Archive of Our Own ^beta

Freddie, fiddling with the knobs on the control board, looked up, tilting his head.

“What is it, dear?”

John sighed, looking down. “Oh, God, I can’t believe I’m gonna…” he began.

“Spit it out, Deaky,” Freddie joked.

“Well, I have a little bit of a...problem,” John started, peeking up at Freddie.

Freddie felt almost amused by John’s demeanor, if he weren’t also worried in equal measure. John was not the type to get himself into shenanigans in the same way someone like Roger was. But, Freddie wondered what John didn’t feel comfortable telling anyone else but him. The thought of being a confidante gave him a swell of pride.

“Go on,” he prodded gently, putting his hand on John’s arm.

“It’s in the bedroom,” John blurted and then groaned as he flopped down on a stool, buying his head in his hands. “I can’t keep from...firing my gun too early,” he continued in a muffled voice.

Freddie drew his brows together, only to shoot them back up when he made the connection. Oh. Oh dear. He almost laughed aloud at John’s analogy, but thought better of it, when he saw how distraught the bassist was. He needed Freddie’s help, although now Freddie was even more confused. Why me?

“Oh, I see,” Freddie began. “It happens to us all, Deaky,” he fibbed. Freddie had not been in that position since he was a teenager. But, he knew a little white lie wouldn’t harm anyone. In fact, it might make John more comfortable.

John groaned into his hands. “This is humiliating,” he sighed.

“No, no,” Freddie responded, tapping John’s legs. “Come here, dear. Come on.” He lifted the other man’s arms. John still wouldn’t look him in the eye.

Freddie was no counselor, no sexual psychologist, as it were. Sure, he’d had a lot of sex, but that was hardly a qualification.

“Well, um, let’s see... has this happened before?” Freddie asked.

John hesitated before nodding. “But, it’s gotten worse lately,” he responded. “It’s really bad, Freddie. I can barely …” John groaned. “I can barely even...park the car in the garage.”

Freddie caught himself in time to stifle a laugh that bubbled to the surface. He knew he should be easier on the bassist. Talking about these things with a friend wasn’t easy, but did he really have to compare it to guns and cars?

“Nevermind, Freddie!” John said. “Forget I told you, you wanker.” He got up to leave, and Freddie pulled his arm.

“I’m only kidding! Sit down! I am trying to inject a little humour into this thing. You see, humour has its place in sex," he babbled, running a hand through his hair. "That may actually help you. If you’re too serious, nothing good can come out of it," Freddie continued.

“How so?” John responded, turning around.

Freddie, surprised his ramblings caught John’s attention, continued. “Well, you see, you put too much pressure on yourself. You worry about all kinds of things and you forget to have fun. It’s supposed to be fun, isn’t it?” He nudged John’s arm playfully. Maybe he was good at this sex psychology thing after all.

“Well, I suppose. But, how do I just put all that out of my mind?”

Hell if I know.

Freddie shrugged, then he remembered something. “Well, there is another option...” he started, then shook his head. “Ah, nevermind."

“What?” John implored.

“It’s pretty self explanatory, really. It’s a...ring that goes around the base of the…” Freddie explained, stopping to clear his throat. He was suddenly and inexplicably tongue-tied. “Well, your dick, dear.”

John’s eyes looked ready to pop out of his head.

“It sort of presses you, but not too terribly tight. Just to keep everything...standing at attention.” It was Freddie’s turn to use terrible analogies, and he realized why the other man had done so before. “Anyway, it keeps you...harder for longer. And I suppose it also would keep you from… well, it may help your misfiring issue as well.”

John nodded, his eyes searching the middle-distance, as if mulling it all over.

“So, where does one buy something like that?”

Freddie laughed. “Well, there are mail-order adverts in magazines,” Freddie began. He reconsidered, imagining how he would explain knowing about said magazines. “I mean, I could order one for you, if you’d like.”

John’s eyes snapped to Freddie’s. “Oh, I’m not sure about that. I’ll let you know,” he blurted.

Freddie nodded. “ Certainly,” he said seriously, as if they had concluded an important business transaction. “ Just let me know.”

Freddie had promised John that he would not tell another living soul about his predicament. He went home to peruse the catalog he had mentioned. He had hidden it under several layers of shoeboxes and some vintage scarves, but he could have found it in the pitch dark . In fact, he often did. Freddie shut his bedroom door and opened the magazine, feeling more than a little prickle of heat at the lewd images on the pages. But, now was not the time for titillation. He flipped to the adverts, which promised everything from x-rated photographs to deluxe lubricants . The magazine guaranteed prompt delivery in discrete packaging directly to one’s post box. He spotted the ad he sought and carefully tore it out of the magazine.

When the package arrived, Freddie knew what it was immediately. The plain brown box and nondescript return address left no doubt. He slid it under his bed. John had not mentioned it since they’d spoken, almost a month prior. Yet, Freddie had taken it upon himself to order the cock ring. If John didn’t want it after all, Freddie knew he’d find some use for it.

It was another fortnight before John approached Freddie again. He caught the singer one evening after the other band members had headed off for some drinks. John lingered behind with Freddie, who was about to pop off to join them.

“Hey, Fred,” John called.

Freddie turned. “You coming to the pub?”

John nodded. “Do you have a minute before we head over?”

Freddie hummed. “Sure thing, Deaky.”

“I’ve planned a weekend with Veronica,” John began. “I know I should have mentioned this sooner. I just tried to put it out of my mind. Since I don’t see her often, I don’t…” He looked away, trailing off.

Freddie sensed John wanted him to speak up, to realize where was going with the conversation. Luckily, the singer had not forgotten the issue.

“Do you want to try the…?”

“Oh, don’t say it, Fred, please,” John blurted, his hand covering his face. “But, yes, I think I do. If you order it, I’ll give you the money.”

Freddie grinned. “You’re in luck, my dear. I took it upon myself to place an order the day after we talked. It’s back at my flat now.”

John looked up, eyes wide. “You didn’t!”

Freddie nodded. “Oh, indeed I did.”

“Well, now I’m bloody nervous,” John laughed. “The opposite effect I wanted.”

Freddie laughed with him. “I’ll drop it by your place tonight, how’s that? It’s in a very unassuming package. No one will know.”

John nodded carefully . “Thanks, mate. You let me know what I owe you.”

Freddie waved his hand. “Think of it as an early birthday present.”

Freddie had never given a cock ring as a birthday present, but there was a first for everything. And he was pleasantly surprised at the grin that lit up John's face.

When John returned from his mini-break with Veronica, he looked infinitely more relaxed. But, although they’d gone to the ocean, John was still as pale as ever.

“Well, Deaky, you must have stayed in the shade all weekend,” Roger commented. “You didn’t catch a bit of sun!”

John smiled smugly . “Well, if you must know, we didn’t venture out of the room much," he said cheekily, with his classic little smirk.

Roger smiled and whooped, slapping John on the back. “Ah, well done you!”

John caught Freddie’s eye and mouthed a silent thank you that only the singer noticed.

Freddie couldn’t help but grin as he bowed his head in response.