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spreadyovrwings · 3 months ago

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64 Oslo Square

"Companion' Middle English. From Old French 'compaignon', literally 'one who breaks bread with another.

Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it's more than worth it. It's worth it because of you.

Warnings for this chapter: smut! slight sub/dom dynamics, i guess, i'm never sure, i just like being bossy. john gets topped, and i do mean topped!

A/N: i'm so sorry! i’ve been gone for ages! i've just got a million hyperfixations and they all take up a lot of energy you know how it is but but but hopefully this makes up for it

Chapter 11

Sweat beaded your skin, clammy and tight. Every breath you drew in was lukewarm and fetid, half someone else’s. Your feet hurt and your head was pounding and the floor was sticky beneath your new shoes, but you hardly noticed any of it.

John was pressed tight against you, and it was all you could think about, all you could bring yourself to focus on. His narrow body felt angular and hot; you could feel the heat coming off of him through his clothes.

It was Saturday night. The bakery had been yours for exactly six days. John had been yours for even longer. Now, pressed up against each other in a tiny Camden club, you could finally celebrate both.

The music was so loud, it had risen to a dull hum, pop music you were faintly aware of but didn’t know the words or the steps to. You weren’t being modest when you said you weren’t much of a dancer, but John didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his hands hadn’t left your body since he pulled you onto the dance floor, and he had enough moves for the both of you.

It had been an exhausting week, but the kind of exhausting that left your muscles glowing and your chest full at the end of the day.

Universities had finally broken up for the summer, so John had a lot more free time, and he’d spent most of it hunched over Gladys’ desk, running through 64 Oslo Square's accounts. He’d made it his solemn duty to uncover exactly what kind of impact Alastair had had on the bakery.

John was right, that night he walked you home and off-handedly wondered how the bakery could possibly be struggling considering it never lacked customers and the area was so affluent.

It turned out Alastair had been funnelling money out of the business for months, ever since he met Gladys. He had sought her out, plucked her from the vine, and pressed her between thumb and forefinger, squeezing her for all she was worth with a vicious smile.

Now he was gone, the bakery had come to life again. John found money ferreted away in all sorts of places, stored away for hard times, or just in case things went south for Alastair. Luckily, John’s astute head for numbers and figures got there first, returning what had always been yours back to you, like transposing music for one instrument to another.

Before too long, 64 Oslo Square could raise its head again. You didn’t have to beg for new kitchen equipment. You didn’t have to pray for a pay-rise. The scarlet front door could be painted for the first time in years, Mickey didn’t have to worry about taking care of his young family, and Gladys could hire more help, allowing you your first night out in almost a decade.

You met after work. John went home to shower and get changed, giving you time to figure out what on earth to wear on your first proper date with the boy you’d fallen in love with months ago. You kept having to remind yourself that you hadn’t actually told him yet; something about John’s pretty green-grey eyes made you lose all track of time.

When he picked you up, John looked less than pleased. Laughing softly at his turned-down mouth, you slipped a hand over his shoulder and pulled him down to your height so that you could press a kiss to his cheek.

“Alright, New Boy?”

“Hi, love.” John sighed. “Look, I’m really sorry.”

Frowning, you ushered him into your flat.

“Already? We haven’t even made it out the door yet.”

You smiled, hoping to reassure him, and it seemed to work. But John still looked troubled despite the little smile he summoned in return.

“C’mon, then. What’re you sorry for?”

With another, frankly dramatic sigh, John flopped down onto your couch like a sack of potatoes. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, splayed outwards in a ‘V’, his platform heels digging into the carpet.

It had been a while since he’d been in your flat. John looked so funny, collapsed on your couch. He was so tall and gangly, he made all your furniture look smaller, and tonight he was dressed up to the nines, his hair perfect, huffing and puffing on your second-hand sofa.

“I was telling Roger about tonight, you know, asking where we should go because he- And now-”

“He’s coming too?”

“And Freddie.”

John looked so despairing, you had to laugh. He looked like a teenager who’d been told he had to bring his little brother along to a party.

“I’m really sorry. I did try to tell them this was our first proper date but they’d already started planning what they were gonna wear, and you know what they’re like, I- We can just make this a night out, this doesn’t have to be-”

“John,” You spoke his name softly, gently, settling down on the couch beside him with an easy smile. “It’s alright. I really don’t mind.”

“You sure? We could always go to a different club or something. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t notice.”

“Honestly, it’s fine. I like your mates. And hey, you know, we can always lose them in the crowd.”

Brushing your fingers along the seam of his black satin shirt, you pushed your fingertips in, just below his shoulder, squeezing gently, reassuringly, insinuatingly.

“You said you’ve got moves,” you murmured, your fingers dropping to play with his hair. “You gonna put on a show for me tonight?”

John’s ever-steady gaze never wavered, even as you curled his pretty hair around your fingers.

“Maybe I’ll treat you.”

His voice cracked when you “accidentally” tugged on his hair.

“Ohhh,” You grinned. “Lucky me.”

And now here you were, moving against each other in the dark.

John really did know how to move. It just came naturally to him. The music flowed through his veins, his heart beating in time with the pounding bass, and all you could do was watch him and admire the nice boy who’d so softly changed your life.

He bought you a drink, then another, politely refusing your offer to get the next round in.

As predicted, you lost track of his friends almost immediately. You’d almost forgotten you weren’t there alone until John leaned down and murmured by your ear,

“D’you wanna get some air?”

There was no mistaking the intent behind his words, the way they wrapped around you, the spark they lit in his dark eyes despite the low club lights. Your pulse raced, your body reacting to every touch, every look, just the proximity of him, the promise of his presence.

What he meant was, do you want to go home? And you did. You couldn’t imagine wanting anything more in all your life.

John’s back hit the bakery door with a dull thunk. Giggling softly against his mouth, you apologised over and over, half muffled as he tried to kiss you between laughs, reassuring you that it was fine while his big hands pawed at your hips.

He tasted so good, you couldn’t bear the thought of moving away from him for even a second, so you fished around in your bag for the door keys without once breaking the kiss.

After several shaky attempts (thanks to John tugging your bottom lip between his teeth) you managed to turn the key, and together, you fell into the shop.

Stumbling backwards in his stupid platforms, John clung to your hips for support as you guided him through to the kitchen.

The thought of getting the next door open seemed too mammoth a task to even attempt at that moment, so instead you backed John up against it, pressing your body as close to his as you could, until you had almost been consumed by one another.

The protruding angles and flat planes of his narrow body felt sharp and unfamiliar as you sank into each other. Your mind swam with the endless possibilities; running your hands over his slim chest, kissing across his stomach, your hands keeping him pinned down with the slightest squeeze at his hips.

Every niggling worry you’d ever had about being good enough for John, about being with someone for the first time in years, about trusting someone with all of you, it had all washed away. All that remained was a chest fit to burst with love, and a desire so strong, it was all you could do to stop yourself asking if you could just have him right there and then.

John could obviously sense where your mind was wandering to, even as he moaned softly into your mouth. He squeezed your waist, then your hips, kissing you so deeply, your knees threatened to give way.

“We can’t do this here,” he managed to gasp out between kisses. “Not in the bakery.”

When you huffed a little laugh, your warm breath fanned across his cheek and he couldn’t resist the shiver that slipped down his spine.

You smiled against his mouth, pointed and pleased with yourself.

“My bakery now.”

John groaned roughly at your soft, low voice, and again as your tongue pressed against his. He opened himself up to you, letting you take his mouth as you pleased, his breathing growing heavy.

He couldn’t decide where he wanted his hands, they were everywhere, in your hair, pressing into your back to keep you close, tugging at your hips, his touches waking up your body and making your head spin.

“It’s always been yours.” John’s dark gaze met yours. “And so have I.”

You laughed, airy and quick, hoping to disguise just how much that meant to you, but John knew, John always knew. The last thread keeping your doubt and your fear yolked finally snapped.

Taking your keys from your hand, John half-turned to open the door, his free hand still palming and squeezing at your hip.

You tripped up the stairs together, giggling and breathless in your eagerness.

“You have too many doors,” John muttered when you reached your flat. “It’s like a bloody funhouse in here.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, John.”

He pressed the keys into your hand then tucked himself behind you so that you had room to unlock the door. Or so you thought. A shiver ran over your skin when you felt John’s breath on your bare shoulder, then his lips against your neck.

As he mouthed at your hot skin and grazed you with his teeth, you shakily jammed the key into the lock, finally managing to wiggle it open just as John dragged his tongue over a spot that made you want to completely unravel.

There was no time to savour the ritual of undressing each other, neither you nor John had the patience for it right now. Instead, you practically tore his pretty satin shirt open, dragging the sleeves down his arms as you backed him up towards the bed, never once breaking the kiss.

“Oh God,” John laughed softly against your mouth when the cuff of one of his sleeves got caught on his watch. “Hang on, love. I’m not going anywhere, you know.”

“I know, but I’ve been wanting to do this to you for months. You can’t blame a girl for being impatient.”

“‘To me’?” John grinned as he shook off his shirt. “You mean ‘with me’?”

You just smiled and pulled him back down to kiss you.

Head still spinning from the nightclub, the rum in your blood, John’s aftershave, John’s everything, you hardly noticed him slipping his long fingers under the hem of your dress and pulling up and up and up, until you begrudgingly had to stop kissing him to let John pull it over your head.

“Oh, wow.”

It was all you allowed John before you planted both hands against his chest and pushed him into sitting on the edge of the bed.

You kicked off your uncomfortable shoes and got rid of your bra, and all the while John watched you with warm, full eyes, his mouth hanging open.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, and for the first time in your life, you believed a boy looking at you.

“Yeah?”

Your movements slowed under his heavy gaze. Something about the look on John’s face made you want to take a breath.

When he raised his hands, you moved closer without a word, standing between John’s knees while he looked up at you in awe.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured as he dipped his head to press a kiss to your sternum.

When his fingers pressed into your bare skin, you tensed, sucking in a sharp breath.

John looked up at you curiously, his clever grey-green eyes so clear and bright.

“Sorry,” You smiled. “Not used to- It’s been a while. Not used to being touched there. Feels a bit…”

“What?”

John punctuated his question with a soft kiss pressed sweetly to the swell of your right breast. His other hand came up to cup the other gently, his thumb sweeping across you, circling and circling, his sharp eyes never leaving yours.

“The last boy…”

“The idiot?”

You smiled.

“Yeah, that one. He didn’t really like the way I looked.”

“What’s not to like?”

John frowned.

It wasn’t really question but you felt the need to explain.

“Kept trying to “help” me. Used to piss me off no end. Eventually, he stopped touching me. Wasn’t seeing him for very long but he was the last person…”

John shook his head, his brow furrowed, his funny mouth all turned down at the corners.

“I can’t believe you gave him the time of day.”

“Well, he had his own car...”

“Fair enough.”

John briefly smiled, then he shook his head again, as if he couldn’t even joke about it.

“I’m glad you’re shot of him. Means I get you all to myself. And to me, you feel soft…”

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the middle of your belly, taking his time, dragging his teeth, his eyes closed to savour the feeling.

“And warm…”

Another kiss, this one to the left of your navel, while his fingers pressed into your hips and tugged you closer, until the tip of his nose was buried in your stomach.

”And inviting…”

Cheeks burning, you slipped your fingers into his hair, grazing your nails across his scalp.

“John…”

John’s stare met yours as his hands slipped round to squeeze your arse, pulling you closer still. His open mouth split into a grin before he bent his head to drag his tongue across your skin.

“You’re perfect. You’re so beautiful, love.”

It wasn’t often you were left speechless, but if anyone was going to manage it, it would be John Deacon.

You bit your lip, shaking your head to yourself, as you quietly watched him press more and more kisses down the centre of your stomach.

“Been wanting to touch you like this since the first time I saw you.”

John had spent so long thinking about kissing you like this, imagining how you would feel, how you’d taste, the lovely sounds you’d make, how your body would feel against his, and now he’d got his answers, he never wanted to stop.

You laughed as you closed your eyes, letting your head fall back against your shoulders, giving yourself up to him. It was hard to focus, so you just let him press little kisses all over your body, round your hips, across your belly, down your thighs, until his fingers slipped between your legs and you gasped, electricity shooting through your veins.

Biting back a smile, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and pulled it up between you, like you’d caught him stealing. The excited smile was wiped from John’s face when you leaned in close and murmured against his neck,

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, sweetheart.”

“‘s funny,” John stretched his long fingers out, splaying then relaxing them again, testing the strength and limit of your grip on his wrist. “I thought I was exactly where I needed to be.”

“‘Needed’?”

“Mm hm.”

“Not ‘wanted’?”

“The two get sort of mixed up when I look at you. You’re very- You make them, erm, homonyms.”

“I think you mean ‘synonyms’.”

“It’s hard to concentrate with your tits in my face.”

“Fair enough.” You smiled. “We’re getting off topic.”

“Are we?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been talking?”

“John!”

He laughed when you batted his shoulder.

“Love, I can barely remember my own name right now.”

“You were getting ahead of yourself.”

“Actually, I do remember disputing that.”

“Of course you do.”

“What’s your point, love?”

“My point is,” You carefully placed your knee on the mattress beside John’s hip. “I didn’t say you could touch me there.”

John’s eyes switched excitedly across your face, but his easy smile faded as you straddled his thighs, settling in his lap.

You sighed and looped your arms around his neck, curling your fingers into his thick, dark hair.

“I didn’t realise-” John swallowed when your bare chest pressed against his. “I had to ask permission.”

Feigning confusion, you frowned quizzically, and all the while, you slowly grazed your nails across John’s scalp. He shivered against you, his muscles shifting beneath his pale skin.

“We’ve known each other for almost a year, John. Have I ever given you the impression that you’d be calling the shots here?”

There was a point in his neck, neatly positioned between his shoulder and his protruding collarbone. You could see the steady, perfect bass line of his heartbeat pulsing under his skin. It jumped when you rolled your body into his.

“Couldn’t help myself,” John let his heavy eyelids close, focusing on keeping his breathing even. “Did I mention you’re beautiful?”

You tilted his head back and kissed him, your tongue rolling over his, too riled up to wait for permission. You kept his chin up with your hand against his throat, the pad of your thumb pressing into his thready pulse.

Kissing John was unlike anything you’d ever known. Other boys grabbed at you, pressed selfishly into you, taking what they wanted and not caring how it felt for you. They were too rough, unimaginative, or simply just looking for a way to stave off boredom. But John…

As John’s lips moved against yours, it felt as if you were speaking the same language as someone for the first time in your life.

Skilled hands smoothed up and down your back, finding every part you wanted him to find, every part you wanted him to warm, as if he could read your mind. His lovely nose bumped yours whenever he turned his head and you could feel his smile every time you made an appreciative sound.

He was attentive, thoughtful, just like you knew he would be, just like he was when he played. He might look like his mind was elsewhere, but John was honed in on every note. He knew them all, he knew you too.

You must’ve shifted just where he needed you, must’ve slotted your body against his in just the right way, because John suddenly broke the kiss with a wet sound that made you swear under your breath.

He cut you off with a low, sonorous moan, his soft lips parting so you could see his pretty, pink, antagonising tongue.

“Just like-” He groaned again and this time his big hands found your hips, moving you so that you rocked against him just like he needed again. “That feels good. Shit-”

You could feel the hard outline of him through his stupid tight cord trousers. The friction alone was enough to send thrums of electricity through your body.

You hummed, pleased with yourself. You were admittedly a little rusty. Before tonight, you had half a mind to warn John just how long it had been since you’d been intimate with anyone, but it appeared you hadn’t lost the knack. Either that, or John was extremely receptive.

Beneath you, he moaned and let his head fall forward until his face was buried in your chest, his voice vibrating through you. All you were doing was rocking your hips into his, tugging on his hair, grazing your lips by his jaw. Yes, very receptive. You couldn’t wait to get your hands on him properly.

Then again, you had never dared to ask how long it had been for him either. You weren’t stupid, John had been with girls before you, at home, at uni. He’d never mentioned anyone. Maybe there was no one worth talking about. Anyway, everyone in your life seemed to agree that when quiet, thoughtful, reticent John finally did speak, the only thing he wanted to talk about was you.

You kissed him again, twice, three times, then squeezed his shoulder.

“Get comfy. I’ll stick some music on.”

You wobbled to the record player on unsteady legs and put on something soft and slow, warm and romantic.

When you came back, John had shuffled up the bed until his back was against the headboard. He looked so silly, sat there shirtless, his trousers and heels still on.

His sharp eyes followed you as you moved around the bed, but John wore an enormous grin, his face flushed, his slim chest heaving. He was the prettiest thing you’d ever seen.

“Did you mean to say that out loud?” John asked, his smile growing.

In an effort to mask your embarrassment, you wrapped your hand around one of his ankles and gently tugged him round until his legs were hanging off the side of the bed.

Giggling together, you hefted his leg up to your waist and pushed up his trouser leg.

“I love these shoes,” you murmured, admiring his black and white patent heels. “You’re such a bloody tease, Deacon.”

Sitting up on his elbows now, John raised his eyebrows as you started to unlace one of his platforms for him.

“You like them?”

“Like them? I’m trying to decide whether I should make you leave them on.”

You took off one shoe, then the other, dropping them to the floor so you could kick them under the bed. His trousers came off next, leaving you both in just your underwear.

You said it yourself, you’d known each other for almost a year now. That was a long time to wait to touch each other. John seemed to agree.

As you settled back in his lap, his hands immediately found your hips, pulling you down so that you could feel exactly what you did to him, and the infinitesimal strands holding the last of your reservations together finally snapped.

“You’re so pretty.” You murmured the words against his lips this time, so he knew you meant it. “I love your mouth so much.”

Curiosity sparked behind John’s eyes, and you wondered if anyone had ever said anything even remotely similar to him before.

With one hand resting on his narrow shoulder for balance, you took the other and dragged the pad of your thumb across John’s bottom lip, taking your time. They were a little chapped, he was always worrying them between his teeth, and a shade darker than usual tonight, bruised by your own.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been wanting to play with this pretty little mouth of yours?”

John’s eyes widened, his lips falling open as a soft moan escaped him, one you were sure was completely involuntary.

Beaming, you reached down between you and wrapped your other hand around him through his straining underwear.

Those eyes again, they gave away so much. John’s expression hardly twitched, but his eyes grew glossy and heavy as you worked him, purposefully slow, until he had completely melted into you.

“Goddd, feels so good…” His eyes rolled closed, his jaw slack. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

With the tip of your index finger, you grazed his bottom lip, then dipped in a little. John cracked his eyes open, you could feel him watching you with interest. Breathing shakily, you kept going, parting his lips to gently push your finger against his tongue.

“What do we say?”

John’s brow furrowed, summoning up a crease between his eyebrows that you couldn’t resist kissing away.

“Please,” he gasped out.

Your finger slipped into his warm mouth with ease. John immediately swirled his tongue around it, whimpering and moaning as he sucked gently, so needy for you that his hips bucked up into your hand

“Oh, dear…” you practically purred. “Someone’s eager.”

John groaned around your finger, his eyes widening when you added another. He squeezed your hips in time with every stroke of your hand, silently urging you to keep going while his mouth was occupied.

Once he’d got them nice and wet, you pulled back your fingers and drew your index along his bottom lip.

“Good boy,” you whispered, then popped your fingers into your own mouth to taste him with a moan. “You’re even sweeter than you look, my darlin’.”

John thought he must’ve died and gone to heaven. That was the only explanation for it. How else could he be here, with you, your lips against his and your hands anywhere you wanted them?

You kissed both his pink cheeks, then the corner of his lovely mouth, and all the while, you palmed him through his stupid tight pants.

John looked up at you like it pained him to not have your mouth on his properly, but your hand pressing firmly down on his hard length pulled his expression from agony to ecstasy.

“Love, if you don’t do something soon, I swear, I’m gonna-“

“What?”

You removed your hand, eyebrows raised.

John bit his lip, trying heroically to hold back, but he couldn’t help it. He let out a disappointed whine.

“Love…”

He bucked his hips, trying to press himself into your hand.

Satisfied, you carefully clambered off him.

“Mm, that’s what I thought.”

“Wait…”

John tried to pull you back into him but you distracted him with a deep, searing kiss, keeping his brain occupied so your hands could work.

Though he missed you being close to him, John couldn’t keep the grin from his face as you pushed him down flat on the bed, his head safely nestled against the pillows.

In his chest, his heart was pounding like a bass drum. He wanted to shout so your neighbours could hear. He wanted to run to the windows and declare to the whole city that this was the greatest night of his life. He wanted to tell the world that he was the happiest he’d ever been and he was in bed with the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. But he settled for gazing up at you and thanking his lucky stars.

Kneeling beside him now, you took a moment for yourself to just enjoy the scene before you. It was selfish really but you thought John could stand to wait a few seconds while you took him in.

His long hair was spread out across the pillow, dark curls that took hours to set just right. You smiled to yourself.

He was a walking contradiction. He was such a low maintenance boy, so happy to do whatever you wanted to do. No fancy clothes, no ridiculous car, no expensive bad habits. But John cared about how we looked. He cared about doing well at uni. He understood music better than most and cared about Queen’s future. He just never made it anyone else’s problem.

It was only in the last few months that you’d really seen him open up. You couldn’t wait to discover the rest of him. ‘Easy Deacon’, they used to call him. Everything just came so naturally to John. You knew that wasn’t exactly true, but the thought of having a good, kind, lucky, sensible boy in your life, in your bed, might just be the most wonderful thing that ever happened to you.

“Can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinking about this,” you said.

John swallowed thickly when you pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat, then his sternum.

”Oh, yeah?”

He was still so slim, even after all your best effort. You could pick out each of his ribs as John sucked in a deep breath.

Kissing your way down his chest, you paused to rest your chin over his heart, trying to feel for it.

John’s head was thrown back, his jaw high and his neck exposed, so he didn’t see your fond smile, or the pang of emotion behind your eyes as you turned your head, aching to hear the rounded, powerful, thump thump thump of his heart.

It pounded harder than you expected. You could almost feel it pulsing against your cheek, strong and full and just for you.

“You’re having palpitations, Johnny.” You raised your head and caught his eyes. “You wanna stop and catch your breath?”

John exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh, there was no humour in it. He obviously didn’t think that was funny.

“If you stop now, I think I’ll pass out.”

“Well, can’t have that.”

You kissed your way down his chest, taking your time, savouring the feeling of his hot, flushed skin against your lips.

You took note of every muscle twitch, your ears pricking at every sharp intake of breath. Learning what made the famously stoic and impassive John Deacon moan and squirm was going to be fun.

You peppered more kisses down his chest, taking the time to flick your tongue across both nipples, just to make John’s hips stutter. Face flushed, he groaned almost in protest, but didn’t move to stop you at all.

You pushed further, kissing your way down his stomach, until John was half giggling, half whimpering. He bit down hard on his lip, his long fingers reaching out and finding a home in your hair, where he tugged ever so gently, like he was trying to spur you on but didn’t want to risk making you stop again.

“Love, that…” John hissed through his teeth as you licked a stripe up his belly. “That tickles.”

You laughed softly.

“Does it? Sorry.”

“No, don’t b- Ohn…”

You looked up at John, the skin just below his navel still caught between your teeth. You let it go slowly, dragging at his skin, and all the while you watched his pretty face contort and soften, his teeth practically embedded in his bottom lip.

“Sorry, what was that?”

John huffed, his fingers tightening in your hair as you kissed down the front of his underwear, slow and hot, teasing him on purpose, drifting so close to where he desperately wanted to be touched, but never quite there.

Enough torture. You hooked your fingers under the waistband of his pants and slowly dragged them down his pale thighs, pausing only to place kisses on either side of his bony hips, and the contrasting softness of his inner thighs.

“Just relax, Johnny. It’s only me.”

You smiled against his skin, watching his face contort and shift as you tugged the waistband of his underwear down against him, a mean trick but worth it for the soft little noises he gave in response.

“I’ve got you, love. Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

John whimpered, his chest rising and falling fast. His eyes stayed fixed on yours as you pulled his pants all the way down, until his aching cock was pressed against his stomach.

“Oh, hello,” You laughed, disguising just how embarrassingly turned on you were with a quirked eyebrow and a wobbly smile. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

Despite his nerves, John huffed a little laugh too.

It had been a while since anyone had seen him like this. Somehow, it felt like the first time. You were the most important thing in his life, the most beautiful, wonderful person he’d ever known, it mattered what you thought, it mattered that you liked how he looked.

He watched you take him in, watched your pretty eyes cross his body, and for once, didn’t feel self-conscious under someone else’s gaze. John knew you wouldn’t care what he looked like but he couldn’t help blooming with pride, his cheeks prickling at the pleased look on your face.

John sucked in a sharp breath as your hand wrapped around him, moving up and down his length slowly, almost absent-mindedly, while you soaked up every new detail exposed to you, every new valley and slope, memorising every detail of his body until you could see him behind your closed eyes.

Then you squeezed him, testing the boundaries of his patience, and John lost all sense of bravado and decorum. He groaned, letting his head drop back against the pillow, panting now.

“Fuck, sweetheart, please…”

You tilted your head to the side, feigning obliviousness.

“Please what, love?”

“Just, please…” John moaned again, his hips pressing up into your hand, searching desperately for more pressure, friction, anything. “Please touch me. Feel like I’m gonna…”

You didn’t get to hear the rest, John’s eyes suddenly widened and he put his much larger hand over yours.

“Wait, this isn’t right. I should be- I should take care of you first.”

“What? Because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do?”

“No! Well, no- No, that’s not why I’m asking. I want to make you feel good. I should get you off first.”

Somehow, even though you had his dick in your hand, hearing John talk about ‘getting you off’ made you go all bashful.

“Why should you?”

“Well,” Looking oddly relaxed for someone in his position, John sat up on his elbows. “It’s just maths, innit.”

“Don’t say ‘innit’, you’re from Oadby.”

“I’m finally picking up the lingo. My point is, it’s maths.”

“Is it now?”

You smiled and sat back on your knees.

John’s eyes followed your hands as they left his body to drag across the mattress. Being cheeky had been a risky move and he’d miscalculated, you weren’t touching him anymore. He’d have to make sure it was worth it.

“I’m a bloke. You can cum again and again and again, but I get one shot at this. Two if I’m lucky… Three would probably kill me.”

“It’s tempting right now.”

“I’m just saying,” John’s grin was toothy and silly. He looked about the most relaxed you’d ever seen him. “I’d like to get a few in before I, you know, close up shop.”

“Well…”

You carefully placed your hands on either side of his body so that you could move over him. Placing your knee between his thighs, you leaned in close to murmur against his lips.

“How’s about I take care of you, properly. Like I’ve been thinking and dreaming about doing for… Hm, when did you start at the bakery?”

“30th January.”

“Right. Six whole months, John.”

“Almost seven.”

“Almost seven! Yes! Y’see!”

You kissed the tip of his nose, then his cheek, while John laughed softly, nuzzling his face against yours.

“How about… I take care of you. And then you can - what was it you said? - make me cum again…”

You kissed him.

“And again…”

Another soft kiss that made John’s whole body light up.

“And again…”

The rough pads of his bass-bitten fingers grazed your scalp as John slipped a hand back into your hair, keeping your mouth fixed to his, as if letting you move away would be allowing you, the night, that moment, to disappear.

Moaning softly into your mouth, John ran his tongue over yours, his eyebrows drawn together.

“You’re very persuasive.”

You grinned, feeling silly and happy and safe.

“‘s just maths, innit.”

“Mm,” John nodded and kissed you again, then pressed his nose to yours. “Sounds much better coming from you.”

“What was that about ‘coming?’”

“Oh-hoh, you’re on fire tonight.”

“Well, let’s see, shall we?”

You wrapped your hand around him and swallowed his surprised groan with a deep, slow kiss, matching the movement of your hand with your lips.

John shuddered beneath you, gripping you tight as your thumb absentmindedly swiped over the head of his cock.

Completely lacking all composure now, John’s hips jerked up into your hand, chasing a high you couldn’t wait to give him.

“You’re so fucking pretty, John.”

Cheeks tinged pink, he turned and buried his face in your forearm.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“It’ll-” He choked, his hips jumping into your hand. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

Smiling, you leaned down to kiss him slowly.

“That’s kind of the point, pretty boy.”

The only sign that he’d heard and understood you was a keening moan.

John shut his eyes, his brow furrowed like he was concentrating, the same sweet little frown he got when he played the bass.

Your cheeks were starting to ache, you were so smiling so broadly. With one knee, you gently nudged his legs further apart, then hooked your hand under one of his knees so that his foot was firmly planted on the bed.

John opened his eyes but there was nothing behind them. He blinked at you, his mouth open, his pale, slim chest heaving. He had just enough wherewithal to ask,

“What..?”

Still smiling, you swapped hands, getting him off with one while you slipped the fingers of your dominant hand into your mouth.

John’s pretty eyes dropped to follow your hand as it fell between his thighs.

“Trust me?”

He bit his lip, eyes wide, when you circled his entrance, massaging it. You could feel his whole body seize up immediately, like you’d electrocuted him. Then, just when you thought he might ask you to stop, he said,

“Yes.”

It was only a whisper, so you made him repeat himself, just to make sure.

John nodded furiously, repeating ‘yes yes yes’ over and over as you pushed your finger against him.

John’s legs instinctively rose to hook around your lower body, his ankles crossing almost delicately behind you while he gasped and huffed, kneading at your hips to keep himself grounded as you gently worked him open with one finger.

You swallowed his hiccuping moan with another kiss, keeping him distracted, getting him used to the unfamiliar feeling.

“Relax, sweetheart,” you said, dropping your other hand to soothingly rub his thigh. “Just wanna make you feel good. Can you take over, sweetheart, while I..?”

Without loosing a beat, John’s fingers brushed yours as he wrapped them around his cock. You gave him one final squeeze before you let go.

You could wiggle your finger around now, and you worked a second in, twisting and scissoring, dropping little words of praise and encouragement when John began to grind down on your hand.

“Ohhnfuuck…” he moaned, his head flung back to expose his neck.

You watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, watched his pulse jump under his jaw, and felt a swell of affection when John moaned your name. His tried to speak but his voice cracked, punctuated by sharp gasps whenever you pushed that little bit further.

“That’s it, pretty boy. That’s it. Just like that, sweetheart.”

Keeping your fingers moving steadily, you bent your head and nipped at his belly, then his pelvis, making your way down until you could nudge his hand away with your nose.

John seemed to begrudge the thought of letting go but you kissed his fingertips, then the base of his cock, and he released himself with a frustrated whine.

“Love, I’m-”

You stopped him complaining by dragging your tongue up the underside of him. John completely melted under your touch, his voice wobbling uncontrollably as you swirled your tongue around his head.

“Sweetheart, please, please, please-”

“Please what, Johnny?”

“Please don’t stop, please please please don’t stop, feels so fucking good when you- Ah!”

Though your muscles ached, you couldn’t imagine stopping now, not with John begging like that, so you shifted the position of your hand.

“When I what, honey?”

The new angle made John tense up again, his wispy little fringe now sticking to his forehead. But then you took him in your mouth, licking him clean and sucking at his swollen tip, and his whole body went slack.

“Ohhhn, when you fuck me like that.”

You couldn’t help it, you moaned around his cock, long and half feral, the vibrations making John’s eyes roll back.

Still your fingers fucked into him, stretching and pushing towards a pleasure that John wouldn’t have believed was possible, and then you hit a sweet spot inside him that made his back arch off the bed.

“Right there,” he gasped out, eyes squeezed shut, his body trembling. “Right there, that’s it, right there, right there. Don’t stop, don’t stop, please.”

”I won’t, I won’t. I’ve got you, sweet boy.”

He took himself in his hand again, squeezing and tugging. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. Seeing John like this, completely at your mercy, his mind completely disconnected from his body, it made your belly twist. He was completely yours, this was all just for you.

John cried out, begging you to go faster, so you did, and his hand sped up to match your thrusts. He squirmed against you, rocking his hips so he was practically bouncing on your fingers now.

“Ohhh, love,” You beamed against his bony hip. “You gonna cum like this, baby boy? With my fingers inside you?”

John half moaned, half laughed, almost in disbelief.

“God, I fucking am. Love, I’m-”

You leaned over him to brush his hair back from his damp forehead and kissed him softly, only slowing your thrusting fingers so that you could crook them inside him.

“C’mon, love. C’mon, Johnny, cum for me.”

Always so eager to please. Your only warning was one last sharp jerk of his hips before he suddenly came with another broken moan. It sent a jolt of white-hot desire curling in the pit of your stomach.

John’s grip on your hips was so tight, he was sure to have left bruises, and all the while he whimpered and called your name, his face flushed and pink.

Feeling just as breathless, you kissed and kissed him until John’s body slowly collapsed under you. You carefully drew back your fingers, just barely biting back a moan when John weakly protested.

He pulled you close, but it wasn’t enough, so - still gasping and buzzing with pleasure - John carefully guided your arms out from under you so that you had to lay on top of him, your bodies completely intertwined.

“You’re-” John kissed you lazily, his mind still somewhere out past Saturn. “That was amazing. You’re so beautiful. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He barely knew what he was saying, he just had to let you know that you’d made him feel more than he ever thought possible. He couldn’t imagine ever wanting to be anywhere else other than right here, right now.

Content and warm, you buried your face in his neck, catching your breath as John dragged his hands up and down your back.

“You were so good, John. Thank you for letting me take care of you.”

He smiled. He couldn’t believe you were thanking him. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He couldn’t believe crossing the road to see about a job had led him to this. In bed with you, just before dawn, sweaty and sticky and exhausted and gasping for breath, John felt like he’d finally found the home he’d been looking for all his life.

“Yeah, well, it’s your turn next, sweetheart. Give me two minutes and I’ll do the same for you.”

“Just two? Look at you.”

“You’re very inspiring, what can I say.”

You smiled against his skin, pressing your thighs together at the thought.

You considered getting up to open the window and let in some fresh, cooling air. You wanted to help John get cleaned up before the next round. More than that, you wanted to lay back and let him kiss down your body, till he’d seen to the mess he’d made.

You kissed him again, slow and languid. There was no need to rush. You had all the time in the world.

The bakery was alive again.

Like a pot set to boil slowly, incrementally over time, you hadn’t realised how anaemic the place had become until it was too late. Almost too late. With Alastair gone and the summer at its peak, 64 Oslo Square was back to its former glory, a shining jewel at the far end of Kensington High Street.

You kneaded dough with motions you knew by heart. There was a rhyme and rhythm to it, a particular push of your hands, a drag of your fingers, a dig with the heels of your palms.

You rolled the dough between your hands, forming and shaping it like a potter at their wheel, until it was the perfect consistency to divide and drop into proofing baskets.

There was music in the air. Mickey’s old radio oozed out Diana Ross, Tony Orlando, Free and Bowie, and he sang along to every word. How he knew them all by heart, you’d never know, but he never skipped a beat.

Equally vocal was John. He was leaning against the kitchen island, where he was supposed to be making butter cream. Instead, he had his head in the book he’d just bought, a textbook he’d need for his second year. He’d been reading out passages he thought were particularly interesting, and you and Mickey had been trying your best to humour him.

John recited a particularly convoluted paragraph, and Mickey actually laughed at how ridiculously complex it sounded.

“Hang on, say that one more time?”

You brushed off the flour from your hands, watching it cascade through the air like gold dust in the morning sunlight.

“Yeah, no, sorry, sweetheart. You’ve lost us.”

John turned the book around and held it up so that you could see the page he was reading from.

“Here, have a look!”

“My love, that might as well be written in Greek for all the sense it makes to me.”

“Well, some of it is Greek. It’s Physics.”

Behind you, meticulously icing fruit tarts, Mickey snorted.

You shot John a wry look.

“Well, I walked into that one.”

John turned the book back to face him.

You watched him with a fond smile, then pushed the loaves you’d made into the oven.

He got this look on his face when he was talking about his studies. John was completely in his element. All the nervousness and shyness dissipated when there was simple, honest, unconditional science to talk about.

He shrugged, shutting the thick book with a heavy snap.

“I know it’s boring-”

“It’s not boring, John, I just think it’s wasted on us.”

“Don’t be daft, you’re the smartest person I know.”

“Ta!” Mickey chimed in.

You ignored him, though it was nice to see Mickey so cheery. The last few months had been hard for all of you, but he had a family to worry about, a newborn, a mortgage. Now Alastair’s heavy chains had dropped from your ankles, the bakery was making enough for you all to live a little more easily, and Mickey had started to whistle again, bright and cheery and carefree.

While the bread proved, you set about preparing tomorrow’s croissants.

“The smartest person you know besides you, you mean,” you said to John, picking up the conversation again while you went to grab the right ingredients.

“Well, what else am I here for? Aren’t I the brains?” John smiled. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

Grinning now, you tapped his thigh as you passed by.

“Don’t forget the legs.”

“I thought that was you?”

“Ohh, someone woke up in a good mood.”

“Wonder why.”

John reached out and tried to pinch your hip but you just slipped out of reach.

Plunking flour, eggs and sugar down on the metal counter, you took a deep breath before falling into the pattern of a lifetime. It was all second nature by now, like the steps of a dance or the words to a favourite song. You’d never forget the moves for as long as you lived, you could probably make them blindfolded, with one arm tied behind your back. It was good to be back.

“C’mon then,” You nodded to the textbook in John’s hands. “What else you got? Anything that’ll get you mixing faster?”

John huffed, lifting himself up to perch on the edge of the counter.

“It’s thanks to this book that you even have a mixer.”

“Oi, watch it, New Boy. I’m your boss, remember.”

John grinned at you across the island. It was an almost challenging look. Come shut me up. Come kiss me. I know you want to.

“Can bosses get the sack for fraternising with the staff?”

Startled, you looked over your shoulder at Mickey. You’d almost forgotten you weren’t alone in the kitchen with John.

Mickey tugged a cigarette down from where it had been tucked behind his ear and flicked it up, catching it in his mouth just to show off. He raised his eyebrows at you, then at John.

“I only ask cos I got an earful this morning I’m not gonna forget in an ‘urry. It’d do me a favour if you were legally obligated to never, ever do that again. At least while I’m in earshot.”

Cheeks burning, you refused to look at John.

Images of that morning flashed through your mind.

You had to be up early to get the bakery warmed up, and John needed to get on his stupid bike and make his rounds. You’d flung out a sleep-heavy arm to silence your alarm, and in the time it took you to draw it back under the warmth and safety of the covers, John had moved on top of you.

Between soft, slow, drowsy kisses, he lazily slipped inside you, dragging his hips back and forward against yours as you gasped into his mouth.

You came clinging to his back, your ankles hooked around his hips, his tongue in your mouth and your name in his throat.

When you came downstairs together. Mickey had already started warming up the ovens. You had paused, momentarily startled. Mickey was early for once. But you brushed your surprise away and slipped on an easy smile. There was no way he would've been able to hear you, and there were a hundred perfectly innocent reasons why John could’ve been upstairs with you.

Idiot.

“Oh,” You pulled a face, aiming for apologetic and ending up at awkward. “Sorry, Mickey.”

He just laughed and headed out into the alley for his smoke break.

Turning to John, you grimaced.

“Whoops.”

Looking about as embarrassed as you felt, he held out his hand to you. John guided you around the counter until you were standing between his knees, his hands immediately resting on your hips like it was second nature.

“Alright, so your walls are thinner than we thought. Lesson learnt.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so noisy.”

“Me!” John laughed. “Can I take you out tonight?”

“Depends. Where you taking me?”

“Thought we could go to the pictures? Get some dinner?”

“Sounds perfect.” You kissed the tip of his nose. “And your electric stuff is very cool, John. I was only teasing you.”

Smiling like a cat curled up in front of the fire, John squeezed your hips reassuringly.

“I know.”

“Not just a pretty face, eh?”

John looked sheepish.

“Well, you know, you’re always saying-”

You kissed him once, twice, then his nose again.

“You’re very pretty.”

“No…”

John barely put up a fight. It was hard enough arguing with you at the best of times, he could barely concentrate when you were so close, your floury hands cupping his face, your lips so close to his.

“Yes! Twice as pretty as Roger.”

John let his head grow heavy, relaxing completely until all that supported him were your hands under his jaw. While you giggled at his exhausted expression, John shook his head

“Now you’re just being silly.”

Your heart felt so full, it threatened to spill over.

There had been a small worry, so small it barely warranted entertaining, right in the back of your mind. It liked to remind you that the dynamics of your relationship with John had forever shifted.

What if things felt different now? Under these new parameters, there would be no more longing looks across the bakery, no dancing and stumbling around each other, no more tension and uncertainty. What if the sudden expectations and roles made things awkward?

A smaller, even stupider part of your brain had even been afraid that John would wake up and - in the cold, harsh light of the morning - decide he'd changed his mind.

That particular worry was extinguished almost as quickly as it sprang into life. When John hooked one long, slim leg through yours and moaned into your mouth that you were absolutely perfect, you could have laughed at yourself for ever worrying if your mouth hadn’t been full of his name, then his tongue.

But no, here, alone in the kitchen where you came to know each other, looking and smiling at each other like you were the only two people in the world, you knew nothing good had changed. It made you wonder just how long you’d belonged to each other without knowing it.

“I mean it!” You laughed softly when you brushed your hand over his cheek and John pretended to nip at your fingertips. “You’ve got pretty eyes…”

You kissed a spot under both of his eyes, right on the apple of John’s cheeks. His smile pressed into your palms

“And pretty hair…”

“You’re so odd, love.”

“And nice eyebrows…”

John laughed, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“My eyebrows are nice?”

“And you’ve got a great nose…” You kissed it to prove a point, then grazed your fingertip along the outline of his bottom lip. “I love your funny little mouth.”

John raised his eyebrows.

“What’s so funny about my mouth?”

“Nothing!”

“My mouth works just fine, thank you.”

You grinned.

“I’m well aware.”

Shaking his head slightly, his cheeks tinged pink, John asked,

“You really think I’m pretty?”

“I really do, John.”

“I think you’re pretty too. I think you’re beautiful.”

John smiled softly as you leaned in to kiss him, and you could still feel him smiling against your mouth as you tilted his head back with one finger under his jaw.

He pulled you closer, his hands on the backs of your thighs at first, before they slid up and bunched up your apron.

You had half a mind to pull away and check over your shoulder, just to make sure Mickey wasn’t about to walk in on you. You could hear Gladys a mile away, so you didn’t have to worry about her catching you, but you’d never live it down if Mickey had to bleach his eyes as well as his ears.

John brushed his nose against yours sweetly, his eyes half-lidded and heavy. He was so handsome when he was like this, all relaxed and confident and putty in your hands.

“That thing you did,” he said quietly. “Last night.”

You hummed, only half listening as you leaned down to kiss him again.

“Think you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“I don’t think I do.”

John raised his eyebrows and you bit back a smile, feeling somehow simultaneously sheepish and proud of yourself.

You’d been waiting for him to bring it up, but when he didn’t say anything last night or this morning, you wondered if maybe he didn’t like it. His body certainly reacted positively, but sometimes there was a disconnect, a barrier, between what was felt physically and what was felt emotionally.

“Is that something you’ve done before?”

“Maybe.” Though your cheeks burned, you kept up your grin, never wanting to give away just how much John flustered you. “Or maybe I just saw you there, all wet and desperate, and couldn’t help myself.”

John’s eyes widened a fraction, like he couldn’t believe you would dare to say something so outrageous within a few feet of your colleagues and countless hungry customers.

Bending his head, he let his forehead rest against your chest, his hands tense on your hips.

“You’re terrible,” he grumbled, the sound muffled against your apron.

You couldn’t resist, you slipped your fingers into his thick hair, combing it through and playing with the odd curl.

He really was so wonderful, a ridiculous mix of pretty boy and handsome mechanic. There wasn’t anything John Deacon couldn’t do. He played every part so well without ever not being himself, and he was all yours.

“Did you like it?” you asked, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

John quietly huffed.

“I think that was fairly obvious.”

“Because we could do it again. And more, if you like.”

John raised his head.

“More?”

You kept your hand in his hair, grazing and tugging his curls around your fingers. It kept you grounded, kept you from pulling back and changing the subject and apologising for even asking. It wasn’t exactly embarrassing, just a lot to say out loud, especially with John looking at you like that.

“Yeah, you know…” You shrugged, fighting back a smile and losing. “I could use more than just my fingers.”

“Oh.” John’s eyes widened a fraction but that was all he gave away. “Would you… Want to?”

“Yes. Would you like that?”

“Yes.”

The tension between you was building again, a push me, pull you of daring looks and lingering touches, toeing the line a little more with every word passed between you.

“I…” John opened his mouth, closed it again, then said, “I trust you with me.”

There was a flicker of nervousness in his grey eyes but no hesitancy, no uncertainty.

Even just thinking about it left your mouth feeling dry, and from the way John’s fingers tightened on the backs of your thighs, threatening to slip up under your dress and beyond, he was thinking about it too.

“Still can’t really believe it,” he said softly.

“Well, you know, it’s not that uncommon. You’d be surpri-”

“No, I mean,” John laughed softly and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Can’t believe I’m here. With you.”

“Oh!” With a grin you brushed back his hair and tucked it behind his ear for him. “Well, I’m very glad you decided to stick around, New Boy. Well, not so new anymore.”

John hummed and leant his head in your hands again, nuzzling his cheek against your palms.

He’d gone all soft on you. You tried to pinpoint exactly when that could have happened, but came up empty. He’d always been sweet but recently, perhaps over the last few weeks, John had shown a vulnerability that he’d hidden behind clever words and smiles.

When did give himself over to you? Welcoming him into your little family had done wonders for John’s confidence, giving him somewhere that he felt safe and secure, where he had a set role and no doubt that he belonged.

But when had he become yours? When you were one of six people in the crowd to see his band play? When you took him into your home and patched him up, offering him love and comfort and a warm place to sleep? Or maybe it had been immediate, when you sent a stranger home with food just because he looked cold and hungry? Or maybe it was only recently. Maybe seeing how his friends welcomed you into his own odd little family had been the final nail.

Running your fingers through his soft hair, you knew you wouldn’t ever know when this started, when John had solidified himself in your life, but you were oh so very glad that he did.

The bakery door opened. You barely registered it, just a faint chime in the back of your head. You almost, almost ignored it. But something about the sound sent goosebumps shivering up your arms and down your back. Something told you to look up and pay attention.

Through the kitchen doorway, you could hear familiar voices. The same customers came by every day, or weekly, you knew them all by heart. They knew you as you knew them. There was a warmth there, a rare connection for this part of the city.

One voice, cold and discordant, cut through the rest like a bow pulled too sharply across violin strings.

Without taking your eyes off the kitchen doorway, you squeezed John’s hands, then gently let them go.

“Hang on, love.”

Heart thudding, you made it to the doorway just in time to catch Alastair moving round the counter towards Gladys.

Immediately, a coppery taste rose under your tongue, like blood, adrenaline. Your hands balled into fists and you didn’t know if you were afraid or furious or just shocked, but you froze in the doorway, unable to move any part of you apart from your wide eyes.

“Gladys, love,” Alastair smiled like an anglerfish as he drew closer. “You have to give me another chance. I was just trying to do what’s best for you.”

The bakery door closed behind the last customer, you caught the movement out of the corner of your eye. The shop was empty, apart from one woman, seated at a table in the corner, busy fussing over her baby.

“You’re being ridiculous, love. You know I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt you. I just want to help-”

“Alastair.”

You stopped him with his hand raised in the air, reaching out to Gladys, fingers curled inwards like claws. The big bad wolf.

“What the hell are you doing here.”

Alastair slowly dragged his gaze away from his target. His lip curled in irritation, almost like you bored him. You were just something to scrape off the bottom of his custom-made Italian leather shoes.

The sound of his name caught John’s attention. You felt his chest against your back but he didn’t touch you, just kept close, keeping watch but never interfering. Still, it meant there was now another man in the room, and Alastair’s attitude shifted accordingly.

He straightened his long back, pulled back his hand and tucked it behind him. His mouth shifted into something more friendly but his eyes he had less control over. They stayed cold and steady and fixed on you.

“There you are.” He tried to smile but didn’t understand the mechanics. “Look, we got off on the wrong foot, darling. But now everything’s out in the open, I really think we can come to some kind of agreement. I mean, you’re sitting on a goldmine here, sweetheart.”

Behind you, John scowled.

“Don’t call her that.”

Alastair pretended not to hear him.

“You don’t even know what you have here.”

You caught Gladys’ eye. This place was just as much her home as it was yours, if not more so. She bought a tiny corner of a bomb-stricken street, fixed it up, loved it into living, and filled it with good things to feed her community.

Until recently, until Alastair, she’d never had a day off, she’d never called in sick, she never complained or argued or admitted defeat. The fire that burned in her had been dampened but never snuffed out, and now it was back, roaring and clawing past the bars of its cage. And she’d passed it on to you.

“I do, actually,” you said, and Gladys smiled.

Alastair laughed drily, humourlessly, and there was no doubt that he thought you were beyond stupid, that you were all beneath him, that he understood the world better than any of you ever could.

“Honey, in ten years, this city is going to look completely different.”

He took a step towards you and you felt John tense.

“Twenty, thirty years down the line, this space will be worth triple what she bought it for. More than that. If you give it to me, I can talk to the right people, I can get you a good deal. Sweetheart, I can make you rich.”

“Alastair, I’ve been waitin’ a long time to say this: get the fuck ou’ of my bakery.”

Frantic now, he turned his gaze to John.

“You, you’re the boyfriend, right? Can you talk some sense into your girl? She’ll listen to you. You’re a smart bloke, I can tell. You can see what they can’t, right? C’mon, you and me, we know we can’t leave decisions like this up to- Well, a couple of girls playing business. We both know it’s too much for them.”

“Skip asked you to leave,” John said, terse and stern. ”Much more politely than you deserve.”

When Mickey came to see what was going on, Alastair took a step backwards. A smart move but not nearly quick enough.

Without a word from any of you, Mickey immediately understood what was happening and knew what the situation demanded.

Alastair raised his hands, his warped smile trembling at the corners. He shrank back as Mickey made his way towards him.

“Michael,” He shook his head, his cold eyes darting everywhere. “Michael, you-”

“Oh, mate.” Mickey grabbed Alastair by the scruff of his spotless jacket. “You’ve just made my day.”

Struggling against Mickey��s grip, Alastair cried out to Gladys, his hands wrapped uselessly around the much larger one dragging him out the front door.

Together, you watched Mickey throw Alastair onto the pavement, ruining his nice suit and removing him from your lives forever.

You looked up when you felt John slip his fingers through yours. Drawing in a soothing breath, you squeezed his hand back.

“Well,” Gladys turned to you with a smile. “I think I’ll stick the kettle on. Anyone want a brew?”

Master List

#john deacon reader #john deacon x you #john deacon x reader #john deacon fic #john deacon smut #queen fic #queen fanfiction

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spreadyovrwings · 9 months ago

Text

64 Oslo Square

"Companion' Middle English. From Old French 'compaignon', literally 'one who breaks bread with another.

Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it's more than worth it. It's worth it because of you.

Warnings for this chapter: the knowledge that i started this THREE YEARS AGO FFS

Chapter Ten

It was late afternoon on Sunday, the tail-end of a painfully uneventful weekend. But then again, these days, ‘uneventful’ was something of a relief. Boring meant safe. Dull meant no more horrible surprises or eviction notices. You were just happy to have a few hours where the world didn’t feel like it had been completely turned on its head.

You weren’t the only one enjoying the peace and quiet. Even Gladys seemed a little cheerier when you bumped into her on your way back from the shops. She was busy in the office, sorting papers and getting everything tidy, though you struggled to ignore why she was getting herself organised.

Despite her effulgent greeting and the gorgeous sunshine, the bakery kitchens still felt eerily quiet. The ovens hadn’t been switched on in weeks. Once gleaming jars of ingredients sat gathering dust on the sides, even though you often came down just to give everything a quick clean when you were feeling restless. Just because the bakery wasn’t yours anymore, that didn’t mean you should let it fade away.

The old equipment - mixers, utensils, recipes - watched you, almost accusingly, as you walked through the kitchen. The whole room seemed to hold its breath whenever you entered, as if it blamed you for what had happened, as if it was waiting for you to promise you’d fight back, that you weren’t just giving up.

You placed your palm flat against the tiled wall, letting the cold seep into your skin. An apology.

In her office, Gladys was muttering away to herself. It wasn’t her usual warbling, it was much sharper. Behind her faux smile, she was angry with herself. You knew it, but couldn’t bring yourself to talk to her about it yet. You supposed you were still angry with her too.

Pressing your cooled hand to your forehead, you pulled in a breath deep enough to settle the tightness in your chest, then headed upstairs with your bags and bags of shopping.

Mickey was supposed to pop round later with Rita and the baby. Gladys had offered to buy you all dinner, an apology for what had happened and a thank you for years of hard work. Again, you struggled not to think about the reasons for the get-together. It would just be nice to see Mickey and to have a family dinner.

Tucking your hair back behind your ears for the umpteenth time, you twisted your wrist and curved a rubber spatula around the inside of the mixing bowl. It was a bit of a busman’s holiday for you, you could admit that, but you’d spent most of the week packing up your tiny flat and it was starting to weigh in your chest.

That morning, you had awoken with a renewed sense of determination, but when it finally came to packing up your poky kitchen, you had found the cupboards stuffed with ingredients. Rather than waste them all, you’d popped to the shops for what little else you needed and baked all morning, throwing together last minute gifts for your work family.

You’d just divvied up the mixture into identical tins when the phone rang. Swearing under your breath, you brushed your hands against the front of your old work apron, streaking the dark coffee-brown material with pale cake batter.

The phone continued to trill brightly as you picked your way through the living room, carefully skirting around cardboard boxes and stacks of books, magazines, records, and Lord knows what else. You checked your palm, grimaced, then gingerly picked up the phone.

“4531?”

“Come look out your window in… Ten seconds.”

“John?” You wrinkled your nose, confused, and pressed the receiver closer to your ear. “What d’you- Which window? Front or back?”

“Er… Back.”

You glanced towards your kitchen. Set into the wall, just beside the sink, was a small square window that looked out onto the alleyway. It offered a lovely view of the bins and the graffiti-covered flank of the building next door.

“John, don’t you ‘ave an exam tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be revisin’?”

“Nah, I never really revise for anything.”

“That kinda makes me wanna hit you a bit.”

“That’s fair. Y’know, they called me “Easy Deacon” at school.”

“What, because you-”

“Nope. Exams and things are just… Easy for me.”

“Kinda wanna hit you a bit more now.”

“Just come to the window.”

The line went dead with a faint clunk. Shaking your head fondly, you replaced the receiver then went to the window, as instructed.

It was almost insufferably hot in your flat. London in July was always awful. The buildings, built for keeping the heat in, left the air inside uncomfortably claggy and close, so you had all the windows flung open already.

Sticking your head out of the one in your kitchen, you peered down into the alley, just in time to catch John jogging round the corner, travelling far faster than you would have thought possible or safe considering his chunky platform boots.

For the first time in days - in fact, for the first time since you last saw him - you laughed.

“You’re daft, y’know that?” you shouted down.

Panting and grinning, John tilted his chin up to see you better.

“Good afternoon, Skip!”

The warm, yellow sunlight lit up his face, catching in his hair and making his eyes shine. John’s tiny T-shirt hugged his slim frame. He had a rucksack slung over his shoulder, his bony elbow sticking straight up in the air, like a model on the cover of a magazine. To call it a ‘bicep’ was generous, but his upper arm looked so good tensed like that, you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

“Are you comin’ up?” you asked hopefully, letting your gaze slip up and down his body a few more times.

John smiled sheepishly.

“If that’s alright? I’ve got some work to do and there’s a big party tonight, so halls are a nightmare.”

“You’re not goin’?”

“Where?”

You laughed.

“To the disco!”

“Oh, right.”

John shrugged, then tilted his chin back even further, so now you could catch every angle of his lovely jaw and pale throat.

“I know where I’d rather be.”

Pressing down a charmed smile, you huffed and shook your head.

It turned out, you were right. When John walked into the bakery just before closing on that drizzly January night, you knew there was more to that anxious, fidgety boy with the daft hair and shabby clothes. You knew instinctively that if you just got him to relax, to smile and feel at home, he’d show a side of him that very few were lucky to know. Cheeky, silly, and divertingly charming. And it was just for you.

“Well,” You nodded your head back over your shoulder, gesturing to your living room. “You better come in then.”

John grinned.

In a blink, he had disappeared inside the back door to the bakery, then you could hear his heavy-booted footsteps on the stairs.

You wasted no time getting him comfortable. With only four weeks left till Alastair officially took hold of the bakery for good, you had begrudgingly, painfully begun sorting your things.

There were boxes piled up everywhere, some brimming with clothes for the charity shop, some packed full of bric-a-brac you’d collected over the years and couldn’t bear to part with, an all manner of books and records, teapots and cutlery, posters and jewellery. Some of it had managed to spill out from your living room into your bedroom, crowding the kitchen table and making it difficult to tread anywhere without toppling a pile of tat over.

You scooped up a stack of bills and letters from the coffee table and dumped them on the kitchen counter instead - a feeble solution but the only one you had.

“Here you are,” you said, brushing off imaginary dust from the low table so that John could place his rucksack down.

“Thanks, love. Erm, you know…” John chewed at the corner of his thumb, his gaze struggling valiantly to hold yours. “If you did wanna go out tonight, you still owe me a dance.”

“I do, don’t I.” You glanced in the direction of the boxes piled high against the doorframe of your bedroom. “I don’t think ‘ave any clothes, though.”

The corner of John’s mouth twitched. As he sank to his knees beside the table, he opened his bag and took out a few tedious looking books.

“Sounds fine to me.”

You rolled your eyes and gently hit his arm with a stray magazine you scooped up from the coffee table.

“Nice clothes.”

“You’ll look beautiful in anything.” Rubbing his arm dramatically, John smiled so broadly, it made his cheeks bunch up and his eyes shine. “I just wanna go out with you.”

It was unbearably tempting. The thought of being pressed up against John in a dark nightclub, the music thudding in your ears and his hands in yours, or on your hips, your back, wherever they wanted to be.

You could see it, John’s little curls sticking to his damp forehead and temples, his tight clothes clinging to his tiny frame, his funny mouth by your ear as he shouted over the music, asking if you wanted to get out of here.

You’d end up back at yours, falling onto your bed or even the sofa, if you couldn’t wait another second. You honestly couldn’t care less. You just wanted, needed John’s mouth on yours, on your neck, his big clumsy hands mapping your body and his pretty eyes gazing up at you, so dark and full.

He’d been on your mind since you met him, everyone knew it, even John. Dancing with him, letting him pull you into him, sinking your teeth into his neck and grabbing his hips tight - it sounded like heaven.

You smiled.

“I’d love that.”

“Yeah? Really?”

John looked so pleased, you could’ve kissed him. Instead, you thought about it, and pushed his books towards him across the table.

“Go on, you be’er get started.”

Turning away towards the kitchen, you bowed your head, tucking your chin into your chest to hide your broad, excited grin.

Your life had been turned upside down, the cardboard boxes littering your poky flat were a reminder of that, but John still managed to make you feel several stories high. Somehow, despite everything, he made you feel like the world wasn’t ending. Just having him near made you forget about life outside these four walls for a while. It was just you and him, safe in a sanctuary just for two.

“Tea?”

“Please.”

“Have you had lunch?”

You barely glanced over your shoulder. You could guess the sheepish expression on his face without needing to look.

“Stupid question,” You lifted the kettle from the stove and held it under the tap. “I’ll make us somethin’. Any preferences?”

When he didn’t respond, you frowned.

“John?”

You flipped off the tap and settled the kettle back on the stove. You twisted your wrist, igniting the hob, then turned to find John peering out of your front window. His bag and his books lay ignored on the coffee table.

“Johnny? You alright?”

He still didn’t seem to hear you.

Before you could ask what was wrong, John pressed nearer to the window, so close now that the tip of his nose was practically bent up against the glass.

“Er, Skip?”

You watched his brow furrow in the reflection of the window.

“Did you know he was coming over today?”

Bewildered, you went to join him at the window.

It was a busy day. The high street was always packed with brightly coloured people, rushing to work or flitting from shop to shop like butterflies between meadow flowers. Scarlet buses streaked past, and between them, dark cars slotted into place. They moved together, like bees in a hive, individuals all moving in one great dance.

But there was one figure unlike the others, and your heart sank to see him. He moved like a shark towards the bakery, steady and focused, his dark suit setting him unnervingly out of place amongst the sweet wrapper colours all around him. Alastair.

“What’s that bastard doing back ‘ere?”

Your teeth clenched, your jaw compressing so tightly, it began to ache. As you watched, he pushed open the door to the bakery and disappeared inside. Your hands balled into fists.

Without thinking, you immediately stormed back into the kitchen and wrenched the hob’s dial back to ‘off’.

“I can’t believe he’d-”

You couldn’t think straight. All your ideas and plans for a nice afternoon with John had slipped from your mind, as well as all reasonable and rational thought. You couldn’t remember ever being so angry in all your life.

“I can’t believe- ‘Asn’t he caused enough- He can’t just-”

You fizzled and sparked like a dying firework, your mind in a million different places. Finally, you caught John glancing towards the door. You seemed to have the same idea at the same time.

Heart racing, you thundered down the stairs, taking them two at a time. You were moving so quickly, you practically fell into the door at the bottom, with John picking his way much more carefully behind you.

“Wait, love,” he whispered, just a step behind you. “What are you going to-”

You took a deep breath, then placed both hands flat against the door and shoved.

You found Alastair leaning over Gladys, her cheek cradled in his hand. She was sitting in Mickey’s chair, her eyes closed, but her mouth was drawn into a thin line, like she was trying hard not to cry.

Alastair lazily turned his head in your direction, as if annoyed that you’d interrupted him. His dark eyes switched over your face, the way he always did, like he was assessing you, calculating your worth. This was as a man who saw the world in percentages and figures; people were just another commodity. You should never have let him into your bakery.

“Ah, the cavalry,” he drawled, already turning back to Gladys.

Alastair didn’t remove his hand, not immediately. Not until he’d dragged one long, angular thumb across Gladys’ painted cheek.

Her shoulders tensed, her eyes still squeezed shut, as if trying to take herself away from him, to somewhere safer. Gladys was clutching a bundle of folded papers, her fingers wrapped so tight around them that the paper was starting to audibly crease and bend.

“Glad, you don’t ‘ave to let ‘im in,” you said quietly.

You didn’t take your eyes off Alastair as he finally drew back his hand and slipped it into his pocket.

“Actually, she does.”

He pulled out a familiar set of keys. They twinkled and shone in the low light of the kitchen.

Beside you, John tensed.

Gladys’ spare lipgloss, a piece of pink ribbon from a dress she kept telling herself she’d fix, her own spare house key, painted purple with nail varnish, they glinted from the keyring hanging carelessly from the tip of Alastair’s bony index finger.

“This is my building,” he said, swinging Gladys’ keys back into the pocket of his immaculate jacket. “I own the lock.”

“Righ’, exactly,” You glanced at Gladys, trying to gauge if she was alright. “You already ‘ave everythin’ you want, why can’t you just leave us alone?”

“Well, I came to see my best girl.”

Alastair smiled coldly down at Gladys, who finally opened her eyes. They shone with tears.

“We have lunch plans. Don’t we, darling?”

“You’re joking,” John scoffed. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

He was standing close behind you, his chest almost pressed against your shoulder blade. It felt good to know he was close by and just as angry as you. Keeping your eyes on Gladys, you reached back and gently took his hand, giving it a grateful squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” Alastair’s nose wrinkled as he looked John up and down. “Why is the delivery boy talking to me?”

John’s hand tightened in yours. You could practically feel the nervous energy radiating off him, but Gladys rose to her feet before either of you could speak.

She reached out a hand, as if to place it on Alastair’s arm, then seemed to think better of it.

For the first time, you thought about what it must be like for her. Forty-seven years old, a business owner for twenty-five of those, a valued member of her community, and beneath the veneer of her brightly coloured clothes and wild hair, quietly and incredibly lonely.

You, Mickey, and now John were all she had. If a handsome, rich, seemingly kind man like Alastair had come along and swept you off your feet, you probably would’ve fallen for it too.

And now it was all gone, and she was alone again. And worse than that, the man who’d broken Gladys’ heart had taken everything she’d built away too, her business, her little family.

You hadn’t spoken to her about it, not really. You’d been so wrapped up in your own selfish anger, you just hadn’t thought. But as Gladys rose up and levelled Alastair’s gaze, you couldn’t help being immensely proud of your boss.

“You should go, Alastair,” she said, quietly yet firmly. “And don’t come back again. We don’t want you ‘ere.”

Alastair seemed unbothered, though perhaps a little surprised. He chewed the inside of his cheek, as if debating whether he should try to sweet talk her round, one last deception, but eventually, he raised his smooth hands in surrender.

“Fine, fine. Fair enough. We’ve said everything we need to say, haven’t we, dear?”

He smiled wolfishly at Gladys.

She just stared at the centre of chest, unblinking, her mind probably a million miles away, somewhere better.

The bakery door swished open with a bright chime.

You looked round to see Mickey in the doorway. When he saw Alastair in the kitchen, his warm face immediately sank into anger and he stopped mid-stride, his palm still pressed against the glass in the door.

Mickey was a good half a foot taller than Alastair, and one of Mickey’s biceps was about the same size as his head. Worst of all, Alastair had upset Gladys, and you, and worried Mickey’s family. There wasn’t a safe place to stand.

Alastair seemed to realise this too. It was the first time you’d seen him look even remotely flustered.

“Well, you all have a lot to discuss. I’ll leave you to it. Have a good weekend, everyone.”

He squeezed Gladys’ shoulder, making John huff and your fists clench. Then he edged towards the door, ducking under Mickey’s enormous arm, and hurried around the road.

As soon as he was out of sight, Mickey let the door swing shut with a bang.

“What was that twat doing ‘ere?”

You ignored him, choosing instead to take Gladys’ hands. They felt cold in yours, like all the life had been drained from her just by being near to Alastair again.

“Gladys, what did ‘e say to you?”

“Nothin’, nothin’.” She sniffed and blinked away tears, turning her face to the ceiling. “He just came for the paperwork and to let me know that the builders will be in next week. And to drop off this.”

She chucked the stack of papers Alastair had given her onto the nearest counter, letting them spill out and flutter. Some even fell to the floor.

You watched Gladys, waiting for a ‘but’, waiting for her to say it was all going to be alright. Slowly, then all at once in a sickening rush, her words finally sank in.

“Next… Next week?”

You felt your stomach twist and knot, your throat so tight, you couldn’t speak. The kitchen seemed to darken at the corners.

This place that had been home to you, this place that had housed you, fed you, given you purpose, led you to your new family, to John, it was being pulled from your grasp and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

You looked back at Mickey.

For such a big man, he suddenly seemed like a lost little boy. His broad shoulders were low, his gaze fixed on the floor, his huge hands bunched at his sides. His second home had been taken from him too, the place that let him do the work he loved, the place that supported his wife and daughter, the two loves of his life.

Finally, you looked at John, only to find him already gazing at you.

You knew what 64 Oslo Square meant to him, what it had given him. The bakery had been an escape, from uni, from his lonely halls, from worrying where his next meal would be coming from. Oslo Square had been a warm embrace, a place to grow and learn, and a reminder that there was more to life than exams, dingy tube rides, and lugging a heavy bass guitar around.

His expression, as always, remained fairly impassive. But when you met his eyes, John softened, only a touch, but you caught it. He was just as heartbroken, and for once, logic and reason wouldn’t give him a distraction or a way out.

The ringing in your ears grew louder and louder as the kitchen began to spin around you, and all that really registered was the deep bass drum of your heart.

You were faintly aware of Gladys talking as tears streaked down her face, carving dark mascara lines into her bright pink cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, love.” She took your hand, then Mickey’s. “Both of you, I’m so sorry. I thought I’d be able to think of a way out of this but ‘e’s- ‘E’s got it all there in black and white, darlin’s .”

John’s sharp eyes fell to the papers Gladys had discarded on the counter.

“It’s alright,” Mickey tried to summon a smile as he squeezed Gladys’ hand. “Don’t upset yourself, love. C’mon, now. It’s alrigh’, Glad. We’ll be okay.”

“But what am I gonna do with myself? Eh? Without the shop I’m… I’m just a li’le old lady.”

Gladys brushed away her tears, smearing black smudges across the back of her hand.

From behind you, John held out a tissue he must’ve silently gone to grab.

Gladys took it gratefully.

“And you,” She patted Mickey’s broad chest. “You’ve got your family. And you, sweetheart, you’re-”

You looked back at John. He gave you the tiniest smile, so faint you barely caught the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t warm, it wasn’t soft, but it was full of promise, and when he nodded quickly, his hazy grey eyes switching nervously between yours and somewhere near your collar, you knew what he was trying to say.

“I’ll be okay, Glad,” you said, grabbing her another tissue.

“Oh,” Gladys sobbed. “And it’s nearly your birthday!”

You exhaled sharply, taken-aback.

“Well, that’s- That’s very sweet of you, Gladys, but that’s the least of me worries, right now.”

“It’s nearly your birthday?” John asked.

You nodded.

“At the end of the month.”

“You never told me.”

“Well, it didn’t seem very important, considering...”

“And it was gonna be such a special one, too,” Gladys wailed.

You frowned, glancing at Mickey for help.

“Was it?”

Gladys sighed as she dabbed at her eyes, pressing blue eyeshadow into the creases by her nose and right up to her painted eyebrows.

“I was gonna to surprise you. Well, I- It was always gonna be- It would’ve been for your birthday or for your anniversary here, whichever came first and now…”

You have a hollow laugh, hardly listening now.

“It’s fine, Gladys. Don’ worry.”

But John frowned

“What was?”

Gladys looked up.

“Hm?”

“What was the surprise?”

“Well, I went to the- Oh, what d’you call it? Henry sor’ed it for me a few months ago.”

“Henry?”

“Her uncle,” Mickey put in helpfully. “He’s a lawyer.”

“Really?”

“Well, not legally, I s’pose.”

“Anyway, he sorted it with Companies House and…” Gladys sighed again and sank back down into Mickey’s chair, her hands folded and shaking slightly in her lap. “I’m sorry, love. I had him add your name to the deed. I thought it would be a nice present. Wan’ed to show my appreciation for all your ‘ard work over the years, y’know.”

Silence fell in the kitchen. All eyes turned to you.

“You added…”

You tried to speak but found you couldn’t actually say the words out loud.

Mickey looked gobsmacked, like he too couldn’t believe what he’d heard. You’d worked together for years, he’d heard you harping on about your dream for longer than he’d known his own wife, about how you would own 64 Oslo Square one day and how wonderful it would feel, to be your own boss, to be in control for once in your life, to make decisions and create something that you and your community could be proud of.

You glanced sideways at John. Beside you, always right beside you. He never gave much away, not when it wasn’t just you and him, so his expression remained flat. But there, there in the outer corners of his eyes, in the slightest dip of his eyebrows, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, you knew he was thinking exactly what you were.

How cruel. How cruel to give you what you’d always wanted, but give it too late. How cruel to give only to take away again.

“When did this happen?” John asked, ever the pragmatist, needing all the information before making a decision.

“Oh,” Gladys flapped an airy hand, not seeming to realise the gravity of her news. “Months ago. Who can keep track of that sort of- Before you started ‘ere, New Boy. At least.”

“So,” John looked at you, his eyebrows pushed together. “You’re part-owner?”

You opened your mouth to respond but Gladys grabbed your hand.

“You’ve just always been so wonderful and this place is practically half yours anyway, I thought, y’know, in a couple of years, I could retire and you could take over. It’s always been the plan.”

“Oh, Glad…” You forced a smile though it barely touched your eyes. “That’s really sweet of you.”

John pointed at the papers Gladys had carelessly discarded on the counter.

“Is that the contract you signed with Alastair?”

You frowned at him in consternation but his expression gave nothing away.

Gladys had barely begun to nod when John grabbed for the papers, gathering them up in his hands almost frantically. He scanned the pages, his clever eyes rapidly darting back and forth.

“Look, it doesn’t ma’er now,” Mickey said gently. “We’re not just gonna let you fade away, Glad, I promise. When I find a new job, I’ll see if they’ve got something for you too, eh? We’ll look after you. I promise. Won’t we, Captain?”

The idea stunned you even more than Mickey’s optimism, but Gladys looked up at you so helplessly, you couldn’t find it in you to be realistic with them.

“‘Course,” you said, forcing a smile. “We’ll sort somethin’ out.”

“She could always move in with you.”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Mickey smiled genuinely for the first time that day. Beside him, still wiping away tears and trying her best to catch her breath, Gladys was starting to smile too.

“You mean you don’t want me kippin’ on your sofa?”

“I don’t even have a flat!”

“I thought you was movin’ in with ‘andsome over there.”

“I haven’t decided y- ‘Ang on, how do you know about that?”

“Walls ‘ave ears.”

“You two, I swear to-”

“He doesn’t have it.”

You all stopped bickering. One by one, you looked round to find John still staring at the contract.

His gaze was still, his lips slightly parted. His fingers were tight around the paper, just as Gladys’ had been, like he was terrified someone might take them from him.

“He-” You blinked, trying to figure out what he meant, but nothing sparked. “What?”

Finally, John raised his head.

“He doesn’t have the bakery,” he said slowly, steadily, as if he could hardly believe it himself. “Skip, you’re part-owner. Gladys put your name on the deed. She signed this contract but you didn’t. He doesn’t have anything, this is-”

For the first time in weeks, you heart began to beat again.

“Worthless,” you whispered.

John raised the papers for you to see but couldn’t take your eyes off him. If you looked, it meant everything would change, and you weren’t sure if you could take any more life-altering news.

Either he was wrong, and your broken heart would only grow heavier. Or John was right, and the world would be turned on its axis yet again. It was safer just to keep looking at John, keep your eyes fixed on his, and find your answer there.

“Wait,” Mickey shook his head, stunned. “So you’re sayin’-”

“I’m saying 64 Oslo Square is yours, Skip.” John pushed the contract firmly into your waiting hands. “Not Alastair’s.”

There was a pause, just a beat of silence, and then the bakery erupted.

Gladys shrieked as she leapt up from her chair, pumping her two fists above her head, like her team had just scored before the final whistle. She practically fell into you as she threw her arms around your neck in a hug tight enough to bruise.

Mickey grabbed John by the waist and heaved him up over his shoulder, hollering at the top of his lungs.

“Oh, you beauty!”

John gripped Mickey’s broad shoulders as they span around and around.

“Well, hang on. You’ll need a lawyer to confirm-”

“Oh, shu’ up, New Boy. You’re a fuckin’ diamond!”

You clapped your hand over your mouth as you watched the boys but your smile was far too wide to cover. You realised you were laughing with Gladys, with Mickey, laughing so loudly and jubilantly that you were sure passersby would be able to hear you outside on the road.

When Mickey finally put John down, he staggered in his heels, his head probably spinning, but you reached out and caught his hand before he could trip.

John beamed as you pulled him into you, his eyes bright and shining.

“I thought I might kiss you,” you said, just loud enough for John to hear.

His expression hardly changed. He just smiled at you, warm and gentle, but his eyes were alight. John inclined his head, his long hair falling around his face as he let you pull him in even closer.

“Yes, please,” he said softly, his smile growing wider.

“You proper little-” Gladys stuck her hands between you and grabbed John’s face, pulling him towards her instead. “Bobby-dazzler!”

Pulling him down to her height, Gladys peppered John’s face in kisses, leaving his cheeks stained with pink lipstick. She was so much shorter than him, John was practically bent in half, his face all screwed up as she pressed kiss after noisy kiss to his skin.

“Looks like Gladys has taken care of that for me,” you laughed.

John managed to shoot you a crooked grin before Gladys held him at arm’s length again.

“You,” she practically squeaked. “You are getting a pay-rise, New Boy. And another kiss, c’mere.”

Gladys pulled him down again, kissing all over his face while John laughed softly and let her.

Finally, when she had released him and John could breathe again, Gladys threw her arms around you, then Mickey.

“C’mon, pub,” she said. “I’m buyin’ everyone a drink and I’m not takin’ no for an answer.”

Her words washed over you like water on the shore. You were faintly aware of your family talking, still giggling and clutching each other tightly as they moved to the door, but you couldn’t focus properly.

Heart still thrumming in your chest, you couldn’t figure out how to make your mouth move. You wanted to call out to the others, to laugh, to cry, anything, but you felt numb in the very best way.

It was yours. 64 Oslo Square was yours.

When you finally managed to get your tongue working again, you leaned your body against the doorframe, catching the door with your foot so that you could lean out and say,

“You lot go on ahead. I’ll catch up in a minute.”

Mickey and Gladys hardly seemed to hear you. They were practically skipping down the road, singing an old drinking song as they swayed in the direction of The Gardener’s Arms.

Only John hesitated. He looked like he might protest but seemed to understand what you meant. Against the late afternoon sun, he seemed to glow as he glanced back over his shoulder. Finally, he gave you a small smile, then followed after the others.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you stood in the centre of the shop floor, waiting for the door to close behind you. The July heat didn’t seem quite so harsh anymore. In fact, everything seemed to have shifted slightly. The world was as it was, as it had always been, but the lead-like weight in your chest and on your shoulders was gone. You hadn’t felt so light in years.

Slowly, you turned on the spot, taking in what was now all yours.

The dark wooden shelves lined with tins and jars, bags of coffee, and photos of Gladys’ proud parents. The pinboard on the far wall, the step you tripped over every morning, the till that tried to bite your fingers every time it closed. The counter painted bright scarlet, just like the writing over the door, a door enrobed in bright summer flowers, lighting up the whole road. All yours.

Slipping your hands round to rest on your hips, you walked into the kitchen.

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth at the sight of the familiar, bottle-green stove. It seemed to smile back at you. The whole kitchen did. Battered old pots and pans, mosaic tiles that remembered the Blitz, the bins out the back. It was all so ordinary, all so completely conventional and prosaic.

You pulled in a long breath, filling up your lungs until you felt your chest rise. Yours.

The bakery’s front door opened with a bright chime. You heard quick footsteps cross the wooden floor, unfaltering, sure of their destination. With no one around, they echoed so unnaturally, it set your heart on edge.

You turned, smiling, and felt two hands slip around your jaw to cup your face, then John was kissing you. You knew it would be him. He’d promised you. John always kept his promises.

Your chest lurched as you pressed your palms against the backs of his hands, keeping them against your cheeks as his mouth moved against yours. A sob sat in your throat, half relief, half joy. You knew if you pulled away it would rise up, so you pressed closer, keeping your mouth against John’s.

He groaned softly against your lips, the sound starting in his throat and ending up in yours, and all the while he kissed you so sweetly, you could hardly believe you weren’t dreaming.

You grabbed handfuls of John’s shirt, keeping his narrow little body pressed tight against yours until you could almost feel his heart thumping against your chest. His hands slipped up into your hair, sending shivers over your skin as his blunt nails grazed your skin, then travelled down your back to your waist, where they found a home and squeezed softly.

It was simple, sweet, and when he pulled back to catch his breath, you could feel John’s hands were shaking slightly.

You half expected him to look worried, like he always did, so anxious and cautious, he could barely move a muscle. But there was no fear in John’s eyes. There was vulnerability and uncertainty, but only about what to do next, not of his actions, not about you.

“Oh, New Boy.” You smiled, lips tingling from the force of his kisses. “I said you’d be good for business, didn’t I.”

When John smiled back, something warm writhed in the pit of your belly. This stupid, lovely, gorgeous boy.

“Anything for you, love,” John said softly as he reached up and tucked some of your hair behind your ear. “You know me. Always anything for you.”

The next thing you knew, you had him pinned against the kitchen counter. He gasped sharply as the metal dug into his hip, but you were kissing him again before he had a chance to speak.

John’s hips fit so perfectly in your hands, you were sure he must’ve been made for you. His chest was warm and firm against yours as you leaned your body into his, and when one of his slim legs slipped between yours, you smiled, dragging your lips around the outline of his mouth.

“Easy, honey…”

John felt all the air squeeze from his lungs, his belly clenching. The edge of the counter was digging into his back, the metal cold even through his clothes, but he couldn’t care less. In fact, he liked it, liked how you kept him pinned against it, how little force you needed to get his body to comply, how your fingertips pressed into the tops of his thighs as you kissed him and kissed him.

You angled your head, catching his bottom lip with a playful flick of your tongue, and sucked, gently first, testing the waters, then again, harder.

John whimpered against your mouth as you kept him in his place but he never once made an attempt to move. In fact, his big hands slipped around your waist, holding your body against his, and when you pushed your knee between his thighs, you were certain you felt his hips rock towards yours.

He kissed like he needed it, needed you, like he’d been longing for this for a lifetime and could finally breathe. It had been a long, patient wait, but you were glad of it. Feeling John moan softly against your mouth, his needy hands grabbing at you, the culmination of months of craving, aching, hungry love, it was unlike anything you’d ever known, and when he pressed even closer, until his nose was crammed against your cheek and you couldn’t tell where you ended and John began, you knew he felt it too.

John whined pitifully when you finally pulled away. You hadn’t expected him to be quite so vocal but it made your chest heave.

John blinked down at you, panting, dizzy. Your face was flushed, and when his eyes dropped down to watch your tongue swipe his taste off your lips, his knees nearly gave out. His breath caught in his throat when he realised he could still feel you smiling against his mouth.

You were torn in several different directions. Mickey and Gladys would be expecting you in the pub. There were countless boxes, all waiting to be unpacked, sat upstairs for you. The cake batter you’d been about to bake still sat, abandoned, on the side, and you had a nice boy to kiss and kiss and kiss. The choice was easy.

Grinning, you took John’s hand and pulled him in the direction of the stairs.

“Where are we going?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse.

You pulled open the door up to your flat and shot him a bright smile.

“Dancin’.”

Master List

#john deacon #queen #john deacon x reader #queen fic #john deacon reader

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