Body Language. Queen

Control.

Brian's P.O.V.

I saw his jaw muscles tense when his teeth grit together, his eyes slanted, directed at me, a stone cold expression on his face.

He didn't like that I had said his name, but if it meant getting him angry, if it meant that it would make him do something, I wouldn't stop, I was about to repeat his name over and over again.

I wasn't scared of Freddie, never have been and never will be. I've seen many of his tantrums so I'm pretty clued up at the level of anger that he can produce, and it was a lot...maybe now was the right time to admit that I had always found it a little bit of a turn on when he threw a fit.

I could tell without provoking him he was going to choose to stay silent, he didn't want to talk about Charlie, he didn't want to hear his name, listen to me talk about him or even have to think about him.

"How did it make you feel, Freddie? Knowing that I was choosing him, over you?" I asked, rather evilly.

He drew in a sharp, long breath before closing his eyes, his mouth an unimpressed straight line.

"That I was choosing to fuck him, when I could have been fucking you instead?" I was taunting him, this was dangerous, he was likely to explode...but I loved it.

His head was tipped back and digging into the mattress beneath him, eyes now open, staring at the ceiling, his mouth slightly open, his top teeth protruding a little, his whole expression was screaming; for the love of god, stop talking.

But I wasn't going to, not until he started.

I leaned over his head again, my hands next to his temples on the mattress, my face hovering centimetres over his.

He was still half dressed in that poxy white jumpsuit, I could clearly see his erection looking rather uncomfortable what with the skintight material. The sight of that alone made me want to strip him of any clothing...

"Were you jealous?" I whispered, a smile on my face, my breath tickling his cheeks.

"Brian." He growled.

"Freddie?" I played.

"Shut. Up." He avoided all means of eye contact.

"Why? Don't you want me to talk about Charlie?" I asked in a sickly sweet tone, it was working, he was cracking.

"No."

"Why not?" I lowered my head further.

"Because, I hate him." He grumbled in monotone.

"Because he was bedding me and you weren't?" I smirked.

He suddenly lost it and shoved me, his hand in the middle of my chest, I lost my balance and tumbled off the top of him and onto the mattress, before I could even fathom what had just happened he was already back on top of me, in what he thought was his rightful place.

I stared up into his dark, wild eyes, his breath heavy and jagged, his teeth still clenched together.

"Because he took away the only thing that had ever fucking mattered to me and shoved it right in my face." He spat, his voice viscous.

He was worked up, emotionally and sexually, he wanted to lash out, he wanted to do something to me, he wanted to relieve himself and he was also struggling to not touch himself, a stray hand of his hovering dangerously near his crotch as he'd retracted, straddling me just below my own crotch.

His fingers twitching, curling and uncurling, he was so desperate for contact.

I lifted a hand and pushed his hovering hand away from himself, he tipped his head back and groaned in defeat, "What the fuck are you doing to me..." he whispered quietly, he looked back at me, his eyebrows furrowed with a pained look on his face.