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Jim was coming over. Freddie had invited him for ‘biscuits and a chat, dear!’ That they both knew would lead to sex (and hopefully biscuits after), and Freddie was ecstatic. Paul was out, for once, partying without Freddie and having his own fun time whilst Freddie, apparently, ‘left out’. But he wasn’t being left out from anything if he was going to be with Jim.
Because being with Jim meant the best time around. The man being so sweet, so warm and cuddly and the perfect size in Freddie’s opinion. And was amazing at sex.
Freddie even did his make-up, something he hadn’t done in a while. But he had to be honest that the touch up he applied now was different form the full face of make-up he used to wear so proud back in his ‘glitz and glams phase’ as he preferred to call it. The 70’s were an odd time for fashion, and Freddie wondered what Jim would’ve looked like during the time of longer hair and glittery outfits. He would have to ask for any photos the next time they met up.
If they met up again, that voice that had Paul’s tone sounded in his head. Freddie role his eyes at it, and hoped it wouldn’t feel his true fear to his own head taking over him.
He shook his head slightly, to rid the voice, as he practically skipped to the door as the grand clocks chimed seven. The time they had agreed upon a few days prior.
Freddie stood at the door, peering out the window and giving little squeals like a gushing, crushing school girl awaiting her crush under the cherry blossom tree to lay a sweet kiss onto his cheek that would deem her no longer innocent to society.
Freddie took a deep breath, reminding himself that he was an adult and was to do this in an adults fashion, and stepped a few steps back from the door in front of them. Took another deep breath, and looked to the clock. Five past. That was okay.
Twenty past wasn’t.
Freddie took to sitting on the floor by the door when the clock deemed Jim half an hour late.
He, surprisingly, didn’t fall asleep when the clock hit eleven.
His ass hurt from sitting on the carpet, and he wiped his eyes with a pathetic little sniffle as he reluctantly walked over to the bright red phone and stared at the door as he punched Jim’s phone number in.
“Freddie!” Jim sounded happy. Excited he wasn’t with Freddie?
“Deary! Did you-“ Freddie was about to ask, and was hoping he didn’t sound round whilst doing it, when he was interrupted.
“Oh fuck, Freddie!” Jim sounded from the other side of the phone with a slap, presumably to his mouth in a shocked face-palm.
“I’m so sorry, Fred! I didn’t- oh god. I didn’t even realise the date! Today was so busy and-“ Jim rambled, and Freddie was numb to it all.
“Right, dear.” Freddie said with a fake smile in his tone, but none to be seen on his face. “It’s all perfectly okay, darling! We all do it at least once!”
“I know. But- I wanted to see you so badly, Freddie!”
Liar, Freddie almost spat out.
“Me too- it’s alright. Another time?” Freddie knew Paul was right.
He won’t come, Freddie. He won’t want to be near you because nobody else but me want to be by your side.
“Of course! When-“
Freddie hung up on him.
He was so excited. To see Jim, to feel Jim. To let Jim feel him like he let Paul. Jim did sex gentler than Paul, but sometimes Freddie got delicate or hurt and knew not to mention it to his partner because they wouldn’t care, and had had to go through Jim being maybe a bit too rough for Freddie’s liking without a peep of complaints. Anytime he let another person hurt him, he knew Paul would be proud.
Speaking of the man, he entered the house just as Freddie was about to smash the last glass bottle to the floor.
Freddie stopped stilled, standing in the centre of the living room with wide blown eyes directed to Paul who looked over the mess with crossed arms and observing eyes around the damage.
“I told you.” Paul smirked, and Freddie felt a need to scream. He didn’t, just flopped tummy first onto the sofa with a pitiful whimper.
“Clean all this up, Freddie.” He heard Paul over his whimpers as his feet started to ache from the glass shared lodged into the bottoms. The pain had only caught up to him now because he was riding the lows of his ‘tantrum’.
“And stop acting like such a baby.” Paul sneered, and left.
Whilst Freddie was cleaning up, Phoebe came home and ushered him to bed whilst he cleaned up the rest.
“I’ve got it, Phoebe. Thank you.” Freddie said quietly, like how he used to talk to his father. Speak when spoken too, and watch your tone Farrokh.
“Don’t be silly.” Phoebe swatted him gently on the back of the head, ushering him away with his hands as he continued to pick up the glass shards as Freddie stared at him with his tears, the small collection of glass pieces held in his hands being taken gently into Phoebes own as the man gave him a warm smile. “Bed, go.”
Freddie nodded, and padded away with guilt.
He got into his shared bed with Paul, and laid on the opposite side to the man. He was turned away, and Freddie turned around to look at him for a moment before holding his breath as he rolled over and wrapped small arms around the mans waist.
“Get off of me.” Paul sneered, pushing Freddie off of him with an almost gagging noise at someone like Freddie touching him like that. “I’m not a pussy like you, Freddie. I don’t need comfort.”
Freddie let tears slip, and didn’t dare sniffle. He nodded, giving a small “Yes, Paul” like Paul preferred him to do, and rolled back onto his space of the bed to hold himself throughout the night.
He didn’t sleep, instead falling deep into his night the whole evening only to ‘awake’ to a hand down his boxers stroking his member lazily.
Paul was there, and Freddie was frightened to feel that he himself was just as hard as Paul appeared to be through his boner shining through his boxers.
“To make up for Jim not seeing the good in you that I see.” He explained it like the unwanted act was a praise or sympathetic act Paul felt obliged to do because he was here and Jim wasn’t. When in truth, Freddie would rather be alone forever than have Paul’s hand down his boxers.
But he couldn’t say no.
So, Freddie pulled Paul into a ‘passionate’ kiss and let Paul get rough with him to the point of Freddie bleeding again.
He didn’t ask Paul to calm it down a little when he slapped him over the mouth, but that only warmed another too-rough thrust inside Freddie that had the singer groaning in pain. Paul took it as pleasure, or at least took pleasure out of Freddie’s pain, and came inside of Freddie with his own groan of relief.
Not that Freddie was anywhere close to desperate, Paul didn’t bother returning the favour. Leaving the bed in the act of ‘grabbing some tea, is that so bad?’ when Freddie questioned him timidly.
Freddie hoped it was poisoned.