pay for them. Your coins were passed into the bartender’s outstretched palm and you dropped your change into the glass labeled TIPS by the register. 

Roger lifted his drink from the bartop and said casually, “It feels wrong allowing a woman to pay for me.”

You quirked a brow in his direction, lifting your own glass, “You don’t support feminism, Mister Taylor?”

He smiled at being called out for his misspeak, meeting your gaze over his glass with a cool, “Of course, I do. Suppose I just mean that next time I should make sure I return the favour.”

“Next time?” you echoed, voice filled with interest.

But both of you just sipped your drinks, all without breaking eye contact. The unspoken tension lingered around the two of you like an invisible string, luring you closer with the kind of intrigue that threatened those of the sort to write top-of-the-charts hits. It had been simmering like a soft and steady trill of a drumroll since the start of the show when he had first taken the stage, when he had first spotted you in the crowd.

Despite the way you both had been staring at each other for most of the night, there was still a game to play, a move to make. You knew you had to test the waters. So, you set your drink on the bar before leaning against it, fingers trailing around the rim of your glass as you said to him, “I haven’t seen you around campus. I definitely would have remembered you.”

He cocked his head, “You would have?” 

“Oh, definitely,” you lifted your drink to take a sip, feigning an endearing sort of blasé, “I don’t forget such a handsome face easily.”

Roger ducked his head slightly, like he was trying not to grin, his eyes flicking down to his glass. A quiet laugh escaped him—low, soft, amused. Your compliment settled in the air around you and although he didn’t seem quite surprised by your words, he still clearly accepted them genuinely. 

“Well,” he said, finally looking back up at you, just a flicker of dry wit nestled under all that bashful charm, “I’m not always this sweaty. Maybe that’s why you missed me.”

You licked away your smile, loving the push back, how he met your banter with such ease. You eyed him up yourself as if judging his statement for yourself before replying calmly, “It’s a good look for you.”

He accepted your comment with an ease of grace and answered your initial remark, “We play at Imperial because our guitarist goes here. I go to East London Polytechnic. But I used to go to London Hospital Medical College if that makes me sound cooler.”

A medical student and a skilled drummer? You were growing more fascinated by this guy by the second. 

“What did you study?”

Roger hesitated for a moment, as if he knew whatever cool factor he had going for him was about to be shot down. Then he chuckled dryly at his own expense and said, “Dentistry.”

Your mistake was having gone for a sip of your drink just then. You were so caught off guard you ended up snorting into your glass, nearly sending the cocktail up your nose.

Roger’s laughter came quickly, soft and melodic as he reached for a napkin to offer you. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he watched you recover.

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“I just did not expect the man I saw ravishing that drum kit on that stage settling down to warn people about the risks of gum disease.” you confessed playfully. 

Your teasing banter didn’t seem to sway him as he laughed along with you and bit back with an easy reply of his own, “Yeah, exactly, dentistry was fucking boring, that’s why I switched to biology.” 

“The fantasy of sticking your fingers in people’s mouths didn’t appeal to you?” you played.

Roger’s tongue swiped along his bottom lip almost painfully slowly and his eyes shut for a moment, long lashes kissing his cheeks, as he shook his head with a low chuckle. When he gazed back at you again, his reply was smooth, “Much rather’d do so off the clock, y’know? On my own terms.”

Your chest burned from more than just the alcohol, “Of course.”

“So, what’s your major then? Must be much more interesting than mine.”

You shared your major with him and he asked all the right questions to keep you talking. All the while, he stared at you like you were the headliner, his light eyed gaze taking in every movement of your lips and words they formed. You weren’t quite sure if you could remember anyone listening to you that intently before. Maybe he was just looking for a shag, or maybe he really did care. Either way, it was a win for you, frankly. 

The college bar was so noisy and crowded that you were almost chest to chest with him so you could hear each other over the chatter. Amongst the haze of smoke around you, you could smell him; the obvious but not repulsive scent of sweat from his performance, masked in deodorant and some cheap cologne. It was all so personal. For a moment—blame it on the alcohol—you wanted to dip your nose into the apex of his neck and inhale him. The bar-goers surrounding you were far too drunk and chatty to have paid any mind if you had. 

When both of your drinks were emptied and your conversation had momentarily ebbed, you noticed the way Roger’s hand almost habitually reached for his back pocket. He revealed a pack of Marlboro cigarettes and pulled one out to place between his lips.

“Fancy stepping outside for a bit?” he offered over the noise. 

The venue was so small and unsuited for a proper show that its idea of backstage was simply a hallway that led to the bathrooms and the delivery exit. Roger’s hand somehow found its way into yours as he guided you past the bathroom lineup towards the back door, unlit cigarette still between his lips and his drumsticks still tucked in your back pocket. You followed him gladly until the pair of you broke out into the cool summer night. The door shut loudly behind you, instantly muting the sounds of the noisy bar left behind inside. 

Behind the bar, the back alley was illuminated by only the single flood light above the door and the tail end of street lights leaking in from the main road. The alley seemed empty apart from the dumpster a few paces away and what you assumed was the band’s van parked across the narrow space. The sounds of the city filtered through the buildings that surrounded you and your ears still rang from the noise of the music and the liveliness of the bar. 

It was a calm night, comfortably warm with a breeze that took the edge off, and you found yourself stepping closer to Roger as if to share in your body heat. He stopped a few paces away from the back door and turned back to you, shadows dancing across his face in the moonlight. You already had your lighter at the ready.

He smiled through the cigarette between his lips and leaned a little closer as you flicked on the lighter and lifted the flame to the end of it. Roger cupped his hand around the flame to shield it from the breeze. Once the cigarette caught, he drew back, inhaled deeply, and plucked it from his mouth with a satisfied exhale. Smoke tumbled from his lips, wispy against the indigo night. 

When you held out your hand—tapping your thumb and index finger together as if to say give here—he smiled warmly at you and passed it over without hesitation. You brought it to your lips and took a drag, letting the strength of the nicotine warm you from the inside out. Roger stared. 

You exhaled and offered the cigarette back to him and he accepted it, unfazed by the slight stain of your lipstick that was left behind on the end of it. You watched as he placed it between his lips and slouched back against the brick wall as he took another lengthy drag. He looked straight out of a Marlboro advertisement like that; still dressed in his stage clothes and appearing so effortlessly cool. He could have convinced asthmatics to smoke, looking like that.

You stepped a little closer again, less for warmth now and more because why not? Roger didn’t move. Instead, he just watched you with a calm curiosity, smoke curling past his lips, eyes tracing the shape of you in the moonlight. 

When you held out your hand for your turn with the shared cigarette, he passed it over with a casual, “Didn’t take you for a smoker.”

“I’m not,” you replied before pausing long enough to take a slow, deliberate drag. When you plucked it from between your lips, you spoke through the tumble of smoke, “Only on special occasions.”

“This is a special occasion?” Roger inquired, taking the cigarette back from you. When he lifted it to his lips, he didn’t take his eyes off of you. 

“Of course. It’s not every day I get the opportunity to smoke with the drummer of the headlining band.” you boasted cheekily. 

Roger scoffed through a smile, coughing once on a quiet laugh. “Oh, well—aren’t you a lucky one.”

You smiled at that, letting the words hang between you like the haze of smoke curling in the space you shared, “I think I am.”

Roger flicked the ash from the end of the cigarette, eyes still on you as if he were studying you, trying to figure you out, “You always this bold?”

You shrugged, tilting your head, “Only on special occasions.”

That earned a grin from him—wide and knowing…dazzling—but he didn’t laugh this time. His gaze held yours for a long moment, something slow and serious settling beneath the flirtation. You could feel your heart beating faster now. There was something about the way he was looking at you, like he was weighing something, deciding.

And then he held his free hand out and he linked his finger in the belt loop of your jeans, tugging you closer to him until you were standing chest to chest. You had him sandwiched against the brick wall like that, body against body, standing between his feet that were clad in pink sparkly Converse. Very rock-and-roll. 

You could smell the sharpness of the smoke on his skin in such close proximity and that shamefully addicting scent of his sweat and the fading remnants of his cologne. For a beat, you weren’t quite sure where to put your hands, almost as if you wondered if touching him would break the fantasy. But, when his finger gave another inviting tug to your belt loop, you settled your palms against his chest, bodies pressed together. 

Your voice was quiet, teasing, barely a whisper, “You don’t go around kissing your fans after gigs, do you?”

Roger’s reply was easy, “Only on special occasions.”

Before you could even so much as properly process his cheeky retort, his lips were on yours. 

The simple action shot shivers down your spine and, instinctively, your fingers tightened on the material of his shirt. Roger kept his finger linked in your belt loop, holding your body flush against his, urging you a half step close as if neither of you could stomach even an ounce of distance between you any longer. The kiss was a little clumsy at first as you tried to find your footing with each other, tipsy strangers, slightly off-centered and yet still intensely dizzying.

His cigarette stayed burning away between his fingers of his other hand, the smoke swirling around the both of you in the dimly lit alley as you melted into the moment. You lifted a hand up to grasp the side of his neck, thumb stroking along his jawline, luring him closer still until he was almost leaning into you. Roger’s hand let go of your belt loop to, instead, splay across your back and keep your body pressed right up against him, his lips moving with yours in slow, hungry kisses that almost made your knees give right out from under you. 

You gave into him almost too easily; letting him part your lips with his own so his tongue could tease against yours. That unmissable warmth coiled tight in your belly from only the change in pace, the tilt of his head, the way his tangled hair felt between your fingers as you held his mouth on yours. Shamelessly, you couldn’t help the small moan that slipped from your throat, letting him taste the pleasure on your lips like a new melody, something only he could lure out of you. 

You burned for him faster than the cigarette in his hand, aching for him in any way you could get him. The fact that you had only laid eyes on each other for the first time not even two hours prior felt obsolete, as if you were meant to find each other, meant to be sharing this moment in the darkened alleyway behind the college bar, meant to be tasting the way his tongue felt against yours. 

Meant to be sinking to your knees to the cold, hard concrete ground in front of him.

Roger’s breath shuddered in his chest at your simple action and he rested back against the brick wall of the bar, silently entrusting you completely. You could feel his eyes on you as you popped the button on his tight blue jeans and the zipper gave way almost too easily from the pressure hidden beneath the denim. When you glanced up at him again, he was lifting the cigarette to his lips for another deliberate drag, expression shadowed in the limited light. He didn’t stop you. 

The concrete ached your knees but you focused your attention on him instead, on the way his fly fell open all too easily, on the way the waistband of his underwear felt faintly damp with sweat from the performance, on the way he habitually pushed his hips out towards your touch when you grazed your fingers over the tented fabric. It was too dark to get a proper look at him when you pulled his cock out but you didn’t want to waste time anyway. 

Instead, you tucked your hair behind your ear and leaned in to drag your tongue right up the underside before wrapping your lips around the swollen head in a greedy suckle. Roger let out a small shaky breath at the introduction of your warm, wet mouth. His eyes stayed locked on yours as you peered up at him and slowly took him deeper, finding a lazy pace as you hollowed your cheeks. 

“Fuck…” he groaned.

The cigarette was hurriedly placed between his lips so he could have both hands free to reach down and help pull your hair back and out of your face. You moaned around him as he started to guide you gently with his hands in your hair and you reached up to wrap your fingers around the base of his cock to keep him steady. Sinking deeper around him, you could feel yourself salivating as if this alone was not enough to satisfy your hunger for him.

Roger groaned lowly from above you, cigarette dangling between his lips and hair partially falling in his eyes as he watched you on your knees for him. From that angle, you knew he could still see his drumsticks poking out of the back pocket of your jeans—a quiet reminder of everything that had passed between you tonight, the spark that started the moment the lights dimmed onstage, from that first drumbeat. In that moment, you would have given him anything he wanted. 

You wanted to be good for him, to give him a night as unforgettable as yours already was, and so you pushed yourself deeper until you gagged lightly around him, forcing a tight inhale from the man above you. Roger’s hands tightened in your hair, guiding you, keeping your pace, although there was an obvious hesitation in his movements as if he didn’t want to push you too far. You just took over anyway, pushing deeper until tears stung your eyes and you were forced to pull back for air. 

When you sat back with a choked gasp, spit dipping down your chin, Roger spoke in a quivering whisper, words muffled through his cigarette, “Jesus Christ, you’re unbelievable…”

All you could do was smile and move back in, swirling your tongue around the swollen tip as your hand stroked his foreskin back some more, giving you direct access to the most sensitive parts of him. Luring such obscene reactions from him made your heart race, desperate to hear more of them, no matter what it would take. So your other hand joined in, tugging down the front of his jeans a little more so you could gently grasp his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze while your mouth tended to his cock. 

Except the sudden sound of the back door slamming open startled you back. In a split second, you were on your feet and Roger was turning away to button up his pants, both of you scrambling to look like nothing had happened.

A small group of drunk patrons stumbled out into the alley, not even noticing you and Roger a few meters down in the shadows. They were engaged in their own drunken ramblings and laughter as they made their way in the other direction towards the main street and you watched them as you caught your breath. Just then, Roger’s arm went around your shoulders, drawing you nearer, hiding his smirk against your cheek. 

“Well, that was bloody close.”

You chuckled breathily, a hand falling against his chest, “You can say that again.”

Roger lifted his boot, snuffing the cigarette against the heel before flicking it toward the dumpster without a second glance. Then, his arm around you tightened, drawing you in, and he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth—soft, almost teasing—then another, closer. When you finally turned into him, he caught your lips in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, like he was still tasting the moment you’d been pulled from.

It lingered, lazy and warm, until he pulled back with a low groan.

You followed after him, giggling quietly into his chest, fingers tangling in the back of his hair, “What?”

Roger didn’t answer right away. His mouth brushed yours again in a barely there kiss before his teeth nipped at your bottom lip, smug and unhurried, murmuring, “Think it’s time I got you somewhere less public.”

The van across the alley was unlocked and he slid open the door to usher you inside first. Every horror movie ever would have insisted against getting into the back of a stranger’s van after dark but there was an unspoken trust you held towards Roger. So you climbed in.

The floodlight from above the back door of the bar filtered through the van’s curtain-trimmed windows just enough to offer some illumination into the cramped space. It was what you would expect from a van belonging to a band of young twenty-somethings; messy but somewhat decorated inside, a place to cart instruments doubling as a place to hang out. 

The spacious back lounge area was lined with worn auburn carpeting that matched the upholstery of the two front seats, unifying the interior in a soft warmth, tainted with the scent of stale booze and cigarettes. The dashboard held a state-of-the-art radio and sound system and atop it sat a scattered collection of maps, pens, notebooks, and empty cigarette packs. It was clearly a well-loved van that did the most to get them around London for various weekend gigs between classes and mundane life. 

It felt like an escape in a way; a shut out corner of the world where they could have started to really feel like they made it. A tour bus, of sorts. Something theirs. Hopefully, an indication of what was to come. 

You were halfway into the van, crawling on hands and knees across the carpeted floor, when Roger reached forward and pulled the drumsticks out of your back pocket. Before you could turn around, the pair was hit playfully across your ass with a sharp smack, his grin unmistakable even in the dim light—all mischief, no apology. A silent nudge to get moving.

“Cheeky,” you tutted with a giggle as you settled into the back of the van atop the mismatched blankets and cushions that were strewn atop the carpeted floor. 

Roger only smiled and set the drumsticks between his teeth as he followed you inside, giving himself his hands free to crawl in and shut the door behind the pair of you. Perhaps if the circumstances were different you might have made some polite conversation—complimented how cool the van was, made some passing joke about putting too much trust in strangers—but there was no time for that now. 

Instead, you were far too distracted by the way he was crawling over to you, situating himself above you as you rested back against the cushions and the opposite wall of the van. He still had those fucking drumsticks between his teeth, his eyes blown wide and almost sparkling even in the subdued light around you, a look like a man on the prowl. It was strange how much the sight of the drumsticks between his teeth turned you on, a taunting reminder of where your night had started and where it ended up now; quite the scandalous turn of events. 

You reached up to wrap your hand around one end of the drumsticks and gave them a gentle tug to lure him closer, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you watched the way he followed your silent demands. With one hand on either side of your body, positioned over top of your outstretched legs, Roger opened his mouth and let you take the drumsticks out; the playful moment fading away into something much more serious.

Then, as if by instinct, once the drumsticks were tossed aside, your hand found the back of his neck as he leaned in towards you and you drew him in, capturing each other’s lips in a wet, smiling kiss. 

An undeniable heat poured through your veins and you kissed him like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. Your fingers tangled in the back of his hair, right at the nape of his neck, a fistful of messy blonde, as if you needed something to ground yourself to reality, to remind you that he was there. Right there, over top of you.

Roger tilted his head to the side a little more to deepen your kiss and he parted your lips with his own to slip his tongue into your mouth just the smallest amount. Your fingers tugged at his hair at that action—almost as if to pull his mouth harder on yours—and you moaned into his kiss, letting him swallow up your sounds with hungry lips and tongue. The taste of cigarettes lingered in his mouth, bitter and smokey, and for a moment you just wanted to inhale him completely, breathe him right into your bloodstream like nicotine. 

In the quiet of the van, there was no sound but that of your sloppy kisses and mirrored breaths—wet, hungry, fueled with passion. Your fingers scratched through the roots of his shaggy hair and you could have sworn he almost purred in reply, absolutely withering at the sensation, lips slack against yours for just a moment. 

You took that moment to speak to him, whispering into his mouth, “You’re so fucking sexy.”

Roger groaned right back, “Fuck, say that again.”

“You are so fucking sexy,” you repeated—dreamily, deliberate—letting every word sink in as you mouthed at his jawline in lazy kisses and then nipped at his earlobe, “And hot. And gorgeous.”

He chuckled lazily, and when he replied, his lips grazed the shell of your ear, his voice a low rumble that stirred something deep inside you, “Say it again while I’m inside you.”

The bluntness of his words almost had you choking on air, but before you could even respond, he turned his face toward yours and pressed his lips back onto yours for more steamy kisses. You moaned genuinely against his mouth, both hands framing his face, pouring all your concentration into every second of that moment. He still hadn’t touched you, with his hands still holding himself up on the mess of blankets on either side of your body, letting his lips do all the work. 

But it wasn’t long before he was shifting over top of you and nudging up the bottom of your shirt and popping the button on your jeans, all without breaking away from your heated kiss. You let him do as he pleased while you slung your arms around his shoulders and drew him closer, pushing your tongue against his between sloppy kisses and panted breaths. He held himself up on one hand while his other helped itself down the front of your jeans. Your legs parted a little wider to permit him to touch you, spreading the best they could with the way his knees were anchored on either side of your outstretched legs.

Your kiss only broke when his fingers first grazed over your clothed clit and the pressure had your head falling back silently against the blankets and pillows, lips parted in a shaky exhale. Roger stared down at you in the back of the darkened van, your face shadowed out of the light from the alley, the two of you breathing together as one as he touched you greedily. The friction of his callused fingers through your underwear was dizzying and you instinctively offered him a tiny nod in encouragement. 

“Yeah?” he echoed, voice rich and warm, almost filthily condescending if you thought about it too hard, “That’s it, yeah?”

“Yeah…fuck,” you withered, fingers grasping onto the back of his tanktop as you writhed against the mess of blankets and cushions. You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip in a feeble attempt to keep yourself composed. 

Roger pulled his hand back just long enough to lick his fingers before he was slipping them back down your pants and, this time, down your underwear too. You flinched as his fingertips made direct contact with your clit, finding it with the undeniable ease of a man who truly did study biology. You silently praised the fact that, okay, it seemed he was good at absolutely everything. 

“Blimey, you’re soaked,” Roger muttered in near awe from above you, “You been like this all night?”

“Uh huh…” you replied easily, “Since I saw you on that stage…”

“Yeah?”

Roger slid his hand lower, the angle slightly awkward since you were still completely dressed, but you were both far too into it to care. Besides, the moment his slender fingers dragged through the sopping mess of your cunt and made it throb from just a graze, logistics didn’t matter. He slid two fingers inside you with ease just as you pulled him down for another heated kiss. 

The feeling of your muscles so tight around only two fingers had him groaning into your mouth between distracted kisses, starting to curl them inside you. Your breath caught for a moment, the heel of his palm pressed right up against your clit while his fingers stroked purposefully, wrist stuffed down the front of your jeans and keeping him close. It felt as though every single nerve ending in your body was standing at attention, sizzling from every touch. God bless the hands of a musician. 

After just a moment, Roger pulled back just enough to glance down, breath hot and ragged, muttering, almost to himself, “Fuckin’ hell…” 

Your hips instinctively nudged up against his hand as he slowed, a breathless huff slipping from your chest as he removed his hand from your pants. 

“Get these off, yeah?” Roger’s fingers hooked at the waistband of your jeans without wasting a second, already tugging them down, “Gotta taste you.”

He leaned down to nudge up the hem of your shirt and mouth kisses over your stomach but he didn’t get much farther than that. You grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling him up just enough to look him in the eye in the shadowed back of the van. He peered up at you with wide eyes, almost like a deer in headlights, surprised by the fact you were stopping him.

Your voice was rough and earnestly desperate as you told him, “Don’t want your mouth…just want you to fuck me already.”

That pulled a dark, breathless laugh out of him. His surprised expression melted into a grinning smirk and he pushed himself up, away from your body to finish tugging your jeans off your ankles without argument. 

“Coulda told me sooner, love. Wouldn’t have kept you waiting. I’d have had you up against a wall in the dressing room.”

Your head tipped back against the blankets, moaning softly at the image, but you found your voice again just long enough to murmur, “Been thinking about it since the first minute I saw you on stage tonight.”

Roger barely batted an eye at your statement, too focused on pulling off your shirt and then reaching for the button of his bursting jeans. You helped him to strip, both of you scrambling to rid your clothes in a hurry until they were strewn across the back of the van and forgotten about, leaving him in only his tank top and you in only your bra. In all your readjustments and undressing, you ended up knelt in front of each other, lips locked in another searing kiss, hands wandering and exploring bare skin. 

And then you were setting a hand against his chest and guiding him backwards until he was slouched back against the locked door of the van, draped out over the blankets and propped up on a stray cushion. It wasn’t graceful but it was intensely hot and you could feel your insides burning with lust as he pulled you after him with a hand at the back of your neck to just keep kissing, while you tossed a leg over his lap. 

“Gonna give you what you want then,” Roger mumbled against your mouth, “Gonna fuck you proper.”

You sat up straight on his lap and reached down between you to get yourself situated, his eyes watching your every move as you did so. His breath hitched as your hand wrapped around him, guiding him to your entrance with the kind of aching anticipation that had both of you trembling. And when you started to sink down on him, slow and sure, the both of you shared dreamy exhales and tepid moans, plenty satisfied after the nearly unbearable build up.

Your hands fell flat against his chest as you eased down on his cock in lazy rocks of your hips, slicking him up in your plentiful wetness, gliding all too easily. Roger’s hands stroked your thighs as he watched the way you moved on him with his bottom lip between his teeth, his dick disappeared entirely inside of you, swallowed up by your tight, warm body. The look on his face was that of awe, pure ecstasy. 

“Yeah…” was all you could breathe in near relief as you bottomed out. With your ass pressed to his thighs, you were subject to every last inch of him and you took a moment to familiarize yourself with the feeling, the way he stretched you out just the right amount to push that dreamy warmth across your abdomen. 

“Come on,” Roger said lowly, almost impatiently, hands gliding up your thighs to give your hips a squeeze. You didn’t need much more encouragement than that and without another word, you started to bounce yourself on his lap in short strokes that were just enough to pull a moan from his chest, “That’s it.”

The whole van creaked with every bounce, the old shocks almost groaning beneath you, but it only made the whole thing feel filthier—like you were doing something you weren’t supposed to in some dim-lit corner of the world, hidden away with nothing but the sound of skin on skin and Roger’s low moans filling the space. You could hardly see each other with how dark it was, just able to make out the faint shadowed outline of each other’s features in the faded light leaking in from the alleyway. Out of everything, how much you could see was not at the top of your priority list. Besides, your eyes were screwing shut in seconds anyway.

“Fuck,” you withered breathlessly as you worked to keep your ungraceful pace with your hands anchored on his chest. 

You could feel Roger staring at you, even with your eyes shut tightly and your head tipped back in pleasure. Rather, he was not quite staring as much as gawking. His hands on your hips helped to move you, helping to keep your pace of messy bounces that pushed pleasure through your veins like heroin. The carpeted floor of the van felt rough against your knees but it was a far cry from the pavement you had been kneeling on moments earlier. Anything was worth it for this…even if you would certainly have rug burn in the morning. 

Roger’s hands let go of your hips to cup over your bra, giving your breasts a two-handed squeeze that pulled a gasp from your chest. His thumbs stroked firmly over your nipples through the thin fabric, eyes all over you even in the shadows, “Fuckin’ perfect…look at you.”

His touch, his voice, his body…everything just spurred you on, making that fiery craving deep within you burn hotter, more unbearable. You bounced harder on his lap with a needy whine, fingers fisting the front of his tank top, dizzy on the alcohol in your veins and the lewd clap of skin on skin. Roger grunted lowly as you rode him harder and his hands tightened on your chest—squeezing, pulling.

“God, you feel better than I thought,” you confessed in a panted breath, voice a little pitchy with pleasure. 

Roger’s head tipped back against the door with a breathless laugh, like your words had done something to him, like he could barely believe it, “Yeah?”

He shifted just the slightest bit on the mound of blankets and cushions beneath him, tilting his hips just a little more as he thrusted up to meet your bounce.

“Been thinkin’ about this since the second I saw you, babe—knew you’d take me so fuckin’ good.”

You cried out prettily through his praise as his body nudged up against yours, working with you to chase that pleasure. It was so overwhelming and, yet, almost didn’t quite feel like enough yet. The world felt like something outside of yourself, like reality had fallen away into some dreamlike state, and you wanted to chase every second of it before it fell through your fingers. 

With a finger looping through the silver chain Roger wore, you tugged him up towards you to crash your lips against his in a filthy, tongue-led kiss. His arms went around your body entirely, holding you on his lap as your bounces turned into needy, hurried grinds of your hips on his. The two of you shared hungry moans into each other’s mouths, bodies rutting together like animals, hot and sticky and panting for more. 

Before you could so much as utter another moan, he was shifting out from underneath you and flipping you over, switching positions so you, instead, were draped back over the pile of blankets and cushions. Propped up just enough against the door of the van, you giggled in surprise at the sudden change, how easily he took control, taking what he wanted, and you peered up at him like he was a god. 

Roger reached forward to set a hand on the window edge of the door, his other hand pushing your thigh back to give him room to push deeply into you again. His firm thrust had your head dropping back with a pretty moan, fingers twisting in the blanket you were draped on top of, heavy-lidded eyes blinking up at him. It didn’t take long for him to pick up where you left off, returning to that same needy pace you had set on his lap, now giving it to you in deep, firm thrusts that stole the breath from your lungs. 

“Mmm…my God…” you all but sobbed, a hand flying out to fist the front of his shirt again. 

Roger leaned over you, his breath hot against your cheek as he grunted, “Yeah, that’s it, baby...take me all the way. Fuckin’ hell.”

You tugged at his tank top, panting out a needy, “Harder…faster…please.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. His thrusts quickened instantly, driving deep and fierce until your breath was stolen and you were left gaping dumbly up at him. The van rocked beneath the force of his movements, creaking shamelessly—both of you utterly oblivious and uncaring how obvious you must’ve looked to anyone outside. Inside, the cramped quarters of the band van smelt like sweat and cigarettes and the unmissable stench of sex, the walls and worn carpet bearing witness to every gasp and moan from the both of you, a melody of ecstacy.

Your hands scrambled across his shoulders, feeling the way his muscles flexed beneath your fingertips as he fucked you into the floor of the van with reckless abandon. Your moans turned shameless, high and sweet and unrestrained as he drove you higher with every brutal snap of his hips. The tightness coiling within you was unmissable and yet just slightly out of reach, infuriating. 

So you dropped a hand down between you, rubbing desperately at your clit as he kept thrusting into you consistently, his panted breaths and pretty groans falling against your cheek. He gave it to you just how you wanted it, hitting all the right spots that had your eyes rolling and your toes curling. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you shrieked as the tension grew to unbearable heights, your muscles clenching around him like a vice, pulling a low groan from his chest. And you sobbed out his name when you finally came, head arching back against the blankets and the door of the van, your body shuddering through the waves of your orgasm as he fucked you through it.

Roger was barely about to get his wits about him enough to ask gravelly, “Where d’you want it?”

You still had yet to properly catch your breath, chest heaving as you struggled to think of a response for a moment. Then, “Wanna come on my tits?”

“Fuck…yeah,” Roger groaned and then he was pulling out, leaving you horribly empty as his hand took over instead. He sat back from you while he stroked himself off at that same relentless pace, “C’mon then.”

You hurried to shift closer, positioning yourself in front of him so that, only a few seconds later, he was coming across your chest in thick spurts. His moans were angelic, arguably pitch perfect, working himself off with his hand until your bra was splattered in messy white and more was leaking down between your breasts. 

You grinned lazily up at him, chest rising and falling as you caught your breath, the both of you slick with sweat and satisfaction. Roger let out a low groan despite his smile and he grabbed a crumpled t-shirt from across the floor to wipe you down, the gesture oddly tender despite the filth of what had just happened.

He collapsed beside you, arm lazily draped across your waist, and the two of you sank into the mess of tangled blankets and flattened cushions. The air was still heavy, humid with sex and summer heat, but it no longer felt suffocating. You were curled into his side, your bare legs tangled with his as he lit a cigarette, the flame from his lighter dancing golden light across his flushed face for a moment before disappearing, leaving behind just the flaring red tip of the cigarette in the dim light. When he pulled you in closer, your head fit perfectly in the crook of his shoulder, the rise and fall of his chest slow and steady beneath your cheek.

His skin was tacky against yours and the blankets were scratchy but neither of you seemed to mind, finding your peace as strangers who didn’t quite feel like strangers any longer. The silence was peaceful as you laid there together and he smoked away the dopamine high, watching the smoke twirl up towards the low wood-paneled ceiling of the van. He offered out the cigarette after a moment and you took it from him graciously between index and middle fingers to bring to your lips for a relaxing drag. 

Roger watched you like that, tucked up close at your side, playing idly with the ends of your messy hair and threading it through his fingers. When you leaned your head back into his arm around you to look up at him, he leaned in to steal a kiss from your lips. Blindly, you passed him back the cigarette. 

“I’ve heard rumours that you’ve got a record deal,” you stated after a while of bathing in the silence. 

Roger chuckled lowly, smoke tumbling from his lips, “Nah, nothing like that yet, I’m afraid. Although, this studio up by Wembley allowed us to record whatever we wanted as a way for them to test some new equipment.”

“Well that’s good then, isn’t it?”

“The producers seemed somewhat chuffed with what we laid down, if I do say so myself,” Roger added with a crooked smile.

He held the cigarette out to you and you took it, responding simply, “They’d be stupid not to be instantly wowed.”

“I’m afraid you might be a bit biased there,” he teased.

“Not at all. I can even put in a good word for you: ‘These guys are so talented, absolutely wonderful. And that drummer of theirs is an incredible lay’.”

Roger’s head fell back with a genuine laugh, his arm tightening around your shoulders. You smiled through your next puff of the cigarette, warm at the sound of his laughter over your ridiculous joke. 

You lingered in that quiet moment, sharing the cigarette and whispered talks of the future. He spoke about where he wanted the band to go, how big he wanted to make it, all the songs already swirling in his mind. It was clear this wasn’t just a dream — it was a calling. Any talk of university or backup plans was brushed aside, irrelevant compared to this fire in him. He was so passionate, so certain, it made it easy to believe in him too but who knew what the future would hold. 

You were just starting to feel drowsy, tucked warm beneath his arm, comfortable in your hideaway, when a sharp knock landed against the steamed-up window of the van.

“Oi! Roger, you dirty bastard!” came a muffled voice, followed by a chorus of cackles.

Another joked to the others with a, “You owe me five quid, darling! I said he’d be mid-shag!”

Then came a third voice and another firm knock on the window, “Bar’s closed, mate—they kicked everyone out. Time to quit muckin’ about in there, we gotta get going.”

Roger groaned and dragged a hand down his face, but he was grinning despite himself, peeling himself away from you to lean over and stamp out the cigarette in the ashtray on the floor as he called back, “Alright, alright! Give us a second, would you?”

You felt a pang in your heart at the realization that your perfect night was coming to an abrupt ending but you didn’t let your disappointment show. Instead, the two of you moved with haste to redress and then Roger was yanking open the back door of the van, allowing the cool night air to spill inside. 

His three bandmates stood against the alley wall a few paces away, one nursing a cigarette of his own, a stack of instrument cases towering beside them, waiting to be loaded into the van you had just tainted. None of them really batted an eye at the situation as you climbed out of the van in some terrible forward walk of shame, Roger’s hand on your arm making sure you didn’t lose your balance. 

“You sure we can’t drive you home?” he asked softly, hanging out the back of the van like he knew just how cool he was. 

You lingered close for a bit longer, voice quiet, as if trying to hold onto the moment of just the two of you for as long as you could, “I’m sure. I’m not far.”

Accepting your reply, Roger then leaned in to kiss you, once, twice, and then for the third one, you linked your finger in his silver necklace to keep him there for a little longer. When he finally pulled away, he was grinning, sly and handsome, eyes all over your face as if memorizing every inch to memory. 

“Oh,” he suddenly dipped back into the van for a second before returning with the drumsticks in hand. He held them out to you, “These are yours.”

You smiled back and accepted them, slipping them into your back pocket once more with a quiet thanks. 

“Take care then,” Roger said simply. 

You left him with one more kiss and a whispered, “Don’t forget about me when you’re famous.”

When you walked away from the van that night, you didn’t look back, even as you felt his eyes watching you retreat. You never saw him again; not in that way at least. Instead, you followed him and his career through television and the newspapers and their chart-topping albums as his band climbed into fame. Just like how you knew they would. 

Sometimes, you thought about that night back in the early half of 1971, the stuffy college bar and the loud music and that blonde drummer who looked at you like you were everything, just for a night. The drinks, the cigarettes, the van, the flirting, the sex.

Sometimes, as you listened to their number one hits on the radio, you wondered if he remembered that night too.

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Roger was late to his job. Unfortunately for him, it started to rain. He forgot his umbrella in his flat, and he was swearing at himself for not being better prepared.

He hurried through the rain as fast as he could until he could reach the shop. ‘“Gladly it isn’t winter or autumn, I’d be catching a flu in that case”, he thought, hoping to minimize the chances of a cold and wishing to be under a roof.

Meanwhile, Freddie was in the shop quite bored because the amount of people was way lesser than usual. Among the sound of the rain and the few people outside, the radio was playing. A new song was being presented by a kind presenter.

“Damn rain, I hope it can stop before we need to leave at night,” Freddie thought to himself. He was waiting for Roger and that was rare because, he was usually the one that was late. “I hope blondie has his umbrella” Freddie said to himself, watching the rain pouring.

Some minutes later, after one sale that distracted Freddie from his boredom, Roger had entered to the shop, completely soaked. Roger opened the door of the shop, and after closing it behind him, stayed on the doormat. Freddie took a coat to try to dry Roger a bit. He ran to Roger to cover his friend with the coat.

“I haven’t a towel to dry you properly… Luckily, we’re onto the summer season, so no one would buy this”

“Ahhh, thank you, Freddie” Roger said, feeling relieved.

Freddie couldn’t help but hug him.

Roger hugged Freddie too, smiling like an idiot.

A person was walking on the sidewalk and saw them hugging, they frowned and said “Those faggots.” Freddie and Roger didn’t listen to those words, but Freddie saw the disgusted expression on the person’s face and showed his middle finger to the person. Roger noticed Freddie’s movement, so, left the embrace to ask what was going on.

“A person saw us hugging, and he frowned... surely insulted us, so I showed my middle finger” Freddie replied, watching Roger’s eyes.

Roger couldn’t help giving Freddie a little smooch on his lips. That surprised Freddie.

“That’s the spirit!” Roger exclaimed. “Now… well, it’s time to work” he added.

“You couldn’t work with all those soaked clothes” Freddie said, going to grab some clothes and shoes from their stall.

“Freddie… you’re taking my fave clothes… why?”

“Because you’re my favourite person in the world… and I want to see you dry and happy… and fabulous!”

Roger blushed.

“We will lose the sales of those clothes…”

“I don’t care at all,” Freddie said, giving the clothes to Roger. “You’re more valuable than the sales” he added, with his eyes shining for the blond.

Roger blushed even more and smiled.

“For these kind of things I love you,” Roger said.

“It’s mutual, darling” Freddie added, blushing a bit too. “Now, go and change your clothes Rog”

“I’ll do” Roger said, going to change his outfit.

After some minutes, a more dry Roger emerged, wearing his favourite clothes. He was smiling.

“Something good is happening today” Roger said, contemplating his outfit in a mirror. “Thank you, Fred”

“You’re welcome, darling” Freddie said, hugging Roger from behind.

Freddie gave a little kiss on Roger’s right cheek. The blond smiled. Both gazed at themselves in the mirror until the door bell sounded.

“Gosh, we have clients,” Freddie said, running to attend to the client. Roger hid the soaked clothes quickly.

That day hadn't seen a lot of movement, but they had a good time together, and gladly the rain didn’t ruin their night plans.

---------------------------------

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They set down multiple items of food that you saw on the menu, from pasta to pizza. You just watched as they set down plates and plates mouth agape. 

“Does everything look good to you guys?” Carrie asked once the last plate of food was set down.

“Yes, everything looks perfect. Thank you so much.” Roger gave her a smile as she left.

You looked at Roger, then to the food on the table, and then back to Roger and started to laugh, you laughed until you had tears in your eyes and he joined you.

“Roger-” you said in between laughs “Why did you order so much?” just thinking about all the food on the table made you go into a fit of laughter again. You covered your mouth with both hands to try to stifle how loud your laugh was.

After a while, you calmed down enough to wipe the tears that were falling from your eyes.

“Well I didn’t know what you wanted to try and I always get the same thing when I come so I decided that I should get a couple of things on the menu,” he said shyly.

“A couple? Roger, it looks like you ordered the whole restaurant.” you jokingly teased.

He stared at you in silence sticking his chin out to the silverware that was set aside for you. 

“Oh no Roger please serve yourself first.” You don’t know why you felt like this, maybe it was the way you were brought up.

He grabbed a plate and you felt yourself sigh with relief. 

“What did you want to eat Mickey,” he said fork in hand gesturing at the plates of food.

“Huh” never in your life had you been served by a man. It’s not like you had a problem with it, it was just new to you. It felt wrong and you were sure that if your mother had been there she would have scolded you for not serving him.

“Well I think your a chicken parm type of girl,” He said while he cut about half of the chicken parmesan and put it on your plate. 

“Andddd….” he drawled out, “I think you would also like some shrimp alfredo” putting another serving on your plate. 

“And finally some pizza.” As he put 2 slices of pizza on the side of your plate.

Your eyes met his droopy blue ones and at that moment you felt something pull in your chest. You haven’t been in a relationship in years, you have been on dates since you’ve been living in England. But you always made an excuse to stop seeing the other person. 

You have never met anyone like Roger though he was so confident and didn’t care what anyone had to say about him, and something about that scared you but it also made you more curious.

Roger lives such a different life than you. You like to only go out when you need to where he barely stays home, You like to stick to that shadows and not cause a scene while he needs everyone’s attention to feel satisfied. You are complete opposites it couldn’t work out in the long run.

But.

Every time he smiles at you or cracks a joke you feel like you are floating as if you two are the only people in the world. You haven’t known him for long… practically a day at most. But you couldn’t help to let yourself go a bit more while you’re with him.

He slid your plate back to you carefully as it was filled with food. You smiled and grabbed his plate and served him the same way he served you.

…

Walking out of the restaurant with full stomachs and 2 bags worth of leftovers you felt satisfied and honestly a bit sick. You both ate way too much and somehow he managed to convince you that you both needed desert.

He also refused to let you pay for the meal or even go half. He just put cash on the table and even left a good tip for Carrie too.

He opened the passenger seat for you again and gave him a small smile before getting in his car. He gently shut the door and jogged over to the driver’s side to get in.

“What do you want to do now Mick?” he asked as he started the car.

It was going to be nine but you didn’t have anything to do the next day except maybe for a couple of alterations but you were sure you could get those done quickly.

“I’m up for anything Roger.” You said as clasped your hands and put them on your lap.

He pulled out of the parking lot and started driving. 

“Do you think it would be cool if we went by my apartment, Freddie really wanted to meet you and he’s probably hungry too.” 

You felt your stomach drop a bit, you didn’t have anything against going into his apartment but what if he was expecting something from you? He brought you to a nice place for dinner and paid for everything.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to either Mickey, you can say no” he laughed a little to make you feel better.

“We can just drive around and once one of us thinks of something we can do that… is that okay with you?” he asked as he gently took one of your hands from your lap once he saw you picking at your skin. 

You drove around listening to the soft music playing from his car and you allowed your mind to wander off for a bit. You don’t know how but you were suddenly weighing out the pros and cons of being with Roger. Pros: he is a really great guy, he is really kind and always pays attention to how you are feeling especially if it was something you were uncomfortable with. It also didn’t hurt that he was easy to look at. Cons: you are very inexperienced in relationships and especially with a man. 

Your only other relationship had been with Olivia and you had been friends with her first before you actually dated. Everything seemed like it was moving too fast with Roger, which isn’t always a bad thing. You felt your stomach flip and you felt your food come up.

You pulled your hands from Roger’s to cover your mouth as you breathed in and out from your nose to try and calm yourself down.

“Mickey? Are you alright?” He asked looking over quickly at you before turning his eyes back to the road.

“I think I’m going to be sick Roger,” you said hands still clasped over your mouth as you shut your eyes trying to get ahold of the situation.

“Oh my gosh okay okay, let me find somewhere with a restroom Mickey.” He said as he made a sharp turn that only made things worse.

“Oh no Roger pull over pull over pull over.” you kept saying feeling your dinner rise.

He pulled over on the side of the small road that was thankfully not busy. You quickly found the door handle and jumped out of the car and emptied your stomach out on the side of the road.

Roger was by your side in a second pulling your hair back and repetitively asking if you were okay.

Once you were finished you felt gross and somehow even sicker. Your throat hurt and your stomach felt like it was throbbing for some reason. 

Roger helped you get into the passenger seat again as you tried to get your breathing under control. 

“I’m sorry Mickey I was driving too fast this is all my fault.”

Only Roger could make you throwing up and ruining your almost perfect date his fault.

“No Roger I’m sorry I don’t know why I got sick all of a sudden.” You said.

“My apartment is literally down the street I’d honestly feel a lot better if we could stop there first and get you some medicine before I take you home.”

That didn’t seem like too bad of an idea, you shook your head yes and felt your eyes start to drop feeling extra tired.

Roger started the car again and said “Don’t worry Mickey, I got you.”

thanks for reading!!

“What if no one likes my song?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Jens you know as well as I do that no one really sings original pieces here. It’s always covers of famous songs, and the last time someone did do an original he was booed off the stage.”

“First off, his song sucked and he kept screwing up on the guitar. So of course he was thrown off the stage. But you—you’ve got a serious talent in song writing. And your voice—baby girl the only other female singer I can compare you to here was your mom.”

“You really think so?”

“Coming from a Texas man forced to move here when we first met, you’re bout the only good thing in this one horse town. Hell you’re way better than just sticking right here. Especially since—well you know.”

“I know. It’s……it’s been rough. Ever since the car crash mama’s been—well not herself lately. Music is bout the only thing I can do to make her happy.”

“So you get up on that stage and knock these cow-folks right off their boots. Now go relax on the dance floor and I’ll let my old man know you’re here.”

“Thanks Jensen.” I pulled out my wallet to pay for the beer but he stopped me.

“No need, this one’s on my tab tonight. But expect to pay me back once you hit the big time.” I smiled at him and pocketed my wallet back into my jeans.

“Thanks Jensen, you’re like the brother I never had.”

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you yah silly little day dreamer.” He teased as he placed his cowboy hat on top of my head, teasingly rocking my head from side to side till I stuck my tongue at him and took another swig of my beer.

I then headed off to the dance floor to cool off (dancing always helped me calm down, especially when it’s with a group of people) and I danced with some of my old friends from high school, just letting my hair down as I danced the first hour of the night away before they would call up the performers for karaoke night.

*3rd Person POV*

Unbeknownst to (Y/n), it was also on that night that the most famous rock and roll band would also be there on that night to see her perform.  Freddie Mercury, Brian May, Roger Taylor, and John Deacon, otherwise known as the band Queen, had just arrived in Oklahoma city to do their two night concert they had scheduled for their “A day at the Races” tour.

To let down some steam and relax after a few days on the road, Freddie had heard about this club from a friend of his and convinced the other three to come along and check it out.  All four of them wearing cowboy hats, so that they wouldn’t stick out like sore thumbs, they entered inside and saw the whole place buzzing.

“Wow, this is even more filled than the Disco club Veronica and I met at.” Said John.

“Well Tony said this was the one place in America where you would get a traditional Southern treatment.” Said Freddie. “And I like it. It’s reputation proceeds itself.” He continued with a smile as he adjusted his hat.

“Remind me again why we had to wear these though?” Roger said.

“Don’t be such a party pooper blondie. Besides you see every man in here. Tony said that everyone in Oklahoma wears cowboy hats. Anyone who doesn’t is automatically labeled a stranger. And I don’t want no Wanted poster of me across the state for refusal to wear a cowboy hat.” Freddie said as he playfully shoved Roger.

“It’s not so bad.” Brian said as he fiddled with the string of his hat.

“You’re just saying that cause you can’t feel it on your head.” Quipped John.

“Alright, alright Deacy darling you’ve had your shot at Bri. Now I don’t want any more brawls tonight. I wanna enjoy this night, you three know how much I love to party. So don’t fuck this up for me.”

“If you wanted that Fred then you should’ve left Roger on the bus.” Brian said.

“You know what yah curly haired space poodle……”

“Gentlemen.” The four of them turned to see an old man around his mid-50’s walk up towards them.  He wore a traditional brown colored cowboy hat, his grey goatee reflected off the lights, and the spurs off his boots jingled with each step. “Now I get it we all need to let off some steam, but if you’re gonna cause any trouble I’m gonna ask you all to leave.”

“No worries my good sir. You must forgive my friend here, he didn’t quite have him fixed yet so his testosterone can run him ragged like one of your bulls.” Freddie sweet-talked the man.

“Watch it Fred!” Roger sneered as he took out a cigarette and lit it up.

“Alright. I’m trusting you to keep an eye on your friend there. I get enough drunks brawling every night here, I don’t need another damage fee added to my billing. Bobby Singer, owner of Cowboy’s.”

“Pleasure to meet you Bobby dear. I heard about this place from a friend of mine and this place does not disappoint.” Freddie praised as he and Bobby shook hands with each other.

“Thank you son. Built this place myself with my own two hands before moving the wife and son up here.”

“How long has this place been here?” asked Brian.

“Well came up here around 51, bought this property at around 53-54 and the doors finally opened by the start of the 60’s so…..about 16 years this club has been around. And she’s still going strong.”

“Impressive.” Freddie praised.

“What kind of drinks do you serve here?” asked Roger.

“Well if you mosey on down to the bar, my son Jensen will lay down everything we got. We mostly do beer but if you can take something stronger, we got that as well. Enjoy yourselves boys.” As Bobby walked away, the boys bid him farewell.

“He seemed nice.” John said.

“A friendly old man, kinda reminds me of Miami. Firm, strict, knows when you’re starting trouble Rog.”

“Watch it Fred.”

“Alright come on, I think we can all do with a drink right now.”

“Yes.”

“Or ten.” the band members walked over to the bar to see Jensen cleaning out a mug.

“Excuse me darling!” Freddie cried out to Jensen.

“Yes can I he—he-ha-ha……oh shit! You’re….you guys are Queen!”

“Yes. I take it you’re a fan of ours?” asked Brian.

“Y-Yeah.” Jensen squeaked.  He then cleared his throat before continuing, “I mean yes. When I first heard Bohemian Rhapsody for the first time, it changed my life on how I look at music. Not even some of my favorite bands can do what you guys do.”

“Well thank you darling. Bohemian Rhapsody was a masterpiece.” Freddie said.

“But a complete nightmare to make.” Roger added in.

“So what can I get for you guys?” asked Jensen.

“What all do you got?” asked John.

“Well you guys actually came on a good day. Wednesday nights are our special’s night. Every drink at half price. We’ve basically got every beer imaginable, but we also do vodka, gin and juice, margaritas. And of course we have the basic water and soda for those sensitive to the strong stuff.”

“Well then my darling, we’ll go ahead and take three of your finest beer and a vodka shot please.” Freddie said.

“Coming right up.” Jensen walked off to prep the drinks for the four young band members.

“He seems like a nice chap.” Brian said.

“He does indeed.” Agreed John.  Before another word could be said, Bobby soon came up on stage and said.

“And that was Carol Anne with ‘Sweet home Alabama’.” The crowd then cheered. “And now ladies and gents, it’s time to be graced by our very own special songbird. Please welcome our very own Southern Belle. (Y/n) (L/n)!” the crowd cheered and it was then the four English rockers soon saw a young woman coming up on stage.

She looked to be about John’s age, maybe a couple years younger.  In her hand was a 12 string acoustic, she got onto the stool and adjusted the mic.

*My POV*

God my nerves were really starting to get the best of me.  What if no one liked the song? Oh god I wish daddy could be here, he always knew just how to calm me down.  I adjusted the mic and plugged in my guitar.

“Hello everyone. I uhh—” I cleared my throat. “Tonight I’m gonna do something a little different than my last few performances. This is an original piece I’ve been working hard on. Hope you all like it.” I turned towards the ensemble band and nodded to them.  They nodded back and as I began playing the opening on my mama’s guitar, Aaron came in with the violin and Jack soon came in with the bass.  

By the chorus, Daniel came in with a soft drum beat and as I passionately sung out the chorus, I could already hear some people cheering or whistling at me.

She was driving last Friday on

Her way to Cincinnati on a

Snow white Christmas Eve Going home to see her mama and her daddy

With the baby in the backseat Fifty miles to go, and she was running low

On faith and gasoline It'd been a long hard year She had a lot on her mind,

And she didn't pay attention She was going way too fast Before she knew it she was spinning on a

Thin black sheet of glass She saw both their lives flash before her eyes She didn't even have time to cry She was so scared She threw her hands up in the air

Jesus, take the wheel Take it from my hands 'Cause I can't do this on my own I'm letting go So give me one more chance And save me from this road I'm on Jesus, take the wheel

*3rd Person POV*

Everyone was involved in hearing (y/n) sing.  Like her mama before her, the adults all whistled and cheered for the young girl for she truly did sound like her mama whenever she sang, maybe even better than her.  But the one most intrigued by her was the leading frontman of Queen.

“Just who is that talented young lady?” Freddie spoke out as (Y/n) played a small instrumental break in the first chorus.

“That there is (Y/n) (L/n). Her parents were known in this club. Her mama for her singing and her dad, God rest his soul, he was the world champion bull rider. She’s got a gift with that voice of hers.” Jensen said as he cleaned out a mug.

“She does indeed.” Freddie muttered in awe as he continued to watch (Y/n) sing the next part of the song.

There was one point of the song where she held out a note so long, it felt like she was running on endless air.  The crowd all hooted and hollered as she held that note before finishing the song.  Everyone soon cheered as loudly as they could while (Y/n) smiled under the spotlight and stood up from the stool and took a bow.

“Wow she was amazing.” Brian praised.

“I’ll say, she held that note for like 10 beats. Not even I can do that.” Roger said.

“Excuse me, Jensen.” Freddie called out.  Jensen who had just gotten done serving another round of drinks for a bachelor party, came back over and said.

“What’s up?”

“Where can we meet that talented young lady?” he asked him.  The other three band members looked at Freddie confused.

“She’ll be out back. That’s where she usually goes when things get too hectic here.”

“Thank you so much darling.” He dowsed the last of his vodka and stood up and walked out of the club with the other three members behind him.

*My POV*

After the performance I went outside to cool off. I stared up at the starry sky and whispered.

“I wish you could’ve seen it daddy. It seems I really wowed everyone tonight.”

“You did more than just that dear.” I froze and slowly turned around and—pinch me I must be dreaming.  Cause right there in front of me stood my all time favorite rock and roll band Queen.  I closed my eyes and shook my head trying to wake myself up from this dream and found that I wasn’t dreaming.

Freddie Mercury, Brian May, John Deacon and Roger Taylor were really right in front of me.

“You—you’re……”

“Yes darling we know who we are. But what I’m more interested in is who you are. How long have you had that lovely voice for?” Freddie said as he came up to me and actually wrapped an arm around me.

“Well I uhh—for a while I guess.”

“And that was an original song you sang back there?” Brian asked.

“Yeah just…..a little something I came up with. Was it bad?”

“Au contraire darling, it was unlike anything we have ever heard. And that’s saying something.” Freddie said.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. The way you managed to have utter control of your voice as you belted out certain words of the song. Only one other person has been able to do that and that’s me.” Freddie bragged.

“Umm hello what about me?” Roger piped in.

“Oh yes you and your dog whistle range. That takes skill too.” I softly chuckled.  Man this was definitely not how I pictured this night would go (well except in my dreams). “Now then (Y/n). How would you like to be an opening number for our concert?” wait what?

“What?” I asked.

“What?” I heard the other three echo back.

“You’ve got the voice, the talent, you are too good for just singing at the clubs. What better way than to finally dive in and take this opportunity.”

“Uhh Fred can we talk to you for a second?” John soon spoke up.

“Just stay tight for a moment (Y/n) dear.” Freddie said as he bopped my nose before walking back towards his bandmates.  Okay what the hell just happened?

*3rd Person POV*

Freddie and the boys walked a few feet away from (Y/n) so that she couldn’t hear them.

“Fred are you crazy right now?” Roger hissed softly.

“What?”

“We can’t just go picking up random singers off the streets and ask them to open up for us!”

“I agree with Roger. No offense, but I don’t think Reid or even our tour manager Bill will go along with this.” Brian added.

“You don’t believe she’s worth giving a shot too?” Freddie asked.

“No, no it’s not about that. She is talented, beyond talented. We just—can’t do something like this. Picking up a random teenager and ask her to leave everything behind for the rest of our tour.”

“They do have a point Freddie. Plus how do we know she even wants this? I mean maybe she just sings for fun. To be honest I never thought we were that serious till our first album went on the shelf.” Deacy said.

“Okay first off that hurts Deacy dear. How dare you think that. And number 2, I have a feeling she does want it. She may not physically show it but there’s something in her eyes that show that she wants a chance at the real spotlight. And who am I to crush a fellow singer’s dream? Especially one as beautiful and adorable as her, just look at her!” they all turned towards her. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get an additional family member in our rag-tag band.”

“Whoa wait hold on now you’re saying we need another person involved with Queen?” Roger snapped.

“I’m thinking broadly Roger dear. Don’t be so dramatic about it darling. Now then, are you three with me?” Brian, Roger and John looked at each other and Deacy was the first to speak up.

“You’ll never let it go either way. I’ll say yes.” Fred smiled before turning to Brian.

“I mean—” he sighed heavily. “Okay fine, she can come with us. But only if her parents say it’s okay.”

“Well blondie?” Fred questioned as he turned to Roger.  Roger sighed heavily and said.

“I’m already ruled-out even if I say no.” Freddie cheered and hugged his bandmates before heading back over to (Y/n) to discuss his brilliant idea.

*My POV. 1 year later*

If you had told me that on the night I would perform my first original piece live before the people at Cowboys and then told me I would soon be standing before Queen, who not only saw me sing but also offered me the chance to perform alongside them, I would’ve called you crazy and laughed in your face.

But it happened.  With Jensen’s and uncle Bobby’s approval I was able to tour the rest of the North American tour with Queen.  I’ll admit it was frightening to perform in front of my first crowd of over 12,000 people, but once I got on that stage and just sang it felt good.

We had just gotten done doing a concert at the Hammersmith Odeon.  As par-celebration we all headed to a nearby pub the guys had rented out for the night and anyone who was involved with the concert was invited to come.

By 1am everyone was either completely drunk and were passed out on the floor, or they were having sex in the bathrooms. Wanting to perk myself up, I went to the restrooms to splash some cold water on my face but before I could walk around the corner toward the sinks I heard some girls talking.

“I mean don’t get me wrong Roger is amazing especially in the sack but why would he allow someone like her on stage?”

“Yeah all those songs she sings are soooooo boring!” I peeked around to see that the girls who were talking were some of Roger’s groupies.

“Queen is just being dragged by that little bitch who can’t sing for shit.”

“All her songs about Jesus or God or whatever. She doesn’t fit with them. I think they just pitied her so she could go on stage and sing her little country songs.” It was a stab to the heart.

I raced out of the bathroom and tried to contain my tears.  But it only got worse from there.  Walking pass the men’s bathroom were a few of the roadies who were talking about me.

“She brings to band down don’t you think? I mean her songs just aren’t up to par with where Queen is at. In fact I’ve seen sales going down at our concerts because of her.”

“Dorothy should’ve just stayed in Kansas singing for pubs. She’s nowhere near concert stadium material.” At that point a few tears ran down my face.

Was I? Was I really that bad? Did the guys really pity me? Was this all a big joke to them? I ran out the back way and just ran down through the streets of London.  

Not caring where I was going, or where I’d end up. I just figured the father I ran, the farther I would be away from those people and their cruel comments.

The next morning I was at my apartment (technically it was Freddie’s old apartment that he and his ex-girlfriend Mary had) lying on the couch holding the couch pillow close to me.  The things that the groupies and even some of the roadies said last night still rang through my head like a church bell.

Maybe I should give it up. I mean after all like they said, no one really listens to me perform.  So I decided to pack up my stuff and go back to America, back to Oklahoma, maybe try to get a job at Cowboy’s or something.  As I was packing up my last bag, the door suddenly opened and I heard Roger’s voice call out.

“Oi (n/n) you here?” shit why did Freddie have to give out spare copies of the keys?

“(Y/n) you in here?” I then heard Deacy’s voice speak up.  Oh great, not one but two of the Queens are here.

“Is everything okay poppet?” Brian’s voice echoed out. Great could this day get any worse?

“Everything’s fine.” I called out to them.  I quickly came out of my room and shut the door before walking towards the living room. “Hey guys what’s up?”

“Well you disappeared from the party last night darling so we came to see just why that was?” Freddie said.

“You didn’t sneak off with anyone last night did yah?” Roger teased.

“No! I—I felt kinda tired after last night’s concert so I just took a cab home.” I gave them a white lie.

“Why didn’t you tell one of us you were leaving? You know how dangerous the streets can be at night.” Roger said as he plopped himself on the couch.

“I’m not some fragile flower Rog. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can. I just can’t help it sometimes, you’ve become like another sister to me, plus Jensen made me promise to keep an eye on you less he shoot me in the arse.” I rolled my eyes as I chuckled.

“(Y/n) dear~” Freddie sang out as he peeked from the hallway. “If you don’t have anyone here, then why is your door shut?” oh shit.  I quickly turned towards him and he just grinned as he raced towards my room.

“Fred no! Don’t!”

“Oh so there is a handsome beast you’re trying to hide from us!” I ran behind him trying to stop him from getting in my room. “Oh-ho-ho this must be serious then, he not dressed or something?”

“No Freddie there’s no guy now please don’t go in my room!”

“Technically it was my room first so I get first—” he opened the door and that’s when he saw the suitcases.  “What’s all this?”

“I didn’t want you guys to see that.”

“So what were you planning on leaving without saying goodbye!?” By now I’ve seen Fred literally explode on some major temper tantrums but this—this wasn’t anger.  This was disappointment, and when Fred lowers his voice, looks you straight in the eye almost to the point where it’s like his eyes are piercing your soul, that really tears you up.

And you never want to make Freddie Mercury disappointed in you.  Cause let me tell you, it is the worst.

“Fred—”

“No, no, no. Please I would like to know as well.” Roger’s voice soon rung out.  I groaned internally as I turned to see the remaining three band members standing right outside my door.

Roger’s eyes glaring right at me with his arms crossed over his chest.  Brian’s eyes in shock at seeing the suitcases, and Deacy—he looked like he was about to cry.

“Well!” Roger snapped impatiently.

“Hey Rog lay off on her will yah?”

“Brian are you not as upset as we are about this?!” Fred asked.  At this point the three hotheads began screaming at each other.  God this was a nightmare!  I was hoping to just leave without any drama and now I’ve done and caused it!  I held my hands to my ears and shut my eyes trying to drown out their shouting and screaming.

Next thing I know I feel a hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes and there stands Deacy. His eyes soft, not looking at me in anger or disappointment.  He gestured with his head to follow him and the two of us snuck out of my room.

We both sat down on the couch, him sitting close to me as his arm wrapped around me.

“Do you want some tea?” he asked me.  I shook my head no.

“Umm…..I don’t know if I’ve totally ruined this but—could I get a hug?” a soft smile spread across his face and immediately his arms wrapped around me.

“You know you will always get a hug out of me sis.”

Since Deacy and I were the youngest members of the band, we kinda clicked more than the rest.  Guess our shy natures also kinda mixed in together so we kinda had our own special psychic bond with each other.  We always knew what the other was thinking or needed, we would pull the other aside when things got too chaotic (just like now cause I never liked getting or hearing fights).

His fingers stroked through my hair as I adjusted my head so that it rested over his heart.  We sat there in comfortable silence (well besides the still arguing hotheads in my bedroom).

“I’m not good enough for you guys.” I finally confessed.

“What?”

“I—I heard some of Roger’s groupies and even some of your roadies literally talk about how I don’t fit with you guys. That I’m not even that good. Or that you guys just pitied me in order to help me get on stage.”

“I knew those tramps would be trouble.” I heard him mutter.

“But they’re right.”

“No they’re not.”

“Open your eyes Deacy!” I removed myself from his embrace. “My music and Queen’s music they just—don’t mix. I don’t do hard rock songs like you guys do. No rock fans are gonna wanna hear me sing just plain country or folk songs for 20 minutes. They’ll just be going out to get beer or go shag till you guys come up. I’m boring!”

“You’re not boring. Those arseholes are boring. If they can’t withstand a 20minute first act then they shouldn’t even be at one of ours. Because we most certainly perform longer than that.”

“Well you guys give a performance, not just a show. For me; it’s just me and my guitar. I mean yeah there’s people that may like a song or two from mine. Hell you guys allowed me to have a song on A Day at the Races and News of the World. But—in person I’m plain.”

“You’re raw.” I looked up at him confused. “I don’t mean raw in the sense of bad or disgusting. I mean you’re vulnerable. You don’t do the flashy lights, the loud hard rock of drums, or extremely, overbearing, long ass guitar solos.” I couldn’t help but laugh at that. “It’s just you up on that stage. Just you and your guitar.”

“And people should see you as that.” We looked up and finally ceasing their arguments, Freddie, Roger, and Brian now stood there.  Freddie came up behind me, Brian knelt down in front of me, and Roger sat to my right.

“But they don’t.” Freddie began to massage my shoulders.

“Darling when I first heard you sing back in the states, It was like anything I’ve ever heard in a female singer. You have this rawness that can make anything a song. You could write a song about taking the piss and it’d be a hit.” I rolled my eyes.

“More like a flush down the sewers.”

“Oi you need to stop with the negative thinking!” Roger playfully growled as he took my head between his hands and playfully shook it, almost as if he were trying to shake out the negative thoughts out of my head.  I couldn’t help but laugh at his antics as I tried to free myself.

“Cut it our Rog!” I laughed.  He stopped then said as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Forget about what those rotter’s said. Never, ever doubt your talent. Because you have got something that not even Queen could ever have.”

“And just what is that?” I asked doubtfully.

“Rawness. Like John said, it’s just you up on stage. Most of the rockstars like us come up glammed out to the max, prance about the stage and do the headbanging hits. You—you connect with the audience just as yourself. And if people can’t see that, then they’re fools.”

“So you guys didn’t pity me when you asked me to join you guys?”

“Absolutely not! Whoever says that you just tell me and they’ll be dropped like yesterday’s rotten tomatoes.”

“Thanks you guys. I—I really needed that.”

“Hey, you’re part of this family now. We look out for each other.” Brian said as he gently took my hands in his, his thumbs gently stroking the back of them.

“There’s just one last thing that needs to be taken care of to ensure you’re feeling your normal happy self again.” Freddie said.

Oh no. Please not that!  At this point all four of them had the look of evil on their faces.

“No. Guys don’t you dare!”

“Too late lovie, we gotta make sure you’re back to your full-fledged happy self again. And we’ve got Jensen to thank for sharing with us your deep, dark secret.” I tried to make a run for it but it was too late, Brian trapped me in his long arms and soon I was gang tickled by Queen.

A couple weeks after that, we had just gotten done playing an arena in Houston, Texas.  Wiping the sweat off of my forehead (after not only doing a few of my own songs, but also joining alongside Queen playing guitar or piano) I accidentally bumped into someone.

“Oh sorry I—wasn’t paying attention.”

“That’s quite alright. Say you’re the young woman who just performed alongside Queen correct?” this man had a strong Tennessee accent.  From underneath his cowboy hat I could see sandy blonde hair and he had the most striking blue eyes.  He looked to be about his mid-40’s.

“Yes.” I said wearily.

“Oh sorry I know this must seem a bit creepy, please allow me to introduce myself. Stan Singer.” Wait what? Oh my god!

“Wait, Stan Singer? The Stan Singer, manager of Glen Campbell?”

“The very same, you a fan of his?”

“Yeah. My—my daddy first introduced me to him when I was just 5 years old.”

“Man has good taste.” We both laughed. “How long have you been performing with Queen?”

“A year.”

“A year? Now that I don’t believe.”

“Well truthfully I’ve been performing on stage back home in Oklahoma for a few years at a bar a family friend of mine owns. Cowboy’s.”

“No kidding. I was just there last month.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Quite a shindig that place.”

“Oh yeah, it gets crazy some days. But it’s the best place to go to.”

“Listen (Y/n), While I have enjoyed managing Glen and don’t get me wrong he’s a great guy and a great singer. I’m also looking out to see if there’s a next big thing I could help mold. And seeing you up on stage, you’ve got that special little niche in the realm of country singers. How about joining me for lunch so we can discuss a contract.”

“Me? You—you want to sign me up for a record deal?” I asked ecstatically.

“You’ve got something I’ve never heard from any male artist. Here’s my card, just give me a call whenever you’re ready to talk.” He handed me a business card and said his goodbyes as he tipped his hat at me.

Wow I—I can’t believe it.  I’m actually gonna get a real shot with my own manager.  And Glen Campbell’s manager, nonetheless.  I can’t believe this is actually happening to me.

Wait….what about the guys? What would they say? Would they be mad if I took this deal? Left them when we’ve already grown so close with each other?

During our bus ride to the next city of New Orleans, I was looking at Stan’s card debating whether I should call him or not.

“What’s that?” Roger spoke up.  He soon plopped down beside me with his arm over me. “Ooh a name and phone number! Already got yourself a groupie huh?” he teased as he nudged my shoulder.

“No Roger it’s nothing like that.” I nudged him back.

“Hey did I just hear (Y/n) got someone’s name and phone number?” Deacy soon piped in peeking his head from the curtains of his bunkbed.

“(Y/n) you sly little minx.” Freddie teased.  Oh man was I really not gonna miss this.

“Alright you guys lay off of her will yah. Now just who was it that gave you their phone number (Y/n)? Will there need to be any—talks we need to do with this boy?” Brian said.

“I already told Roger Bri, it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it? I mean normally a guy wouldn’t give you his number unless he wants a date or something else.” Roger spoke. Deacy came up and slapped Roger over the head. “Ow! What was that for?”

“For being an idiot.”

“It’s a business card guys! For Stan Singer. Glen Campbell’s manager.”

“Wait I’ve heard of that guy. Yeah he’s like one of the best country singers out there.” Roger said.

“Yeah. Well Stan actually saw the show tonight and well he—he offered to be my manager. He wants to sign up a contract with me.”

“Oh my god darling yes!” Freddie cheered as he came up and embraced me tightly.

“Congratulations (Y/n).” praised Brian.

“But—” I started off.  Fred separated from me and he said.

“But what dear? You’re finally on your way! This should be a celebration!”

“But what about us? You guys? What if—what if this is the last time we’ll ever see each other?” at that point the guys grew quiet. They looked at each other and that’s when Deacy spoke up.

“The future is uncertain. Maybe someday we will meet again. But (Y/n), if you don’t take this shot now you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

“It’s like Deacy’s song says. Time to spread your wings and fly away.” Brian said as he placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. I looked between the four of them and they all had the same look.

Acceptance and love.

I felt my eyes watering up and I choked out.

“I’ll miss you guys.” They immediately hugged me and told me they would miss me too.  We remained in that group hug for the rest of the night till we arrived in New Orleans later the next day.

As soon as we got to the hotel, the guys sat with me as I called Stan up and told him that I would like to have lunch with him to discuss the contract.  Stan agreed to fly down to New Orleans and once that date was made, the guys brought me in one last final group hug telling me how proud they were of me, that they loved me and knew that I would become big in my own way.

On June 27th, 1977 I preformed my last concert with Queen as their opening act and the following day, I met with my new manager Stan Singer and together we went over the rules of my contract.

By the end of the 1970’s into the 1980’s my name had flown to the top of the charts in country artists.  So far in the 3 years of my growing career I had toured America twice for my 2 albums I had released under Sony records.

As I expected I was mostly popular in the southern states where country music reigned supreme on the radio.  But I did have some fans in the northern, Mid-west and western countries but I mostly toured around the South.

I was now performing back in my home state of Oklahoma to an arena of 20,000 people.  I had just gotten done preforming my biggest hit “Jesus take the wheel” and everyone went crazy for it.

“Thank you!” I turned and saw one of my roadies hand me a stool and I thanked him before setting it down right at the edge of the stage.  I adjusted the mic stand as I sat down. “This is a new song that I wanted to do especially for you my home sweet home. So you guys will be the first to hear this song coming up on my next album.” The crowd cheered. “But this song is also dedicated to four special men in my life. Without them—I wouldn’t even be up on this stage before all of you. It’s called Ready now.”

Then with just me on the guitar I began to sing my newly finished song “Ready now”.  As I sang the song, during the long instrumental breaks, I thought back to the guys.

All the fun memories I had with them while on the road with them.  Being there with them during their recordings, getting to do a song on their albums, or hanging out at the bars together after the shows.

Play video

You saw through me All this time I'd forgotten People are kind

I was hurting And you knew So you showed me What to do

You said, "I will listen Tell it all When you're finished We'll talk more"

But I didn't know how So we took it in turns And to my surprise We found my words

Feet firm on the ground We stood hand in hand The world seemed to tell me That I have a plan

Together we sang I'm ready now

Something new Something strange Ten feet taller I had changed

I believe you I'm not wrong Oh it suits me To feel strong

You said, "I will listen Tell me it all You don't like the ending Then we'll find on that's yours"

Oh, how did you know That's all we need A promise of hope Is enough to feel free

Feet firm on the ground We stood hand in hand And I told the world That I have a plan

Together we sang I'm ready now

By the end of the song, I heard the crowd cheer and as I looked up at the ceiling I did a silent thank you to the boys.  Even though we would never see each other in our career’s again, I would always keep their memories alive in my heart and mind.