#but he does the least he can do - because - as he's told Olha

[yurivanovich]

Truths are different. We tell one truth, and are afraid of another.

(Servant of the People S01E01 | S0E23) 

[sitonmyhot-seatoflove]

A Sós - Brian May x Brazilian!Reader

(aka my insanely belated A Night at the Fandom gift for the lovely Ana @bismillahnah. there's an author's note for you at the end, darling! thank you so much @dtfrogertaylor for pulling this together for all of us! you rock! this was amazing! once again, I'm so sorry for being this terribly late)

word count: 3988 words

warnings: some making out, some implied sexual content, lots of cheesiness, a little bit of untranslated Portuguese (it’s set in Brazil!), and some playing fast and loose with the timeline.

Só nós dois e uma madrugada inteira pra conversar / Só nós dois e uma infinidade de Amor pra cantar / Com você o manual da vida fica fácil de ler / Com você a hipótese de uma vida pra ser / Vivida juntos / Nesse e naquele que é só nosso mundo / Um mundo de nós / Eu, você e a existência a sós.

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You were never really one to talk to strangers.

Not this incessantly, at the very least, and certainly not this intimately.

Something about this one made him a little extra special, though.

Maybe it was just that you'd had a couple of drinks, and had gotten free entry to what was supposed to be the best Carnival party of the year - only to be ditched by your best friend when she found someone to make out with in some random corner. You were all alone in the Baile Vermelho e Preto, and hell, it was Carnival - you weren't supposed to be alone.

Maybe it was something about him - maybe the way his curls framed his face and bounced around him as he walked, a little messy and a little frizzy, giving him a frazzled sort of look you couldn't help but find endearing. (It was all the humidity, he'd explained, from being so near the ocean - his hair was usually much tidier.)

Maybe it was how cute he looked when his pointier teeth showed whenever you said something clever. It was nearly addictive, that smile, and from the moment you saw it for the first time, your sole purpose for the rest of the evening was to make sure you could produce it as many times as possible.

Maybe it was the way he'd never lost his temper while trying to communicate with that bartender - even after seven whole minutes of failed attempts to order a different drink, even as there was a line forming behind him, even as he was sweating through his white button-up so much it was sticking to his skinny back. His voice was soft even as he half shouted out his order over the music in a heavily accented Spanish/Portuguese/English blend of a language - and even though everyone behind him seemed annoyed, they all seemed too reluctant to do anything about it. You'd noticed some of them looked almost intimidated - maybe by his height? Maybe by the fact you didn't usually get that many tourists in this part of town? You weren't sure. But, while they all stared and whispered, no one seemed about to step in, and you were a translator, damn it, even if you only did it as a side gig.

He was nine minutes into his attempts to communicate with the bartender when you'd decided to intervene.

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"Ele tá pedindo uma cerveja escura. Tipo Guinness. Se não tiver, ele quer só uma água tônica mesmo." The bartender looked exasperated at your attempt to help. You couldn't blame him - that crowd wasn't exactly the nicest to be around, and the last few minutes probably hadn't helped improve his mood.

"Eu entendi, moça. Tô tentando explicar pra ele que a gente só tem Brahma e água mesmo. É open bar, olha essa fila, pelo amor de Deus..."

"Desculpa, moço. Vê duas Brahmas mesmo." You turned to the tall stranger, who looked dumbfounded by your meddling. "Sorry, buddy, you'll have to make do with light beer and regular water. It's not too bad, though, I promise." You pulled him away by his upper arm - surprisingly toned for such a skinny lad - while holding the two beers in your other hand. He was wide eyed, and you assumed he'd been a bit stunned by your unabashedness.

"I'm-" He paused as he saw the line that had formed behind him. "Jesus. Sorry. Didn't mean to be a prick."

"I know. Figured I'd rescue you both." You offered him his beer and a soft smile, and he looked down at it, looking less than excited to give it a try. "C'mon, now. It won't kill you."

"No, no, I know, I just - not my favorite drink, really, but it'll do," he said, tilting his bottle to clink with your own before taking a tentative sip. "Thank you."

The smile he gave you right then completely changed your entire evening. The only word that your fogged brain could come up with to describe it was magical - you cursed yourself for the cheesiness of it. It really was how it felt, though - from the moment you saw the way his eyes crinkled just a tiny bit, and glowed just a little more than everyone else's, you were done for. And after he took a moment to look at you up and down, apparently taking notice of you for the first time that evening, and his eyes seemed to brighten up at the sight - that was it, this was the best Carnival ever. Never mind your friend, never mind the fact that you'd have to wake up at an ungodly hour. Who could possibly give a shit that your feet were hurting from the pretty shoes you'd chosen when this man was looking at you like that?

His raised eyebrows seemed questioning all of a sudden, and you realized his lips were moving. They had been moving. Cacete, Y/N, acorda, ele tá falando com você, responde- 

"Sorry, what?" You ask in response, finally waking from whatever weird type of trance this stranger's very handsome face and unearthly pretty eyes had put you under. "Hard to hear over all the music."

"I said, do you wanna step outside for a smoke?"

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“I swear to God I can speak Spanish.”

The smoking section kinda stunk, you couldn't lie. It was pretty rough - while the front of the building had been spruced up recently, probably for the party, the side, where most smokers had gathered, was all just rough cement with exposed orange brick in some spots. He - Brian, you'd learned, Brian from the UK, an Astrophysicist who was in town for work - leant on that wall while trying to justify his faux pas from earlier. You tried to stay serious, but a little scoff of a laugh escaped your lips at his proclamation. “I’m dead serious! I even spoke Spanish very well to some native speakers last week," he bragged, taking a long drag of his cigarette before speaking. “For work.”

His work was interesting. You were a little confused as to why an Astrophysicist had come to spend so much time in South America - he'd told you he'd been in Venezuela just last week, and Argentina was coming up next - but, really, you weren't complaining, not when it had landed him here, right in front of you.

“What do you do, then?”

“I’m still finishing my degree too," you said. He'd talked a little bit about his unfinished PhD - something about 'various pressures', but he'd been weirdly coy about those. Busy with work, he'd said. “Still on my bachelor’s, though. Wanna be a psychologist.”

“Been analyzing me this whole time, then?”

“Obviously.”

That one got you a smile. Score.

You both were comfortable with each other - weirdly comfortable, as far as your experience with handsome strangers went. Because he wasn't just asking you questions for the sake of asking - when he inquired further about your interest in psychology, he asked about the specifics and couldn't stop asking follow up questions. What you wanted to do with your degree, what type of approach you preferred, whether you actually bought all the stuff Freud had come up with, what was your take on the more recent developments in Cognitive therapy stuff… He also seemed to be knowledgeable in nearly every subject. An hour had passed, you'd noticed, and all you'd done was talk - about your interests, nonetheless. He shifted the subject slightly, only once, interrupting you mid-sentence while you mused at him about the more philosophical aspects of Freudian theories.

“I would like to see you tomorrow.” You were a bit taken aback at the interruption - and his interest - and he noticed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, I just - you're brilliant. And beautiful. And I would like to see you again."

"That's not how Carnival works, Brian." He frowned at that, and you realized that maybe he'd forgotten what this was - where you were, what you were supposed to be doing. You weren't supposed to be discussing philosophy and he wasn't supposed to be taking an interest in your intellect; you were supposed to be making out in some corner, just like your friend had been, both of your names having slipped from one another's mind by the time morning came. "It's usually a one night thing… And I'm busy tomorrow." You were completely busy for the next few weeks, as a matter of fact; a fantastic job opportunity had turned up, but you couldn't help but want, just for a second, to say 'screw it' and give Brian all the time in the world. You could, at the very least, give him the rest of your night, though, so you tried to find a way to stretch your time together a little longer.

"You seen the beach yet?"

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Copacabana was just as beautiful at night, he'd decided. Turns out he had seen the beach, but only in passing - his hotel was a few of blocks from where you two were now, walking aimlessly, slowly, shoes in your hands so you could feel the sand. Just trying to pass the time with one another.

The sky was clear enough for you two to stargaze, too, which gave you a nice little way into his mind, for a change. He marveled at the constellations he'd never get to see back home, and cursed himself for not bringing a telescope along for the trip. You teased him for that - how does an Astrophysicist travel halfway across the globe and doesn't bring a single telescope? But he only shrugged at that, blushing a little and turning your attention to the Southern Crux, bright and beautiful and right above you both.

"Do you think we're ever gonna have a real answer?" He didn't seem to get your question, so you expanded. "I mean, do you think your lot - the hard scientists, I mean - do you think you guys will ever be able to tell us why we're here after all? What it all means?"

"Science's really good at the 'what's and the 'how's, but it doesn't have much to say about the 'whys'," he replied, thoughtful as ever, sounding a little more confident now that you'd switched lanes and were talking about his specialty, rather than yours. The way his voice had shifted was more attractive to you than anything else about him so far. "Neither should it, I reckon." He shrugged. "And I don't think we can ever come up with those types of answers. We know so little, as much as we like to pretend otherwise. I mean, think about it, we only know the size of the observable universe," he said as his eyes shifted upwards, "we can hypothesize all we want about what's on the outside of that, but, truth is, we have no bloody clue." 

"Great, that's not nerve wracking at all."

"It's kinda nice, if you think about it. We're tiny specks in a tiny world, which is a tiny speck in our Solar System, which is a tiny speck in our galaxy, which is a tiny speck in the part of the universe we know." He shrugged once again. "Puts things in perspective, you know? I mean, how special are we, really? But, then again, maybe we are. Maybe the Christians are right. I don't know."

"You think there's life out there?"

"Well, you ever heard of the Drake equation?"

God, you could hear him talk for hours. Even if it was about numbers. You did hear him talk for hours - and he heard you, too. About psychology again, sure - why you'd chosen it, and why you'd become passionate, and all the professors you hated and all the ones you loved. But things got a little more personal, too. You talked about how you'd moved up to Rio from the South because they had the best Psych school in the country, and while you really missed your family, you'd fallen in love with what you believed was the most beautiful city on Earth. How you liked the beach, but Copacabana was overrated - "it's touristy and there's prettier places" - and, really, you preferred the short stretches of woods you could find in the local parks. He kept up with everything you said, and your conversation moved so quickly you couldn't really tell how you'd skipped from one subject to another. He could discuss the complexities of Nabokov and the psychological analysis you'd done of his characters, laugh at a stupid pun you'd made about the ocean, and show real interest in your passion of history all in a matter of minutes.

"And there's this really swanky café," you said, while doing your best to give him a mental tour of Rio's historic downtown, "it's called Cafeteria Colombo. Bit touristy, but I'm into it. They're really traditional - the Emperor of Brazil supposedly used to eat there, which is kinda ludicrous but super fun at the same time."

"Take me there." You looked confused - it was the middle of the night, and you opened your mouth to explain that it wasn't exactly a 24-hour joint, but he beat you to it. "Tomorrow - let's go there tomorrow. My treat."

"I... don't think so, Brian."

"It's the least I can do after you saved me at the bar." You chuckled a little at that. "And introduced me to the best damn light beer I've ever had." You actually let out a full-bellied laugh, and he seemed satisfied to see it. "Let me see you again, Y/N. Buy you a cuppa."

And you wanted to, but that's not what this was. You had to keep it in mind, and he had to get it into his - it was not what this was. He beat you to your argument before you could even protest, though.

"I don't care how Carnival works." He stopped walking. "You can't possibly believe this is a one night thing, Y/N."

"You should really be more respectful of the holiday traditions, Brian."

He didn't have an answer for that, which made you a little disappointed. Still, you'd meant what you'd said - he was leaving in a couple of weeks, and you knew that if you got to see him again - if you got to hang out with him for any longer than a single night - you'd serve him your heart in a silver platter to take across the ocean without hesitating. Hell, you'd been with him for a few hours and already felt tempted enough to do it.

You kept walking in silence, the air feeling a little heavier from the higher rise and from the way you'd shut him down again. Before you could come up with something else to say - anything, puta merda, Y/N, inventa qualquer coisa pra falar - he moved his hand and placed it over yours, and you swore your heart started wanting to jump out of your body and physically reach over to him.

"Can you ever feel your heart in your ears?" You blurted out and immediately cursed yourself; he laughed a little, though, and had a surprised expression on his face when you dared to look over. "Sorry, that was stupid."

"It wasn't." You stared at him in mock seriousness, pointedly. "I swear." He was smiling at you, and at this point, you couldn't help but smile back. His eyes lingered on your lips for a half second too long. "Why'd you ask?" You stopped walking again, a little too stunned at his bluntness to keep going. Wasn't it obvious why you'd asked? "Can you feel yours now?" He asked, his voice softer than ever.

"Yeah."

He placed both hands - God, he had really large hands - on either side of your head, fingertips playing a little with your earlobes. "Well, your ears are hot."

"Well, you're not exactly helping with that right now, are you?" You wrapped your hands around his wrists, hoping to feel a quickened pulse, hoping to God his heartbeat was as strong and erratic as yours was right now. Did his heart want to come find you, too?

"How do I ask 'May I kiss you?' in Portuguese?"

"Eu posso te beijar?"

He tries to repeat it, and something comes out - it sounds more like Spanish than Portuguese, but you forgive him the second you look into his eyes. You thought you could get lost in them - Jesus Christ, where the hell were these romcom thoughts coming from? You could, though, you swore you could, and that looking straight at them felt like plunging deep into the ocean, and ugh, that particular thought was made so much cheesier by the fact that you were right by the ocean - and wait, puta merda, he was looking at you - at your lips, then back at your eyes, then back at your lips - very expectantly. Right, he had asked you something, you were supposed to say something, even though you were honestly about to go blind from how warm his hands felt on your face. "Close enough," you managed to whisper out, your swirly mind getting swirlier by the second as this beautiful stranger pulled you in.

His kiss felt huge - bigger than the both of you, bigger than tonight, certainly bigger than Carnival. That's the only way you could describe it. His lips were soft on yours, and as you opened your mouth with a gasp, you could taste a tiny bit of Brahma on his tongue. It was mostly mint and ocean salt and cigarettes and him, all around you, his tall body enveloping you and somehow putting your brain in a haze where time seemed to move outside of reality. There was nothing other than you and Brian and, for all you knew, Copacabana was the whole world.

You were trembling by the time you'd stopped kissing, and, as he moved his hands to encircle your waist, he was trembling too. You were giddy to notice it. He seemed giddy just from kissing you.

“Let me see you tomorrow.”

“Can’t live in the moment, can you?” You teased, pulling him back into you and playfully biting at his lip to get your point across.

You quietly inquired, in between warm kisses, where he was staying, again - wasn't it close by? And, wouldn't you know it, his hotel was just a block away from where you were standing right now.

And, well, that had to be kismet, right?

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His suite was fancy - too fancy for an Astrophysicist, and you might have realized that, maybe, if you weren't so otherwise distracted by his lips, seemingly all over you at once, setting your skin alight one peck at a time. By the time he started using his tongue on your neck, you were done for - nothing would come out of your mouth that night other than kisses and loving and strangled moans of his name, which happened by the minute. He seemed to love it - every time you said his name, he was a little spurred on, grabbed at you with a little more force, and, in turn, you loved that. Every time he said yours, your stomach did somersaults. You hoped you sounded as sweet to him as he did to you.

He fell asleep before the sun rose, and your heart sank a little at the thought of leaving his embrace and making your way back into reality. You tried to commit everything to memory - the smell of the crook of his neck, the curve of his tiny bottom, the pattern of the freckles on his upper back, the way he sighed in his sleep when you scratched his scalp, the freaking hotel logo on the face towel in the bathroom - absolutely anything you could get your senses to grasp at. You had to make sure you had a full picture to come back to, otherwise you feared you might think it was all an alcohol induced illusion of some sort. Besides, he looked so pretty while he slept, so that's how you chose to remember him - the crease between his eyebrows gone completely, lips slightly parted, drool starting to come out, hair more frazzled than ever.

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It was always great working with musicians - you liked talking to artists, you'd always get to see their shows for free and, as part of the 'entourage', you'd always get some damn good amenities - and this was an especially sweet gig. Queen was the biggest client you'd ever gotten - their original translator got sick and, when a producer friend of yours had referred you, you were more than happy to step in for them. The four members would need a translator to work closely with them for the next couple of weeks, and you couldn't have been more excited to run around town with rockstars for a longer stretch of time, especially while on break from school. It was perfect, really - good pay, good gig, and, hopefully, some good company.

You tried to keep this in mind - to conjure up how excited you'd been when you'd gotten the job; how, because of it, you had been able to buy tickets to go home for Holy Week; how excited your family had sounded on the phone. This was worth it, you thought, it was worth not seeing Brian again. He would go back to the UK so soon anyway - it was just a fling, just a sweet memory you had to lock up in a little box and keep in the back of your brain for now. 

And you did. You did such a good job at compartmentalizing you only thought of him once during your morning shower. Once again while making your coffee - you wondered how he took his, or if maybe he was a tea drinker. He was British. But maybe that was just a stereotype? Maybe he loved coffee, maybe he took it with three spoons of sugar just like you did. You wished you'd stayed long enough to find out.

You did a great job of keeping him out of your mind while commuting to the convention center all the way across town where you'd be meeting the band. You were running late on your first day, which was less than ideal, and the anxiety of it kept your thoughts stuck on the traffic and on your watch. They couldn't fire you on the first day, could they? You'd assumed most journalists at the press conference would be ready to ask in English, but you never really knew - Brazilian journalism could be unpredictable. They still needed you. You were fine, you were not going to get fired, and you were certainly not going to be distracted by the memory of the tall, handsome, unattainable man you'd left in bed that morning.

You were so consumed by your thoughts - your non-Brian thoughts - and the desperate need not to be late that you ran inside the venue, not bothering to take a second glance at the journalists setting up in the main area or at the Queen poster someone had put up near the entrance to the meeting room a staff member directed you to.

In retrospect, paying a little more attention might have saved you a lot of grief, or, at the very least, a hell of a scare. It would have been shocking to see Brian looking down at you from the huge poster right outside the room your new client was supposed to be in - but it was a much bigger shock to walk in and find the man himself, staring at you, eyes wider than ever, dropping his half-drunk tea on the carpet.

Well, you thought, guess he's a tea drinker.

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A/N: oi, Ana! espero que você goste do seu presente. não sei se você já sacou, mas eu sou brasileira kkkk e, como boa brasileira, tô chegando bemmmm atrasada por aqui com sua fic. desculpa o atraso, de verdade. não sou uma escritora necessariamente boa, mas juro que a fic foi feita com muito carinho - eu quase pirei quando recebi você no sorteio e vi que você era brasileira!! fiquei mandando mensagem em inglês pra manter o sigilo e não estragar a surpresa.

o título da fic e a inspiração vieram de uma música do Rizzih, como você deve ter percebido (aliás, não conhecia ele! fiquei super feliz de conhecer um artista novo). na real, eu tava querendo fazer uma fic com uma Reader brasileira e tradutora faziam décadas, e achei seu presente a oportunidade perfeita pra explorar esse relacionamento e essa personagem. ainda tenho algumas aventuras planejadas pra ela e pro Bri (um dos motivos da demora foi justamente o fato de que eu queria que essa fic fosse três ou quatro vezes mais longa, mas resolvi dividir em partes e ir postando conforme for conseguindo escrever). como as sequências não vão tecnicamente fazer parte do seu presente, apesar de serem da mesma história, me avisa se você quiser ser marcada quando eu postar! eu amei conhecer um pouquinho mais sobre você durante esse mês e espero poder conhecer mais ainda daqui pra frente. mil abraços e, novamente, espero que você goste! com muito amor, sua amiga oculta, finalmente podendo falar com você em português - S (🕺🏻)