"Roger, sweetness, why are your feet so big? Mine are so tiny! Or maybe I'm just used to Brian's little fairy feet."

"You know what they say about men with big feet."

"They're tall. And in your case, hairy! My god, baby, check out those arms!"

"These guns? Oh honey, I don't even have to work out to get this buffed."

"You are so full of yourself!" I laughed, play kicking his tight-Jeaned ass. I continued to spread butter on my pancakes, waiting for Roger to find the lemon juice in his huge pantry.

"Where the shit did you put it?" He asked. I grabbed the rolled up newspaper from the bench and whacked him on his cute little butt.

"Ow!"

"You can't swear anymore! I have to train you so you don't go potty mouth around Guac." I explained as he turned around and gave me dagger eyes. I squinted, holding 'the punisher' up. He advanced towards me and I walked backwards to the door. My body hit the doorway and Roger raised an eyebrow at me, prompting a game of chasing that ended up with us both on the floor of the bathroom, puffing like marathon runners.

"Is this you making up for the kinky stuff you can't do while you're sick?" Roger laughed, leaning against the bathtub. I worked my way across the tiles to sit on his legs.

"No. You need to get used to not swearing. The only place we can use the swears is our bedroom. Everywhere else in the house is a naughty free zone."

"Our bedroom is the naughty room? The naughtiest you've done in that room is accidentally saying 'fuck' whilst wearing a wizard hat and reciting Shakespeare in your crappy Arnold Schwarzenegger voice. Sex is meant to be a turn on, ya know." Roger commented as I tapped his cheek with the newspaper roll.

"Hey! I'm great at the no pants bone dance! Shush." I laughed.

"That is the literal worst thing I've ever heard." Freddie Mercury commented from behind me. I turned to see him, fork and plate in hand, eating my pancakes in blue jeans and a tight shirt.

"Who let you in here?!" Roger demanded, squinting slightly to see who it was.

"Oh, I let myself in. You two were too busy discussing Lucy's sex methods to hear me knocking. Great pancakes by the way."

It had been 1981 for literally 2 days and 10 hours and I was already plotting a murder.
______________________

"Are you alright there?"

I looked up to see Freddie and Roger staring at me. Well, Freddie at me, Roger at my chest. I winced as I removed my hands from under my shirt where they had been supporting my seemingly ever-growing breasts.

"Have you ever been pregnant, Freddie? Your boobs will grow and they will ache. Not only that, you pee when you laugh, which is great because I live with Lieutenant Dick Jokes over there! Not to mention the mood swings, the extra drool, the hunger for sex, oh and a heightened sense of smell, making pre-toothpaste morning sex impossible. Shit, I need to calm down." I reeled, resting my head on the table. I hear a plastic clunk and a stream of water shoots onto my head from Roger's direction, dripping down my hair and onto my forehead.

"You said a swear." Roger commented from behind the bench as I sat up. His equivalent of 'the punisher' was a green and yellow water pistol, small enough to fit in his hand. I held back a laugh, watching him place the squirty gun in his Jean pocket, only after targeting Freddie's crotch. I shook my head at them as they fought over who got which piece of pancake, elbows on the benchtop and silver forks in their hands. How can they be professional rock gods and still have a mental age of 3?