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One.
The first time might have not been planned out.
Brian had been watching a movie with Freddie and John when Roger walked into the room, plopping himself on the floor in front of him. Before he could say a word, Roger reached back and grabbed his hands. He put Brian’s hands on the base of his wings and relaxed.
With a roll of the eyes, Brian started moving his fingers through the feathers. He twisted the feathers back into position and combed through them to make sure they were laying right. The angel became more and more relaxed until his head rested against Brian’s knee, eyes drooping.
“Well, aren’t you whipped?” Freddie grinning, reaching up to tease at Brian’s curls in a mock preen.
“Fuck off,” Brian mumbled but he smiled fondly down at Roger who was drifting off.
Two.
The next time Roger was spitting mad.
It was something stupid and little but it put Roger in a fit of rage. He had stormed through the dressing room, eyes flashing, as he kicked at everything in his way. The roadies and makeup artists were used to him flipping out so they just scurried off.
“And NOW I’m all stressed! I’ll be lucky if I can fucking play anything,” he waved his arms around. “The drums are going to be fucked too because they didn’t bring the right drumsticks.”
Oh…that was it.
“Roger, you’re being dramatic,” Brian rolled his eyes and Roger spun on him. His wings spread out, nearly touching opposite walls of the dressing room. The feathers trembled faintly, and his eyes narrowed.
“Dramatic?” Roger’s voice was dangerously soft. “It’s dramatic that I can’t do my job?”
“You have a million drum sticks,” Brian shrugged, and the angel relaxed slightly.
Roger huffed and bounced on his feet a bit. “I know but…the roadies don’t take me seriously. It’s not fair.”
“No,” Brian shook his head. “It’s not.”
The wings slowly folded in and Roger grimaced a bit. “And my feathers are all twisted. Come on, preen them for me.”
“You’re really making demands after you just had a hissy fit?” Brian asked as Roger turned around, looking over his shoulder at him.
“You were the one who got me all riled up,” he shot back and relaxed further as Brian smoothed his hands over the wings.
“Oh, I’ll rile you up alright.”
Three.
They were both a bit tipsy, stumbling up the stairs to their hotel room. Roger was cackling at a joke and stretched his wings out haphazardly to try to balance himself. All it really did was trip Brian several times.
“Come pet my wings Bri,” Roger called out as he stumbled to the bedroom.
Brian didn’t need to be asked twice.
It started with familiar patterns, twisting and pulling and then led to a…different type of twisting and pulling.
When they finished the bed was a mess of bent feathers.
Four.
Roger looked beautiful.
He was laying on his stomach, eyes closed and skin tanning under the warm rays of the sun. He was dressed in just a pair of swim trucks with his hair still a bit damp from his earlier swim. Luxury suited him. Sunning out on the deck of a mansion on an island was exactly where he was meant to be.
“Are you going to just stand there or do something useful?” He asked, voice rough and sleepy.
“What does useful mean?” Brian walked over and placed the cocktail by his side.
Roger stretched, grinning when he saw how Brian’s eyes trailed down his frame. “Some of my feathers got a bit twisted in the pool and they’re going to dry funny. Preen me?”
“Preen me,” Brian mocked but he went to work on the feathers. “That’s all I’m good for, huh?”
“Yup.”
He smiled, letting his fingers slide along the feathers.
Five.
“I knew your color would be red!” Roger sang, skipping over to admire the wings strapped to Brian’s back. He hummed as he ran his hands along the sloping wings, feathers shining in the studio lights. “They look good on you.”
“I make a good angel?” Brian looked over his shoulder, wiggling them slightly to see the wings move.
“Not as good as the original but good enough,” Roger winked at him, standing a bit on his tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
they had originally started brainstorming music video ideas for John’s song they had a difficult time thinking of something that worked. Then, Roger suggested they all be angels.
After all, who wanted to break free more than angels?
Freddie waltzed in, pink wings high and powerful looking on his back. He kept turning this way and that, showing off to the mirror and everyone else. John had soft looking grey wings, much more like his own shier personality.
“Are we all part of your flock now?” Freddie teased, grinning as Roger clapped his hands and nodded.
The shoot was incredibly fun. They sang and danced together, wanting to show that angels could be just like everyone else. They wanted to show that being an angel did not mean being less, that it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of.
Throughout the shoot though, Roger flitted around and fixed some of their feathers. He grinned at Brian when the human preened some of his feathers as well.
“Look at you, a regular angel,” Roger teased.
“God knows,” Brian smiled back.
Six.
“Ugh, I can’t even reach them,” Roger grumbled, squinting over his shoulder as he tried to get a hold of his wing. “Honestly…for fuck’s sake.”
“Stop it, you’ll hurt yourself,” Brian admonished, sitting down on the bed next to Roger. He started preening the feathers, something that was second nature after all these years. Despite a bit of stiffness in his fingers he was still able to quickly right some of the twisted feathers.
“They’re molting again,” Roger sounded disgusted. “Ugh, they’re so brittle too.”
Brian considered himself an expert on Roger’s wings by now. He had seen them change over the decades. They had drooped a bit as the years went by, a bit of the color leaching out as his hair greyed as well. Still, they were stunning and Brian loved the quiet moments where they could do this.
“They’re lovely,” Brian sighed, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.
Roger rolled his eyes and huffed. “They’re alright. Not as nice as Adam’s though.”
“Do you honestly think I’m going to leave you for Adam?” Brian laughed, trying to stop when he saw Roger shrink back a bit self consciously. “He’s wonderful, really, but he’s not you. I love you. I’ve loved you for most of my life and that is never going to change.”
“Good,” Roger mumbled.
“Not even if he wears that nice little leather number,” he ducked, expecting the wing that shot towards his head.