A/N- This is far too long... but feck it ahaha, it's one of the last few chapters. Enjoy! 😌

H.G
London, England
January

"Hayes, we're leaving."

"No."

Annie tugged my arm pleadingly, "Hayes, come on."

"You're not staying here." George said firmly, his expression plastered with unconcealed concern. His gaze also kept flickering off behind me as if I may be sprung upon at any second. I watched impatiently as he nervously shift from foot to foot.

"Stop your twitching," I huffed, "Everything will be fine, they won't say or do anything with an audience present."

Aren't weddings fabulously awful affairs? I decided to attend my second cousin, Maisie's, wedding after George begged me to accept my invite. He assured me that the rest of the family wouldn't be there, so I decided 'fuck it, why not?'. Not even three sips into my complementary flute of champagne in Claridge's banquet hall, I discovered exactly why the fuck not.

"Griff!" Oliver clapped me hard on the back, "Been a while hasn't it?"

I casually stepped away from his touch as if his presence didn't make my skin crawl. "Oli!" I forced a smile, "You've aged." With delight I noticed the odd streak of silver he was now trying to hide with the sweep of his limp hair.

Oliver bristled but before he could say anything further, his wife appeared and hugged me tight. Since it would serve to piss my brother off more, I returned the gesture and added a brief kiss to Natalie's cheek.

"You look great Hayes!" Natalie smiled but the expression seemed tight. I don't know how the poor dear continued to suffer through marriage to my brother. "How have you been?"

Oliver scowled before he tugged his wife back away from me, "Come on, let's congratulate Maisie."

They walked away which mercifully left me alone with George and Annie once again. Both of them looked as though they were ready to take a swing at Oliver if he even glanced in my direction. I would have paid to see Annie take him on because she's been wanting to do so since the second she married into the family. Knowing Oliver, and his judgemental mouth, I'm sure Annie would have her moment sooner rather than later.

"See?" I hummed and reached for another flute of champagne, "No problems." I looped Annie's arm through mine, "Now let's put your boxing gloves away, and find our seats."

I was struggling to exhale, but that's fine. That will come later I'm sure.

As usual, I was the odd one out at a family function. The ballroom was packed to its full occupancy with rows of white candlelit tables and gaudy centrepieces. Tables that fitted six. Not the Griffith table, no, I ruined everything and made it bloody seven. Not eight, which would have been at least even, but seven, perhaps one of the most awkward numbers out there. I was definitely an afterthought.

Mercifully, I was squeezed in between Annie and Natalie. George and Oliver were also sat next to each other, and obviously neither looked too happy about it. I tried not to dwell on the fact that I was placed between the two women, or that I wasn't offered a plus one. Annie and Natalie spoke over me to one another in an attempt to keep things at the table civil, whilst not allowing any gap of silence to open up at all.

All of their efforts to keep things cool were dashed when my parents walked over. I immediately ducked my head down and just bloody prayed to whoever that I wouldn't be acknowledged by either of them. I reached out and nervously twisted a peony petal between my fingertips as if I was truly interested in the floral arrangement. Pink peonies at a wedding, how original.

"Hayes?" My chest twisted at the sound of my mother's voice.

I kept my head bowed, and began to crush the petal between my thumb and forefinger. "Mhm?"

"Leave it." I heard my father say gruffly. His sharp tone forced me to look up when I knew it was directed at Mum. It looked as though she was about to try and approach me but my father had put a stop to it. My image of my mother had always been a little flawed because compared to my father I thought her bright, bubbly and kind. She certainly didn't appear that way now. I managed to glance at her briefly, just long enough to note that she was bundled up in real mink fur that seemed to smother her small frame.

"George." My mother's smile was thin, sad. I couldn't help but feel guilty that I had taken George from her. The past image of my mother's horrified face on Christmas Eve quickly tainted her current solemn expression and I was forced to drop my gaze.

"Hm?" George didn't meet her gaze either and instead started fiddling with his place card.

This is delightful.

Well, anywho, I ordered the fish option on the set menu: the beautiful citrus and herb-encrusted seabass. That pleasant and flaky fish paired with the sharp acidity of a citrus crust? Delicious. Or so I'm told because I couldn't taste a single thing or manage more than two bites due to my writhing stomach. Annie told me it was fantastic though and I don't care enough to disagree.

"How's work been Hayes?"

I shrugged in response to my mother's question and scowled at my empty wine glass. Mum didn't seem to be deterred by my cold shoulder, my literal cold shoulder because I turned around in my seat to scan the room for a server to fetch me more wine.

"You look good, healthy."

What the fuck is her game? I tried to wave as politely as possible at a girl with a bottle of red without looking like a demanding toff. A terribly difficult task in a room full of Tories. At the realisation I was surrounded, breathing became even more difficult. I began loosening my tie as the server filled my glass.

"Can you leave the bottle? Thank you, darling."

Mum backed off me for a moment, and turned her attention on George. "How are the kids? I haven't seen them in—"

"They're fine." George replied shortly before he leant over Annie to offer me his empty glass.

The Lord Chancellor, Chancellor of the Exchequer, and Kensington's recently elected Labour M.P were all sitting at one table, so naturally a politics debate soon broke out. A picture of this entire room should be put beside the definition for nepotism in the dictionary. Thankfully the bride and groom took to the floor for the first dance, which meant I could make a great escape away from discussion. Annie and Natalie also scrambled off to join some other women in desperate need of freedom from their husbands.

I hid in the bathroom until I could at least inhale again, the exhale was irrelevant. My progress was shattered almost immediately when my father caught hold of my arm on my way back across the ballroom floor.

"Hayes." The usual thick layer of disappointment coated my name whenever father uttered it.

My throat burned, "I'm just going to find George—"

"I hear you have another job offer from the BBC." Dad cut in with a low tone, "You have yet to decline this one."

I struggled to find a way of concealing the slight shake to my hands, so I quickly stuffed them into my jacket pockets. I forced my eyes to meet Alastair's icy gaze and felt myself shrink. My father seemed to have aged once again, deeper lines engraved his brow, the blue of his eyes seemed to have paled. Yet, nothing could take away from his domineering presence and I found myself still being looked down upon despite being taller than him.

"You're better off staying in New York, Hayes."

I attempted to unbutton my top shirt button, the bite of my collar seemed like a vice, "Why's that?"

"I know people in the BBC, we're gearing up my friend Lord Hussey to take over as chairmen once we get rid of Mr Young." Alastair murmured, "He would never allow someone of your... malady to work there. Nor should he have to."

"I don't suffer from any malady, so it shouldn't be an issue." I tried to douse my temper but it wanted to run rampant, "I imagine you're more afraid of what I could say with a bigger platform— a British platform. I'm not George I don't care about any of your politics, it's just a bloody weekly music show. I can't do much damage with it."

With the last word secured I bolted and very bravely hid myself beside George. He was conversing with a group of men who I faintly recognised as lads he attended Eton college with. Not the best crowd, but better than being with my father. George quickly raked his eyes over me as he made some brief introductions.

"You look like you're going to be ill." He whispered.

"I'm fine."

"You're the bloke shagging Madonna!" Terrance, the national English cricket player, exclaimed.

Just like that, I was accepted into the fray. I let their comments and questions wash over me, and simply smiled wryly at random intervals to make it seem as though I was listening. I was so bloody out of my depth, it was almost laughable. Things only got worse when Oliver was nabbed by Terrance in passing.

"Hayes!?"

My eyes darted up at the voice who squeaked my name. Lord Jeremy Byron, one of the most powerful man in Cabinet, had gone white as a sheet as he stared at me. Despite being a toffee-nosed, tosser, Jeremy was rather dishy in that classical sort of sense. Annie said it perfectly when she once commented that he'd be shaggable if his mouth were permanently welded shut.

"How do you know Hayes?" Oliver's eyes squinted with confusion.

"I don't ah—" Jeremy was now burning red, "He's your brother, you've introduced us before!"

Oliver didn't seem convinced by this, but saw no reason for his friend to lie and dropped the matter entirely. However, the former barrister of the Griffith men stared me out if it, curious himself as to how I knew the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster. I simply averted my gaze from George's and shrugged once asked about American women. Oliver looked as though he was about to expose me there and then from the cruel twitch to his thin mouth. I doubted he would, only because my sexuality would reflect badly on him too. Somehow.

"Remy, darling! There you are!"

"Amanda!" Jeremy half dragged a woman in front of him as if she could shield him from me, "You've all met Amanda, my wife!"

Not ten minutes later, Jeremy Byron followed me into the bathroom and attempted to bloody smash his lips onto mine. I didn't notice him trailing me, so naturally, I had a small heart attack. This soon turned to pure panic when I realised where I was and that all of England's top bigots were conferring several meters away, and that the man who managed the Queen's earnings from the Duchy of Lancaster was currently trying to undo my bloody trousers.

"What are you doing you twit?" I whispered and caught hold of his wrists.

Yes, Lord Jeremy Byron is the man from my 'Head in the House of Lords' tale. No, I didn't intend on ever bloody seeing him again. He was simply source material for a tale I would weave to my friends after a few too many whiskeys.

"Just let me— there's not much time." Jeremy's lips tried to find mine again.

Part of me was ready to give in to the man's entitled touch and tone. This was probably only because the last time I allowed it to happen the feeling of "fuck you" to generations of conservative politicians was rather euphoric whilst in an office in Westminster. I was a hero really.

"No. I'm sort of..." I pulled away, "Off the market." I suppose. Not really. Sort of. I think so.

Freddie of course flashed through my mind once the words tumbled from my lips. We were rather indefinable lately, but after Rio I was unable to think of Freddie without a wild rush of excitement sparking up my spine. I always wondered why musicians were able to get away with murder, but I was brainwashed myself after seeing Freddie at his best: performing for an enraptured crowd.

Freddie had hundreds of thousands of people in his palms that night, yet the second he stepped off stage he had searched for me. Still high from applause, Freddie fixed a lovely free smile my way, and in that moment any reservations I had seemed to crumble. I don't think the memory of Freddie loudly declaring that he was giving me an exclusive post-concert interview, and that we were not to be disturbed under any circumstances, would ever fail to make me laugh. Well, laugh or become flustered because Freddie had done some rather wicked things to me behind the locked door of an abandoned dressing room.

"Yes, I'm currently unavailable—"

Jeremy scoffed impatiently at my excuse, "And I'm married! Who cares?"

I ignored that and pushed myself past him, yanking myself out of his grip when he tried one last time to catch hold of me. I walked back towards the table where the six tier, vanilla wedding cake had been cut earlier. As I was brushing off my now slightly crinkled suit jacket, I used my free hand to reach for a ready cut slice on a plate.

"Hayes!" I winced at my eldest niece's shrill voice.

I turned to face Mathilda, who looked completely washed out in a flouncy, pale pink bridesmaid dress. Her eyes dropped to the plate in front of me, as if scandalised that I would indulge in something sweet. I smiled feebly in response, knowing Oliver didn't want me interacting with any of his (adult) children, and I did my best to respect his wishes.

"Uncle Griff," Mathilda sighed, "Do you know how many girls would kill for your waist? Don't bloody let a broken heart ruin that."

I blinked at the implication that I had a feminine waist, and that Freddie was somehow ruining it. Should I be offended? How does she even bloody know about my previously broken heart? Annie. Bloody Annie I'm sure.

"Excuse me?"

"Tilly, don't stir." George appeared out of thin air to whisper furiously at his godchild.

"I'm not stirring!" Tilly huffed with irritation, "I am the only one who is willing to not dance around the truth in this family!"

"Speaking of truth, does your father know you're talking to me?" I shifted uncomfortably on the spot.

"No, because he can't just ban me from seeing the sane half of the family." Tilly tugged the plate from my loose grip. I scowled.

"Anyway, back to Hayes. You totally need to get back out there, this moping is not good for you..." Tilly then proceeded to chatter on endlessly. George and I's eyes glazed over with polite interest when Mathilda proceeded to give us her entire dating history, and how she got over each suitor. Personally, I was rooting for the Irish jockey, but George was team Royal Airforce pilot.

"Mathilda..." Natalie sighed, "Don't bother your uncles with your stories." She gently touched my elbow.

"Oh no," I quickly cut in, "Tilly is simply keeping us entertained." Yes, the girl was a little daft, but I always tried my best to humour her rather than dismiss her. Oliver and Dad did so constantly.

"Granny is coming this way, I suggest you run." Tilly warned me, "I'll distract her!"

"You don't have to—"

George had already grabbed my arm to help us both make a quick escape. I was gearing myself up to leave properly anyway. If I had to dodge another person, or drag myself away from another painful conversation, I may lose it. Every time I so much as caught sight of my father from the corner of my eye my chest felt like it may cave in. Although, I wanted to laugh when I saw my father in deep conversation with Lord Byron as if they were best of mates. Funny that.

I held off for as long as I could, but now I really was ready to flee. I opened my mouth to tell George that I was going to go back to his, but something snagged my attention. Oliver and his little gang of libertines were gossiping, and I appeared to be the topic of discussion.

"Is it true your brother is a poofter?"

Oliver huffed a small laugh under his breath at his friend's question. "Wouldn't surprise me." He wouldn't confirm it outright for now, but he could stoke up the rumours.

"Didn't he used to shag Natalie though?"

My brother half growled at that before deciding to be his usual awful self. "She has no tits, he may have just been confused."

Oliver decided to pop out that dig against his own wife like an absolute fucker. Something I muttered beneath my breath as I took a step forward. George's hand caught hold of my elbow and halted me in my tracks. It's not like I would have done anything anyway because I had always been neither bark nor bite with Oliver. He bloody terrorised me growing up, I knew better than to pick a fight I wouldn't win.

"The Sun used to say Hayes was "friends" with that musician fellow."

"Which one?" Oliver replied as if he didn't know.

"Oh you know the one— the limp wristed chap from Queen.

Oh for the love of god, why are they tittering as if they're hilarious? If this is what passes for comedy perhaps I'll try my hand at critiquing it so that they'll fucking buck up a bit.

"At least all of those pansies are being sorted out now."

"Sorted out?"

"Mhm. They're being wiped out of New York, and thankfully London too by the sounds of it—"

"Oh thank fuck for that!" I exclaimed and shoved myself right into the conversation. "Is that what we're chuckling about? People dying?"

Of course Oliver's chums shut up immediately, too cowardly to say anything to my face. George sidled up to my side protectively but I pushed myself closer to Oliver in an attempt to make him uncomfortable. It worked almost immediately.

"Go away, we're talking." Oliver grumbled and attempted to shift himself away from me.

"Yes, I heard you," I nudged my brother hard in the ribs, "Come on then, I could use a good laugh, what were you all joking about?"

"Your friend Dorothy." Oliver smirked.

All of his friends laughed at that of course but stopped when George geared himself up to flash off some Griffith snark. The poor man was only a novice though so I would handle this myself for now. 

"Oh, she's a lovely girl." I flashed a small grin, "I wasn't aware you knew her so well Oli." Another nudge.

"I'm not—" Oliver looked horrified, "I don't fucking... stop trying to be so bloody clever."

"Most people don't have to try, darling..." I sighed, "But I suppose if this is the company you keep, I could understand why my statement may not apply."

"The company I keep?" Oliver seethed.

"Careful." George whispered lowly.

Oliver ignored him as he turned to face me head on. I felt myself wind down ever so slightly, intimidated by the memory of him rather than the reality of him. I most likely would have avoided the situation as usual, but Oliver decided to take things too far.

"You're the one fucking prancing about with the likes of that prat Freddie Mercury."

Freddie's name in the bastard's mouth with such obvious disgust seemed to rip at something in my mind. Rage, primal in a way I had never experienced before seemed to tear through me as George growled at Oliver to shut up. I somehow managed to leash this unnatural fury just enough so that I could make one attempt not to ruin our cousin's wedding.

"Care to join me in the hallway?"

Oliver's brows raised as if amused, "Oh, how cute." He patted my chest patronisingly. "A backbone."

I would like to say that the moment I finally snapped with Oliver was a smooth and satisfying affair. Unfortunately that wasn't the reality,
Instinctively, I shoved at Oliver's chest like a disgruntled child. I think we were both rather surprised when Oliver actually conceded a few steps.

"Outside." I grumbled.

Oliver glanced over at his "friends" as he steadied himself, always worried about his social standing. "You're lucky I wouldn't hit a woman Griff or you'd be on the floor."

A few apprehensive laughs, "Now, run along. Perhaps back to that f— friend of yours."

One second Oliver had a smarmy grin on his face, the next he was clutching at his nose.

Only for the pain that sparked through my hand I don't think I would have realised I boxed the fucker. After the bloody disgusting word he just used to refer to Freddie, he was lucky to get away with just that.

Oliver looked rather too surprised to retaliate straight away, and I somehow shared the sentiment. My anger was typically cold, not red hot so this was a whole new experience for me. Oliver and I actually proceeded to blink at each other whilst the other men stared at us, mouths' agape.

"Bloody hell." I muttered as I flexed my fingers.

"Hayes!" George quickly tried to push me out of the way, but Oliver had already landed quick a solid blow to my stomach.

"Oliver!" George grabbed a hold of Oliver as I tried to recover from having the breath knocked from me.

"How can you be on his side!" Oliver practically spat as blood trickled down his nose. "He's a fucking—"

I'm sure the sentence had many creative endings, but we'd never know.

It was at that moment I proceeded to knock into Oliver with the force of three decades of repressed animosity. This action sent both of us tumbling out a set of double doors and onto our backs.

From there... it was a clumsy, uncouth, immature tussle on the tiled reception area of the famous Claridge's. Fists, elbows, and knees were flying and of course the commotion immediately gathered a scandalised audience.

"Boys!" Somewhere in the distance I heard my father bark.

Oliver's fist had clumsily cracked against my cheek, which had white flash across my vision for a worrying second before I twisted about so that broad twat was somehow pinned beneath me. Childishly, I pressed his face against the cold tiles as he struggled about. Whilst this was all happening George was trying to tear us apart. I think he may have been hit with a flyaway elbow because Annie had made him tap out before he got hurt any further. After playing extremely dirty and getting a knee to the groin, George got the upper hand once again, but it still appeared like I was winning this.

"You two!" My father hissed.

I may have been half mad because I laughed when my father proceeded to drag Oliver off of me by yanking him up by the ear. My laughter was short lived however when I remembered that Alastair had two hands. He fisted my collar tight like I was an overgrown pup as he brought me to my feet. Quite an audience had gathered about us by now: half of the wedding crowd had spilled out to the reception area in order to join the people who were just innocently checking into the hotel. The ton got a bloody good show today, and that's all that matters.

The next few minutes passed quickly with my heart thundering in my ears due to the edge of adrenaline that had not yet dulled. Dad gave us both a good verbal bollocking before the bride turned up and took over. Which was fair. My mother had attempted to inspect my face at one point with a pained expression, but I had not allowed her to really get near me.

Annie was bloody giddy when her and George finally managed to smuggle me out of the venue, "I can't believe you did that!"

"Mhm," George agreed, somewhat amused as he rubbed at his gashed lip. "It's about time you did."

Whatever primal high I was running on disappeared once I realised that Annie had set up a trap for me upon returning to Knightsbridge.

"You called him!?" I squeaked when I saw Freddie standing there.

Freddie looked annoyingly handsome in a pair of maroon jeans and black polo shirt. He rolled his eyes at my accusatory tone. "Annie did, yes."

It was then Freddie's gaze took me in completely. His expression twisted with a clash of concern and fury, so I'll go out on a limb and say I must have looked rather shit. In a few long strides he was in front of me.

"Hayes are you okay? Annie mentioned Oliver but—"

"I'm fine."

I shirked away from the hand he had attempted to touch me with. I knew George was 'cool' but part of me assumed that he would still be uncomfortable with any such explicit gestures. Being in Tory central today must have exacerbated my past fears. Freddie didn't look offended, he understood immediately. Apparently I was worrying over nothing because it would seem that by brushing off Freddie's attempt at comfort, I had caused Annie to snap.

"Hayes Griffith!" Annie exclaimed with pure exasperation, "If you don't let someone try help you— you hardheaded, glacial, silly twit— I promise you I'll make that bruise on your cheek the least of your worries."

George and I blinked at each other, before we exchanged a mildly terrified expression. Freddie on the other hand looked as though he had briefly fallen in love with Annie.

Freddie proceeded to gently rub his hand up and down my side. "Come on then dear, we'll head back to Kensington."

I opened my mouth to refuse, for no real reason other than being stubborn. One look from Annie had me reluctantly nodding my head instead. Freddie was already gazing at me as if we were about to have a deep, meaningful, and long discussion about what had went down today with my family. Considering I had tossed away any of the adverse events that happened to me in the past year into some unknown chasm, I was not at all prepared to dredge it all up for a chat. I knew if I talked about today, there would be some awful chain reaction and I would bloody disintegrate.

"I'd be careful Fred," George clapped Freddie's shoulder in passing, "As Charlotte would say, he's gone full grump."

And I had, because I simply didn't not want to talk about what happened. Nor did I want to tell Freddie what had been said to lead to the scuffle. Every emotion that had been running high had faded to leave me feeling raw and on the defence.

"What happened today?" Freddie asked the second I stepped through the door of his home.

"Oh you know." I shrugged dismissively.

Freddie exhaled slowly behind me as I quickly riddled myself of my tie and jacket. My hands went for the buttons on my waistcoat before I realised I couldn't just strip in Freddie's entryway. I continued on walking towards the kitchen and nearly walloped into Peter Freestone.

"Hayes? What happened to your—" My narrowed eyes immediately had Peter clamping his mouth shut.

Another exhale from Freddie, this one much longer. I reached for the cabinet in which Freddie kept his glassware and retrieved a crystal tumbler. Next, I searched about for the bottle of Irish Oak I had stashed away when my visits to Freddie's home were more frequent.

"Do you have ice?"

"Hayes—" Freddie attempted once again.

"I apologise, may I please have a few cubes of ice Peter, if you can spare them that is."

"Oh for fuck sake." Freddie grumbled, "Don't think I'll give up if you act like this."

Peter returned my whiskey to me, on the rocks, and I took a deep sip. The earthy yet zesty alcohol burned as it slid down my throat, a sharp juxtaposition to when I raised the cold glass to rest against my tender cheek. Brilliant, much better.

"Peter, would you..." Freddie appeared to be searching for a polite way to tell his assistant to piss off. Peter caught on without needing to be told explicitly and murmured something about needing to do a few errands before he scrambled off. Whilst this was happening I skulked towards the bedroom. I wanted to sleep just so that this day would be fucking over.

"Off." I proceeded to grumble at Oscar, the overfed ginger feline who was curled up on the bed.

The cat's eyes lazily popped open to acknowledge my presence before he ignored me completely. Beyond irritated, I placed my glass down on the bedside table. I cautiously tried to drive Oscar away by waving my hand in a shooing motion near his personal bubble. I was not at all prepared to pick him up. Thankfully, I soon had a brainwave which would involve me dragging the white duvet out from under the cat.

"Hayes!"

I quickly dropped the edges of the duvet and innocently hid my hands behind my back. Freddie shot me a glare as he plucked Oscar up carefully before he then put him outside the door.

"Why does Oscar insist on sleeping on my side of the bed?" I huffed as I furiously swept the ginger hairs away.

"Your side, is it?"

I felt myself wince at how bloody casually I said that. Instead of acknowledging what I had just let slip, I flopped myself down to sit on the bed. I returned the cold glass to my cheek and let my eyes fall shut. A moment later Freddie appeared in front of me with a damp cloth. I didn't think to clean any blood away, mine or Oliver's.

"Hayes," Freddie murmured in that lovely soft voice of his. "Fancy a heart to heart? I know how you adore them."

I scoffed, "There's nothing of note to tell you.  Oliver and I had a spat, we both got a few knocks in, and here I am. Fine."

"Did he hit you first?" Freddie sounded livid even though he tried to hide it. Standing between my outstretched legs, he scrubbed at my face.

"No."

"Well then, he must have been awful." Freddie's touch was delicate and warm, "You aren't the boxing type dear."

"I may be." I winced as the cloth ran over my cheek directly.

"You're not." Freddie said firmly, "I don't think I have so much as heard you bloody shout before. Do you not know how many times I've deserved being shouted at but you don't?"

Despite of myself, I chuckled at that, "You make a valid point."

Freddie tossed the stained cloth away onto the vanity table behind him. I took another sip of whiskey before I raked a hand through my hair. Freddie reached over to brush his fingertips just shy of my cheekbone. My eyes flickered shut for a moment as I let myself luxuriate in the comfort of his touch.

"It must have been difficult, being around all of those people..."

Difficult doesn't even begin to describe it. I placed my glass down on the locker, before I turned my gaze on Freddie. His brow was pinched, his eyes warm and wide with concern. I knew if he gave me another nudge, or continued to look at me with unadulterated affection I would most likely bloody breakdown.

I tugged him down to meet his lips with mine. Freddie pulled away almost immediately, "Oh no you don't."

"What?" I hummed innocently as I skimmed my hand over his abdomen.

"You know exactly what you're doing." Freddie tried to hide his amusement but let me kiss him chastely once again.

I grumbled when he denied me more of what I wanted. Freddie's fingertips took hold of my chin carefully. I assumed he was doing a thorough examination of my face, but it turned out he just wanted me to look at him properly.

"What?" I huffed, feeling rubbed up wrong at the over inspection.

"You're walking against the wind again, Hayes."

I stiffened at the statement which made me feel uncomfortably transparent. I then proceeded to mutter a curse when I accidentally clenched my aching cheek. Freddie attempted to hide his laugh at my now sheepish expression.

"Your poor pretty face."

"I was getting too handsome," I sighed, "Someone had to stop me."

"Mhm," Freddie smiled before carefully dipping his lips towards mine. "Your head barely fits through the door anymore." Another featherlight kiss. "Now, you need a cup of tea."

Right, maybe it wasn't so bad being fussed over. At least not when it was Freddie doing the fussing. I did finally check myself out in the bathroom, and thankfully the damage had been reserved to only one portion of my face. A nasty gash split across my cheekbone with a lovely purple bloom welled around it. My knuckles were also a little raw, but aside from that I was fine. Physically that is, because I don't think I'll ever get my bloody head sorted. Nothing new there.

Freddie and I soon got comfortable in his "overcompensatory" living room. My eyes flicked between his various plaques and awards as I lay propped up against his side. I was a few sips into my cup of tea when I told him a tame version of what happened at the wedding.

"What do you fucking mean you were frisked in the men's room?"

I tried to keep my laughter at bay when I slid down Freddie's side to lay my head properly on his lap. I glanced up at him, and he frowned down at me. The tea cloth around the pack of frozen veg tickled against my skin as Freddie removed it from my face.

"Well?"

"Well what? The bloke followed me into the bathroom, and just bloody went for it."

"Just bloody went for it." Freddie repeated as if I told him something truly horrific, "And did you— did he...?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"How am I being ridiculous? You're a right slapper lately."

"Coming from you? What an honour."

Freddie rolled his eyes, "So you didn't? Good. I was thinking I would have to brand my initials on your arse or something at this rate."

"They don't often see my arse, often the other way around, so that wouldn't be very effective—"

"Just bloody humour me. For fuck sake Hayes." Freddie's eyes crinkled as he slipped his fingers through my hair. "Would it kill you to be nice to me?"

"If you must know Freddie, I sacrificed my lovely face today, defending your honour."

I said it haughtily as if I were joking, but I wasn't really. For decades I have handled Oliver's cruel words when directed at me, even today I would have let him away with it. I don't think either of us could have predicted that I wouldn't take so much as a second of him directing any hateful words toward Freddie. Oliver simply saying his name had me ready to tackle him, never mind the rest of it.

"Is that what happened?" Freddie's eyes were unbearably big, brown, and bloody benevolent at that moment.

"Oliver is just fucking— if he had ever just tried to understand..." I trailed off, not knowing exactly what I wanted from the unaccepting half of my family. I shook my head slowly as I sat up, unable to analyse my feelings without feeling overwhelmed.

"Oliver's always been a twat. Undeservedly? Deservedly? I don't know, I don't care." I said briskly, "You didn't deserve to have your name thrown about in the manner in which it was. So I just... bloody hell I don't know really, it's like my mind shut down for a second and the next time I was in the thick of a fight."

Freddie sighed softly at my words and his arm slipped around the back of the seat. Instinctively I pressed myself against him, accepting the unspoken invitation for comfort. He lightly traced his fingers up an down the nape of his neck. An illogical part of me wished to find a way of having the warmth of his touch imprinted in my skin permanently.

"It's not fair that you were pushed to that point," Freddie said softly, "I don't like that you got hurt because of me either."

"Caring for you shouldn't bloody lead to a brawl, don't feel bad." I scoffed this, feeling irritated by the situation all over again.

I hadn't realised that Freddie would be so surprised by my admission. Obviously I cared for him, but I suppose I hadn't given much away on my feelings towards him in a very long time. His gaze was full of concern but a smile threatened beneath his moustache.

"Stop looking at me like that." I grumbled feeling flustered, "Obviously I care about you, don't make a big deal of it."

Freddie's smile grew as did the flush across my face. "Stop that."

A kiss was pressed against my untouched cheek. His fingers continued to massage the back of my neck and I simply wanted to melt into him. I think my body language must have betrayed this feeling because Freddie rested his forehead against mine. His touch was everywhere.

"I know you don't feel as though you can talk about all the shit you've been put through." Freddie murmured, "But one day you'll need to accept that you're not an island."

I swallowed thickly, "What a cliché."

Freddie's impatient sigh teased my lips, "I wasn't there for you before; I was awful. So, I can understand your reluctance to talk to me now."

"It's not that—"

"I love you, whether you accept that or not, which means I'm here for you." Freddie's hand slipped from my neck to my back, "Just know that much, darling."

I exhaled slowly as the words seemed to lodge themselves in my chest. I believed Freddie of course, he had nothing to gain by lying about his feelings. He said everything so simply, as if they were facts that I should already know. I envied how easily he could put himself out there.

I offered Freddie a lopsided grin as I pulled away ever so slightly to look at him, "More clichés."

My true feelings were definitely scrawled across my face, because Freddie didn't seem upset that I hadn't spoken them aloud.

The hand that now rested against my back guided me closer toward him, until our lips finally found their way back to each other's once again. As usual, kissing Freddie felt like the most right thing in the world. After being made to feel like an burden and a pariah all day, it was nice to feel as though I belonged in at least one place— which was wherever Freddie was.

Our lips didn't part for a second as Freddie pressed me back onto the couch. Each kiss was languid and prolonged as if he knew that I wasn't going anywhere and that he could take his time with me for once. His expert fingers snagged on the buttons of my waistcoat. We both laughed as he proceeded to prove my thoughts wrong and let out an impatient huff of breath.

Freddie bracketed my legs between his thighs and I twisted restlessly beneath him. After the ordeal Freddie suffered with the waistcoat, he decided to bloody tear my shirt open. A few buttons remained intact but more popped onto carpeted floor. Before I could even think about informing Freddie that I fully expected him to buy me a new Brioni shirt, his lips were pressed to the space just above my belt.

I bolted up slightly, unnaturally sensitive to that man's touch. Freddie, the smug git, smirked against my bare skin before he continued to lay lazy kisses all about my abdomen. I winced once one of his broad palms slid up my side, and Freddie stopped immediately.

"The fucker got you here too." Freddie grumbled, as he pushed my shirt aside completely to reveal another blot of purple from where Oliver had winded me earlier.

"I'm just so delicate."

"You're a twit is what you are." Freddie laughed as I dramatically lay my wrist against my brow. "A chivalrous twit." I gasped softly when Freddie's tongue ran over the dip of my hipbone. "Defending an old maid like me."

"Old maid..." I struggled to chuckle as Freddie soft lips messily ran along the planes of my abdomen. "I did wonder about all the cats." I grunted at the playful nip I received for that remark.

Freddie's dark eyes were shadowed with lust when he gazed up at me. I'm sure my gaze mirrored his because the next thing I knew things turned rather frantic.

My ruined shirt and waistcoat were quickly discarded along with his polo shirt. As soon as Freddie worked my trousers off of me, he dragged me up so that our chests pressed flush together. I straddled his hips, savouring the sound of his groan once he pushed his hard length up against me. Freddie's hands were warm and possessive as they ran up along my back before coming to rest on my hips. I was half breathless from the intensity of Freddie's ravenous lips, but didn't want to slow down for even a second.

At the menacing creak of the flimsy wicker frame holding this sofa up, Freddie decided to guide us back towards his bedroom. His jeans were lost in the short few steps it took to get there. Freddie lay me back against the bed in a surprisingly gentle manoeuvre but his kisses were still fierce and urgent. My lips savoured his jaw in an attempt to draw any further sounds from him. But it was me moaning once Freddie ground himself against the evidence of my arousal.

I was rolled onto my stomach then, which gave Freddie full access to my back. His lips descended down my spine until he was on his knees and worrying at the small dimple he was always inexplicably fascinated by. My boxers were rolled down and tossed aside as he did so. I squirmed with apprehension beneath his teasing touches, unable to bear the seconds where I wasn't completely overwhelmed by him.

The breaths, words, and groans that escaped me next were beyond shameful. Freddie's mouth worked in tandem with his skilled fingers in an attempt to prepare me for what was to come. He was careful and slow which only seemed to exaggerate every sensation. My body was uninhibited with Freddie in a way that it refused to be with anyone else.

When I felt as though I could take no more of Freddie's ministrations he peeled himself from my body. His hands skimmed along my hips and his breathes rattled as he attempted to turn me over.

"I want to see you," Freddie whispered, lips at my ears.

The words had my throat closing up momentarily after being around people who had always made me feel as though I should melt away and disappear. I didn't account for the unintentional murmurings to catch me like that, so I quickly twisted about so I could knock my lips against Freddie's so I couldn't dwell on it any further.

My fingers slipped through his soft hair and my tongue languidly swept against his. Freddie's moan had me twisting impatiently, wanting as much as him as possible, knowing it wouldn't ever be enough. Reluctantly, he pulled away but kept his fingertips in contact with my body as he attempted to carefully work himself inside me. Freddie's handsome face was taut with concentration and desire.

"Fuck." I found myself half bloody whimpering as he continued to push himself in further.

"Mhm," Freddie's face was buried in my neck as he pushed my knees up further.

His jagged breaths fanned against my skin, and my fingertips snagged against his taut shoulders. It was too much and not enough all at once. The movements of Freddie's rolling hips were dangerously slow as if he needed to enjoy every sensation that arose. I certainly knew I did. The adoration that he attempted to communicate to me with his body was palpable, suffocating.

Freddie kissed me with a dizzying intensity, "I'm not..." his breath caught, "... letting you get away again." A kiss to my jaw, "Okay?"

I seemed to have lost the ability to speak, but through no choice of my own, my head nodded as if in a trance. Freddie's returning kiss had the hint smile underlying it, which forced my own lips to curl up. His strokes grew deeper and much more urgent. Pain was quickly snuffed out by the overwhelming sense of pleasure he was able to conjure up with his rocking hips and sinful touches.

I was struggling to hold off any longer, not as Freddie's delirious dark gaze bore down on me, taking in every reaction as he seated himself as deep as possible within me. My fingers gripped his hips tight enough to hurt, but he didn't seem to mind, especially when my hands began to wander possessively. As soon as Freddie's hand dipped between out bodies to pump up and down along my aching arousal, I was bloody done for.

Freddie's receiving lips drunk in the sound of me rasping his name as I was tipped over a sheer edge. This appeared to be Freddie's own undoing, because with a final few desperate strokes, his jaw clenched. Enraptured, my fingers couldn't help but trace over the devastating hollows of his cheekbones. Freddie's body collapsed on mine as he finished, gasping my name along with a slew of cursed.

In the immediate moments of trying to come down from that blissful point, I just about managed to lift my arms to wrap around him tightly. Freddie's body was warm and solid against mine. Comforting. My lips were lazily pressed into his hair, as I focused on the familiar citrus scent of him. I don't think I have ever described something as perfect and meant it, but this moment seemed to warrant the word.

It took Freddie a little longer than usual to catch his shallow breaths, and I found myself wanting to be the first to break the comfortable silence. Freddie was curled up against my chest, and it seemed as though he had no intentions of moving, ever. I toyed with the freshly damp curls on the back of his neck, happy that he couldn't see the stupid smile on my face.

"Still not able to catch your breath.." I smirked against his hair. "My old so and so?"

Freddie tensed ever so slightly at the once common title, before he grumpily threatened to even out my face. The excessive kissing had definitely aggravated the tender cheek, but I didn't give a shit then, and I certainly didn't now either. Freddie repositioned himself then, and propped himself up on an elbow to loom over me.

"Remind me why I put up with you?"

"Something about my waist."

Freddie laughed then, and I wanted to keep the musical sound on a repeated loop, indefinitely. I loved how his entire body seemed to get involved because he couldn't seem to contain how delighted or amused he was by something. My ego always inflated whenever I had forced the reaction from him.

"Hayes..." Freddie whispered suddenly. There was something about his now deadly serious tone frightened me.

"What?" I whispered right back.

Freddie leant over my body and lifted my watered down glass of whiskey from earlier. He flexed his sharp jaw. "How could you?"

"I didn't— what?" I tried to sit up slightly, but was restrained by Freddie's torso which continued to press down on me.

My eyes flicked to Freddie's bedside table, and just like that I was torn between a laugh and a wince. "Oh."

"Look at this ring!" Freddie exploded as I cringed at the condensation stain. "Where is the coaster? I cannot keep having this conversation with you Hayes."

"I'm sorry!" I laughed as Freddie lips playfully pecked at my neck.

"Apologies aren't going to cut it." Freddie declared as he rolled away from me with his chin jutted out haughtily. I immediately turned and reached my arm out to loop around Freddie's waist. His back hit my chest, before he proceeded to purposely push his arse right up against me.

"No?" My lips teased against the back of his neck, causing him to twist deliciously against me. "Can I make it up to you?"

"I suppose you could try, darling."

——

A/N—

Thank you all so much for 20k reads, I really appreciate it! Hope you enjoyed this one!🤍