Chapter Text
John gripped the headboard tighter as he tilted his hips forwards and dropped back onto Roger’s cock. He gave a breathy gasp at just how deep the angle felt.
Roger’s lips trailed over the heated flesh of his neck and towards his ear. “You close baby?”
John half-hummed, half-moaned in reply as his other hand tangled through Roger’s hair.
Roger whined in response as John’s cock coasted through his fist a little faster, keeping in time with their thrusts. He traced the head with his thumb, gathering some of the precum along his length. Then he bent his head to softly bite John’s neck, causing him to moan louder. He pulled back enough to watch him, momentarily distracted by John’s gorgeousness.
He looked like a sort of sinfully debauched angel.
With his wild hair nestled around his face like a dark halo, the ends clinging to his clammy skin. His flushed cheeks, red bitten lips, and soft green eyes which always seemed to shimmer much more intensely under the dim glow of the lamp. His face was pathed with pleasure, the slightest crease in his forehead as he began to thrust a little quicker.
John had the kind of body he was almost always battling not to attach himself to, and what was worst was that John knew exactly how to use it.
Or perhaps that was a good thing.
Roger still couldn’t believe he was really his. Beautiful, sweet John, with his gap-toothed smile and infectious laughter.
“Fuck yes,” Roger cursed aloud as John began to bounce against his cock faster still, an intense look in his eyes. It caused pleasure to ripple through him in the best way, steering himself closer and closer to his orgasm.
“Rog,” he mewled softly. “I…I’m gonna…christ, I—”
Roger hummed, his hand tightening around his cock slightly. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
John made a noise at the back of his throat in response. Roger bent his head to kiss his shoulder.
He thrust against him a few more times, Roger’s name on his tongue as he came against Roger’s hand and his own stomach. The feel of John tightening around him had Roger following immediately after with a loud groan.
They lingered against one another to catch their breath, both reluctant to pull away. Eventually, John gently pulled out, wincing a little as he did. He settled against the bed as Roger went in search of a washcloth. After they’d cleaned up, he threw it in the direction of the laundry pile, turned out the light, and snuggled closer to John.
John gave a tired chuckle as Roger’s leg tangled immediately between his, and he pressed himself against his side, seeking his warmth. John returned the embrace by kissing him against the top of his head and tangling a hand in Roger’s hair, playing with the strands as Roger liked when he was sleepy.
“Love you,” John whispered against the top of his head.
“Love you.”
Then he closed his eyes, his breath deepening, on the edge of falling asleep. Just as there was a knock. Roger scrunched up his face in response. “Who’s tha’? Don’t they know how late it is?”
“Ignore it. S’ probably more Caroller’s.”
“Hmm, good point.”
Satisfied, Roger let the lull of sleep pull him under…Just as the knocking started up again, louder, and longer this time.
John gave a tired sigh as he pulled his hand back from Roger’s hair. “Go see who it is.”
Roger whined groggily in response. “Why me?”
“’Cause you laid down last.”
“’S not fair. I’m cosy.”
“Oh well.”
Roger clambered up from the bed with a groan and blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the dark. “Better be important…gonna’ kill whoever’s at the front door.”
John hummed at his boyfriend’s grumblings as he turned onto his side. “’Kay, good luck.”
Roger pulled on his boxers with a smile. He could just make out John’s outline, snuggled under the duvet, his hair sprawled across the pillow. He grabbed John’s dressing gown, quickly shut the bedroom door, and passed quietly through the hallway.
“Coming, coming! Keep your knickers on!” Roger shouted in response to the sound of more knocking. He banged the light switch on, on the way, and squinted under the sudden light as he fumbled with the lock and pulled open the door.
“I’ll have you know dear brother that my knickers are firmly on for your information!”
Roger’s mouth dropped open in surprise as he tried to process the sight of his sister shivering outside his front door at midnight on a Friday evening.
“Clare? Is that really you?”
“The one and only,” she said with a smile. “Sorry if I woke you. I didn’t really think of that when I made the last-minute decision to get the hell out of Dodgeville.”
Something about her tone immediately had Roger moving aside.
“Fair does. Make yourself at home and I’ll go and pop the kettle on.”
By the time he returned from the kitchen, Clare was snuggled on the sofa, John’s blanket over her legs.
“Am I okay to kip on the sofa? Just for a night or two? I would go back to mine, but one of my flatmate’s has got her boyfriend staying over. They’re not exactly considerate with the noise level,” she said with a wince.
“Fair. But er…you can sleep in the spare room. No point sleeping on the sofa unless you have to.”
“Cheers Rog.”
He passed over her cup of hot chocolate, the marshmallows floating on top, and a spoon.
“Did you add baileys too?”
“Of course. Only a drop though. Mum would kill me if she knew I was giving you alcohol.”
She rolled her eyes in response. “Oh come on, I’m eighteen now. She let me have wine with dinner at Christmas, and she must know I drink way more than that when I’m at uni. Besides, it’s hardly the first time. In fact, I seem to remember you buying my first legal one.”
“I seem to remember buying alcohol for you on the sly before that too. As well as the occasional pack of ciggies,” Roger said with a smile.
She grinned as she scooped some of the marshmallows onto the spoon. “And that’s what makes you a top big brother.”
“On that note, cheers,” Roger teased as he raised his cup. He didn’t add how he wasn’t sure their Mum would have seen it like that, and instead, focused on how the baileys warmed his insides.
He watched her carefully, trying to think of a way to approach the subject. She might have technically been three years younger, but she was headstrong. She’d always known what she wanted from life. Roger had constantly been envious of that fact.
She’d knuckled down in her GCSE’s, then her A-Levels. She’d picked to study Medical Science at university and planned on eventually getting her PhD. She was popular too. Especially with the opposite sex.
That was one thing they used to have in common. Until John.
They had the same dirty blonde hair, bright blue eyes and easy smile. The same sociable personality and endless bound of energy. Except, she didn’t seem to have much of that right now. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she was chewing her bottom lip a little too roughly to be reassuring.
“Come on then Clare-bear, what’s up?”
Roger kept his tone light by calling her his childhood nickname for her. Pushing too hard would only frighten her away. Same way it did with him.
“I’m fine. Was just bored of being at home, waiting for the new term to start.”
Roger hummed as he took another sip of the hot chocolate. “Fair enough. Bet Mum was gutted when you left.”
“Something like that,” she mumbled, avoiding his eyes as she sipped on her own drink.
“But Mum knows, yeah? About you upping and leaving Truro in the middle of the night.”
She rolled her eyes again in response. “It’s barely midnight.”
“Late enough that Mum would have a fit if she woke to find you gone. You know that as well as I do.” Roger sighed. “So come on, what’s going on?”
She’d never ran away before. Which was why Roger knew their Mum would be worried.
She fidgeted a little, fingering the edge of the blanket with a far-off look on her face. “Look, it’s not a big deal. I just couldn’t be arsed with any long goodbyes. You know how Mum gets.”
“Still,” Roger said warily. “I’ll ring her in the morning. Let her know you’re here.”
She was shaking her head before he finished that thought. “No need. I’ll drop her a text first thing.”
“Fine, okay.”
He watched her gaze flicker around the room, taking in the decorations still spread about the place. The tinsel hung from the picture frames; the tree nestled in the corner of the room.
“Nice decs by the way. Nice place actually.”
“Tar very much. As you already know this was Freddie’s and John’s place. Before Freddie moved out to live with Brian, and I moved in here. So most of the bits and pieces are John’s.”
“You don’t say,” Clare scoffed as her gaze lingered on the record player in the corner of the room, and the vinyl’s propped up against it. The one Freddie and Brian had gifted Roger was behind John’s. “Thought you were more into The Doors and Led Zeppelin than Abba and Kool and the Gang, or was that just a coverup?”
“Also John’s. Twat.”
She sniffed in response. “Isn’t that a charming way to speak to your baby sister.”
“Then don’t be a twat.”
“Coming from the biggest twat of them all.”
He gave her the middle finger in reply. She poked her tongue out at him, causing first Roger, then Clare to descend into laughter.
“Seriously though,” Roger said once they’d stop laughing. “I’m here if you want to chat. About anything.”
She pulled a face. “Like a heart to heart? You’ve not forced one of those onto me in years.”
“And I’m not forcing one now. I’m just putting it out there.”
“I forgot you’re all about peace and good vibes since you’ve been with John. It’s true what they say then. Love really does make people go sappy.”
Roger rolled his eyes. “Fuck off.”
She responded by blowing him a kiss. “Love you too, brother.”
—
John woke to a mouthful of Roger’s hair. His head was still nestled against his chest, and he was snoring loudly. He gently wafted it out of the way and blinked sluggishly at the ceiling. He’d slept well considering. Albeit the series of strange dreams he’d had during the course of the night.
What he needed was caffeine. And a lukewarm shower to wake him up.
He carefully manoeuvred himself from around Roger, thankful when he turned onto his stomach and continued to snore obliviously.
He grabbed his dressing gown which Roger had seemingly thrown to the floor the night before.
It was as he tiptoed through the hallway that he realised he was still none the wiser about who’d been at the door. He’d already been asleep by the time Roger crept to bed. He shrugged, realising his guess had probably been right. Carol singers, out to enjoy the last of the festivities before the new year.
He moved straight towards the cafetière instinctively, flicking the kettle on, on the way.
“Ooh, are you making coffee? Excellent!”
John started at the sudden voice, whipping his head around in surprise.
The girl in the doorway gave a sheepish smile. She had blonde, shoulder length hair, and had the same deep-set, blue eyes as Roger’s. She was wearing one of his t-shirts, which fit her like a dress.
“Sorry. Us Taylor’s have got the annoying habit of sneaking up on people, figuratively and literally.”
He blinked a few times, before the realisation quickly dawned on him. “You’re…Clare, I’m assuming?”
“That’s me!” she said brightly as she moved to take a seat at the table. “You’re John obviously. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
He quickly looked away to pour the hot water over the coffee grounds, hoping the panic didn’t show on his face. He grabbed a spoon, focusing on stirring instead. “Erm…have you?”
“Absolutely! All good things, of course.”
He poured them each a cup, before tiptoeing back to the bedroom and setting one on the bedside table. His gaze flickered over Roger for a moment, seeing the way he was still spread out like a starfish, dead to the world. He smiled in response and crept back out again.
He found Clare watching a cooking programme in the living room, with the blanket thrown around her. She smiled crookedly at him in the same way Roger often did.
“Hope you don’t mind. I tend to make myself at home fairly quickly.”
It was a trait Roger himself had inherited and was one of the many things that John loved about him.
“No, not at all.”
He headed over to sit in the armchair as she turned her attention back to the television.
“You still enjoying living with my brother? Is his messiness driving you up the wall yet? Or his endearingly loud snoring?”
Before Roger, John preferred order. He liked knowing that everything had its place, and he’d felt an odd satisfaction organising the flat when him and Freddie had first settled there. That had all changed when Roger moved in, but John had grown to love it. It remained a pleasant reminder that they were now in fact living together.
And as for his snoring, it was…just as Clare said. Oddly endearing.
“No to both. Think I’ve gotten used to it actually.”
Clare scoffed in response. “Give it another couple of months. You should have seen his room when me and Mum cleared up after he moved out. It made the local dumping ground look tidy. You wouldn’t believe the amount of cutlery we found hidden away. Not to mention the smelly old socks under his bed. Amongst…other things.”
She gave a shiver, her nose wrinkling a little in response.
John gave a wry smile. “Yeah, that sounds like Roger.”
“He’s got a good heart really,” she said softly. “I used to call him dippy egg when we were kids, because I always say about hoe he reminds me of a soft-boiled egg. The shell is the wall he builds around himself until you get to know him better. Once you crack that, you see the real him. The one who can’t do enough for you and takes a sad enjoyment from reading out all the terrible jokes from the Christmas crackers.”
John laughed in response. Roger had done the same thing when he’d joined John, his Mum, and his sister for dinner on Boxing Day. John found the comparison to be pretty apt actually.
“Yes, I have noticed that.”
He heard a quiet click from somewhere in the hallway. It was followed by the soft padding of feet. Seconds later, Roger walked through the doorway, his hair slightly dishevelled, and still looking a little bleary-eyed.
“Speak of the devil,” Clare smirked.
Roger only huffed in response as he pushed his hair back. Then he climbed straight into John’s lap and immediately reached for John’s cup of coffee.
“Help yourself. Where’s the one I made you?”
“Finished it,” Roger said sluggishly, as he handed John his cup back so that he could drink the dregs. Once he had, Roger set aside his cup and buried his head against his chest.
John’s arms wound around his waist as he gave a roll of his eyes over the top of his head. “God, it’s lucky you’re cute.”
Clare watched them silently, a hint of a smile on her face.
—
“Explain to me whose idea it was to come out again?”
“My sister’s, of course. She likes a party as much as I do.”
John smiled in response, turning his head to watch Freddie and Clare dancing enthusiastically to Reach for the Stars by Steps on the dancefloor.
“I can see that.”
Roger went back to trying to flag down one of the bar staff. Once he’d ordered, he leaned in to talk over the music again. “Shame Brian couldn’t join us.”
“I got the impression he’d rather be at work.”
Roger laughed in response. “Probably. I can count on my hand the number of times that Bri’s been out clubbing since he started uni.”
“Ah! That reminds me. I clearly remember you promising me a dance the last time we went out.”
“Oh god I did, didn’t I?” Roger groaned. “Alright fine, come on then. Let’s down these first. You better make it worth my while though, Deacy. I’m talking a hand-job and you on top, at the very least.”
John rolled his eyes in response. “Any excuse to negotiate sexual favours.”
Roger grinned. “You know me. Have to take the opportunities whilst I can, baby.”
By the time they had a few more drinks, it was impossible to get John off of the dancefloor. Which meant having to tolerate the torture of dancing himself if Roger wanted to spend any quality time with him on a night out.
Once he started to feel flushed from the alcohol and dancing, Roger decided to leave Freddie and John to it to go and have a cigarette. He could do with some fresh air.
“Ahh there you are. I was wondering where you’d got to.”
Clare grinned from where she was leaning against the brick wall. “Fancied a ciggie.”
“Great minds think alike.”
He let a couple of girls pass on the narrow pavement before he moved to lean against the wall next to Clare.
“Didn’t know you liked dancing so much, Rog.”
He rolled his eyes as he lit his cigarette, hearing the teasing edge to his sister’s voice. “I have to, don’t I? That’s if I want a look-in with Deacy.”
“And you weren’t enjoying yourself at all? I reckon dance classics are your guilty pleasure after all.”
“Fuck no! Just because you’ve always enjoyed dancing around your bedroom to cheesy pop.”
“Hey! Nothing wrong with that!” She said, laughing loudly in response as she flicked the ash of her cigarette to the floor. “Thanks for letting me stay at yours. I should be gone by Sunday.”
“Yeah, sure. No rush. Like we said, you’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”
Roger liked having Clare over. He’d admitted as much to John earlier in the day. They didn’t get to hang out that often unless they were visiting their Mum at the same time these days.
She smiled in response. “Cheers Rog.”
“No worries. You know you can stay whenever.”
The cigarette hung limply from between her fingers as her expression softened. “I know I take the mickey and everything. But you’ve always been a decent big brother, you know that? At the risk of sounding mushy and shit.”
Roger laughed in response, drawing his cigarette up back to his lips to inhale. “Think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me, Clare-bear.”
He expected her to make a joke out of it. Instead, she looked almost…sad. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her teeth dragged her bottom lip back. Then she sighed heavily.
“Rog, I…I need to tell you something. It’s about why I ran off from home last night.”
Roger had had a feeling there’d been more to it. “Hit me. I’m all ears.”
“Mum took a call from some…Susan, I think her name was. She was our old neighbour when we lived in Kings Lynn. Remember her?”
“She was the one with the lazy eye, right?”
“That’s her,” Clare said lightly. “Turns out, the police were round ours a couple of days before. Well, our old house.”
Roger watched her duck her head to stamp out her cigarette, his smile tightening in response. “Dickhead still there, is he?”
“Was.”
He said nothing, taking another inhale of his cigarette and waiting for her to clarify that.
“Look, I erm, I doubt there’ll ever be an easy way to say this…he’s dead, Roger. Apparently. They reckon he might have had a heart attack over Christmas.”
It was hardly a surprise. The man spent day and night drinking himself into an oblivion and that was before his parents had split up and they’d moved away. Part of Roger was surprised he’d still been alive. There was also a part which was numb to the news, the shock settling in his bones. And then there was anger too, creeping back out from the corner of his mind. Buried from years ago.
“About time. Good riddance.”
Clare’s gaze flickered over him a little warily. “Rog.”
“What? Were you expecting me to shed a tear over the bastard? If anything, I think we should have a party.”
“There’s going to be a funeral. So Mum says. I convinced her it might have been easier coming from me.”
“Perfect. We can all go dance on his grave.”
“I said the same thing,” she said with a shrug. “But do you not think it might be good for us? To say our goodbyes. At least to the man he should have been, rather than the dickhead he was. For our own sakes if nothing else.”
Roger focused on stomping his cigarette out. Channelling his anger into that, instead of wasting his energy replying to that question.
“Well, it was just a thought. Mum said she’d come along for moral support if we need it.”
“I’ll tell her she needn’t bother. You two can go if you’re that bothered, but that tosser’s already been dead to me for the last eleven years. I don’t see the point of going to some poxy funeral now.”
With that said, he brushed past her and headed back inside, suddenly in need of another drink. He ignored her calling him back.
He knew he could have handled it better. But his father had always been a sensitive subject. He was also a little tipsy, which made it harder not to be so defensive.
He headed straight for the bar, deciding he wasn’t anywhere near as drunk as he’d have liked.
—
John woke to the sound of raised voices. He blinked groggily and then shuffled across the cold, empty bed to reach for his dressing gown. Then he padded through the flat with the intention of finding out what the bloody hell was going on.
“—just as enthusiastic as you about having this conversation. But you can’t just bury your head in the sand over this.”
“Why? You obviously intended to, at least at first. Why else would you have run away from home in the middle of the night?”
John’s gaze flickered between Roger and Clare uncertainly. They were sat across from each other still in their pyjamas, their expressions pinched. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Roger barked immediately, without looking away from Clare.
“You might as well tell him. He is your boyfriend after all.”
“You’re in no position to lecture me about honesty. It took you a day to tell me yourself.”
“Because I knew you’d react like this!”
An uncomfortable silence settled in the small kitchen. Long enough for the worry to churn in John’s gut. He struggled to comprehend what could have happened. They’d had a nice time the night before. John and Clare had shared a portion of chips on the way home, whilst laughing loudly at the way Freddie and Roger decided to burst into Sweet Caroline in the middle of the street.
“I’d like to know what’s happened.”
“It’s about—”
“—Don’t you dare,” Roger warned as Clare went to speak.
“You can’t exactly keep this from him,” she said with a roll of his eyes. “I got some bad news just before I came back to London. It’s about Michael. Our…father. If you can call him that.”
She raised her hands to air-quote the father part.
John automatically looked at Roger. His gaze was still trained against the table, his expression hardening.
“What about him?”
“He’s dead if you must know,” Roger added without looking up.
Clare nodded in agreement. “They reckon he had a heart attack over Christmas.”
John was filled with dread at her words. They might not have spoken to the man in years, but it was still a shock. One that Roger, no doubt, wouldn’t want to talk about.
“I assume there’ll be a funeral then?”
“Yes. A day before New Year’s Eve. Mum rang this morning wanting to know if we’re going or not.”
“Which we’re obviously not,” Roger said quietly. “At least, I’m not. I told you already. Only way you’d get me up there is under the promise of being able to dance on his grave.”
“And I told you, come with us and do it for all I care. The man was a loser. He devoted more of his time to the bottle than to his own family—”
“—Exactly! So why give him the satisfaction of going to his fucking funeral?”
“Because it wouldn’t be for him!” Clare said back fiercely. “It would be for us. To say goodbye properly. We never got to do that all those years before.”
“So go then! You don’t need me holding your hand, surely?”
John sighed warily as Roger stood up, kicking his chair back under the table. He caught the look on Roger’s face as he stormed past and knew better not to follow. He’d need time to cool off first.
He winced at the sound of their bedroom door slamming closed. Clare sighed in response as she pushed her hair back from her face.
“I’ll talk to him. In a bit.”
She lowered her hands slightly, looking up at John with a somewhat relieved expression. “Thank you.”
He nodded, moving over to flick the kettle on. “Coffee?”
“Yes please,” she said, watching him grab two cups. “I hope it doesn’t sound like I don’t understand why Rog is reacting like he is. Given everything he did to us. Well, more to Mum and Rog than me. I don’t remember as much about what he was like as them two do.”
John hummed uncertainly in response. “It’s a tricky situation. For you all.”
“It is. And I worry Roger might end up regretting not going. In the long run.”
John paused, considering his next words carefully. “I think I would have done if I hadn’t gone to my father’s funeral. Obviously, the situation is completely different, but I’m glad I had the chance to say my last goodbyes.”
“Roger did mention your father died young. Only because I’d asked about your parents. We spent a lot of time talking about you over Christmas, just me and him.”
John smiled weakly in response.
“Heart attack, wasn’t it?”
“Err…” he trailed off as he poured the hot water over the cafetière as he replied. “Yeah, it was.”
She gave a sympathetic smile as he stirred it. “You know how it feels better than anyone then”
John pressed the top down slowly as he spoke. “Roger will come around. Like you say, it’s hard enough losing a parent. Let alone losing one that you didn’t speak to.”
She nodded in response. “You’re right. Thanks John.”
He waited until Clare was in the shower before he went in search of Roger. He was laid on his back, an arm slung over his face.
“I bring coffee. Thought it might help with the hangover.”
He remained quiet as John closed the door behind him. John hated not knowing what he was thinking. He deposited the cup on the table, before sitting down on the edge of the bed.
“Help me to understand what you’re thinking about.”
“I thought I made my feelings clear, John. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Not even to me?”
With that, Roger peered up at John warily. “I’m not going to that bloody funeral. Nothing you say is going to change my mind so you might as well save your breath now.”
“Alright fine, if that’s what you want. As long as you’re absolutely sure about not wanting to go. Even when it could finally put the past to rest for good.”
Roger hesitated…then he frowned. “Do you really think that can be achieved just by going to his stupid funeral?”
“I don’t know. It might. I guess you won’t know until you get it over with.”
Roger hummed thoughtfully in response. “How am I supposed to sit there whilst people pay their respects to him like he was this top bloke? I’ll end up snapping and saying something I regret.”
“Well don’t.”
“It’s not that simple, Deacy.”
John reached for his hand as he replied. “I know it’s not.”
Roger watched him closely, his expression soft. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked. Whether you went to your Dad’s funeral?”
“I did, yeah. I was just saying that to your sister. Totally different circumstances, I know, but it made things a little easier. Getting to say a proper goodbye.”
Roger nodded in response as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “Is it enough if I say I’ll at least think about it?”
“Of course, it is. More than enough,” John said, raising his hand to kiss the back of it. “I love you.”
Roger smiled softly in response. “I love you too.”
o-o-o