Quick question: I've been writing pretty aggressively long chapters thus far. Do prefer longer updates, or slightly shorter ones?

Oh, and also:  The following is intended for mature audiences. Viewer discretion is advised. 💃

"Do you think that we performed some sort of voodoo black magic or something? I mean, what the fuck?"

Freddie is the first of the four to lose his temper towards the overweight police constable, who has been questioning them for the last half-hour.

"--sir," Brian supplies, a weary but trying-to-be-polite smile on his face. "What the fuck, sir."

Roger snickers under his breath, which only serves to further outrage the constable. The four fellows are trying to play nice, but it's clear that they're exhausted, angry, and rather shaken up. The last thing that they want is to be interrogated about the night's events as if they somehow caused all the trouble.

The constable grabs the tour manager by the arm, pulling him into the hallway. He starts to squawk about banning the band from playing in Scotland, which throws their manager into a tizzy. While the two of them hash it out just outside the door, the four band members look at each other with expressions of disbelief. Roger glances over to where I'm sitting, his eyes brightening briefly.

The good news is that I'm no longer covered in the remnants of some random dude's blood. The building's security guard took pity and offered me the use of a dingy, infrequently used shower, where I scrubbed at my skin mercilessly. I'm now huddled in a corner, wearing Roger's Led Zeppelin t-shirt and Freddie's black leather pants, my arms wrapped around my knees. Roger and I look at each other wearily as we listen to intermittent complaints from the hallway: "troublemakers," "long hair," "rock-n-roll is the devil's work," that sort of thing.

Finally, after an hour of thinly-veiled accusations, we're allowed to leave.

"This town can go fuck itself," Roger mutters under his breath as he angrily picks up a small bag with his change of clothes, half of which I'm currently wearing. He looks at me, his eyes softening before he puts his hand on my lower back to steer me outside into the cold air.

We walk wordlessly to the hotel, the other three trailing behind somberly. I glance over at the drummer, his mouth set in a scowl. I get the sense that he's taking this harder than the others. Taking a step towards him, I slip my hand into his and gently squeeze it, earning a small smile from him.

"Try not to incite any more riots tonight," Freddie jokes to Roger in the hotel lobby as the receptionist doles out the room keys. "Though with that long hair and rock-n-roll attitude, I don't know how you couldn't."

Brian, John, and Freddie head to the hotel bar for last call, while Roger and I make our way silently to the fourth floor. The door shuts surprisingly loudly behind us as we look at each other in the ambient light filtering in from the window. Roger slumps against the nearest wall, closing his eyes briefly.

"Fuck," he mumbles. I study him for a moment before putting down my small bag on the floor and leaning against the wall opposite.

"Are you okay? That was a lot." My voice is lower than I intended, but Roger hears me and shrugs.

"You know it's not your fault, right?"

Roger hesitates for a beat, his eyes on the carpet beneath him. "Maybe if I hadn't gone back out for the last song--"

"It's not your fault," I say, cutting him off. "Rog, the mood turned batshit crazy well before then. I don't know what happened tonight, but I do know that you didn't cause it."

Roger continues to study the carpet as he mulls over my words. Finally, he glances up at me with miserable, weary eyes. My heart goes out to him, and I wrack my brain for the right thing to do at this moment.

"Hey, do you want some time on your own?" I venture. "I could go down to the--"

"The only reason I'm holding it together is that you're here, Sky. Please don't go anywhere."

I nod slowly and lean back against the wall, waiting for him to continue.

"It's just-- Tonight scared the shit out of me." His voice raspier than usual.

"I get it, it must have been terrifying with all of those people on stage—"

"No," he interrupts, lifting his blue eyes to hold my gaze. "When I didn't know if you were okay. That scared the shit out of me."

I don't reply immediately, instead remembering the moment of panic when I'd realized that I had no idea where Roger was or whether or not he was safe. Yes, I had been huddled under a rickety table amid a full-fledged riot, but all I could think about was him.

"I was scared too," I murmur.

Deep in our own thoughts, we rest against our respective walls for a few minutes, letting the turbulence and confusion from the night's events dissipate. I'm no stranger to adrenaline rushes, nor is Roger. We both know that with the high comes a feeling of urgency coupled with an odd sense of helplessness. The only solution is to find a release or wait it out.

Slowly, the dark mood fades, leaving in its wake something entirely different. The air between us becomes thick with desire to the point where it almost feels tangible. Roger's eyes meet mine, and his mouth opens slightly. My heartbeat pounds in my chest as our eyes lock for what feels like forever, a million thoughts pinging back and forth between us. Neither of us moves a muscle, but I'm confident that it's not just me who feels this.

It's Roger who makes the first move.

He takes a few steps forward, pausing just before he reaches me as if to assess the situation. His eyes dart between mine, reading whatever emotions are written on my face. It must be evident that I want him now because, next thing I know, my back is pressed against the wall. Our lips crash together frantically, and suddenly, it's difficult to breathe. One of Roger's hands firmly grasps my hip, while the other grazes the skin just under the edge of my t-shirt before tugging it over my head.

He says my name, which sounds like a half-whisper, half-growl. His hands slide up my waist and around my torso to fumble with the clasp of my bra. I imagine that he's well-versed in the art of undressing a woman, so it's an oddly heady feeling that this feels like the first time he's ever done this.

"What?" he asks, seeing the small smile on my face that betrays my inner monologue.

"Nothing," I whisper, wrapping my arms around his waist so that I can pull his sweater over his head. He finally manages to release my bra, and my breath hitches when our bare skin finally comes into contact. Roger groans softly, his tongue clashing with mine as we stumble back towards the bed. The back of my thighs hit the edge of the mattress, cueing Roger to push me lightly onto the bed. I allow myself to fall back, and he follows suit, as we frantically continue to undress each other.

We finally accomplish our mission and, for a moment, pause to take in each other in the dim light. Believe it or not, this is the first time we've come this far. I've seen Roger perform on stage a few times half-naked, but I've never seen him like this.

"Jesus, Sky," he breathes, his eyes gazing with at me appreciatively. The look in his eyes emboldens me, banishing any thoughts I may have had about the other women who have been in my place.

Given that we've waited for so long, you may be expecting hours of foreplay. But that's not what happens, not on this particular night. Roger leans down to kiss me deeply, his hands moving down my body as I groan softly. He pauses. His body hovers over mine, his face less than an inch away.

"Should I--?" he whispers. I nod my head, not trusting myself to speak.

That's the last moment of hesitation for either of us. A condom is rapidly procured from Roger's suitcase, his hands shaking as he hurriedly puts it on. I wrap my legs around his torso, pulling him towards me as I knot my fingers in his hair. We both let out gasps when he enters me, and the tempo that he sets is relentless.

I wouldn't have imagined that our first time together would be such a frenetic, rough affair, but it's the only thing that can satisfy us after a night like tonight. We're desperate for each other, partly because we've waited so damn long, and partly because we have so much adrenaline rushing through our veins. We both know that we need this release.

As we come up for air, Roger pulls me against him. My back is pressed tightly against his body, his arms bracketing mine. Our bodies are spent, but our minds are restless. Roger uses his last bit of his energy to run his hand through my hair rhythmically, humming an old Beach Boys song that he knows I love. We drift in and out of sleep, neither of us straying far from the other.

At some point before the sun rises, I awaken to Roger's hand lightly caressing my waist. We're both naked, our legs entangled under the sheets. With a smile on my lips, I turn towards him, my hands groping to find his face in the semi-dark.

"Hi," I say softly as he leans forward to nuzzle my neck.

"Hey," he replies against my skin. "You okay?"

"Not really," I reply with a straight face.

"What? What's wrong?!" he asks, pulling back to look at me with startled eyes, probably wondering if he's broken me with too much sex.

"You really need to work on your technique," I said, deadpan, as I stretch my arms in the air. "That thing you did with your tongue could really use some improvem--"

My next few words are cut off as Roger tackles me, laughing softly. He leans down to press a kiss lightly on my lips, then gazes down at me with his head resting on an upturned hand. The morning light in the room is becoming steadily brighter, and our bodies are bathed in a dark blue. I watch Roger's eyes roam over my body and, after a moment, I reflexively pull the covers over my torso. He's been with so many women, half of whom were likely models, and there's no way I can compare with them.

"Stop," he tuts softly as if he can read my mind. "You're perfect."

He says those two words so sincerely that it momentarily silences me. I'm terrible at accepting compliments; I always have been and always will be.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," I respond with a smirk. It's meant as a joke, but, as the words leave my mouth, I immediately regret them. Roger flinches slightly, and flops his head back on the pillow with an exasperated sigh.

"I'm sorry," I say, reaching over to find his hand. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I don't want you worrying about that shit," he says, sounding frustrated. There's a moment of quiet before he speaks again, his voice barely audible.

"I'm serious about this, Sky." He pauses again before continuing. "About us, I mean."

My heart beats too quickly at his words, as a wave of relief washes over me. Just before he had left on tour, Roger had dropped the bombshell that he hadn't been with anyone else in a while. But we never got around to discussing it further. For all I know, it's just been a dry spell for him. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been worried about his intentions. He's used to doing what he wants when he wants, and we never made any promises or commitments to each other.

The room is silent, and I realize that I haven't yet responded. I can feel Roger's eyes on me as I lean over to press a kiss on his collarbone.

"I'm serious about this, too," I reply softly, my mouth against his skin.

"Yeah?" When I look up at him, the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah," I affirm.

"I bet you say that to all the boys," he murmurs with a smirk.

We look at each other, both grinning like idiots until the happiness in Roger's eyes is slowly replaced by something less innocent. He shifts until he's nearly on top of me, his mouth a few inches from mine. I can feel that he's hard again, the sensation making me gasp softly. He chuckles before cupping my face and leaning down for a slow, deep kiss.

Our second time together is less frantic, more deliberate. We make up for the lack of foreplay earlier as we explore each others' bodies at an unhurried pace. Just when I think I can't take anymore, he enters me slowly, as if he wants me to feel every inch of him. We begin to move together at a steady pace, and, for a few moments, it's impossible to know where his body starts, and mine begins. We're gasping with pleasure, calling each others' names until, finally, there's the sweet moment of release, and we collapse on each other, finally sated.

Once again, Roger draws me close to him and hums my name, brushing a damp piece of hair off my face. And, after sharing one last kiss, we both fall into a deep sleep.