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Sentimental Fool	By : signorinaravelli Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 757 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Pink Floyd. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Sentimental Fool
- 1
“There will now be a twenty minute intermission, when the band will return for the second half of the show. Thank you.”

The moment he felt his arm tugged, Roger was certain he could guess to whom the all-too-eager hand belonged. He let it drag him a little ways down the hallway, toward the dressing room that the others were currently disappearing into.

“I haven’t the ti-” He was cut off mid-sentence when they suddenly veered off-course and he was pushed quite enthusiastically into the only private bathroom on the premises. For a moment darkened walls were visible, until the door swung shut and the click of the lock echoed dissonantly against the tile. Utterly black. Roger felt around and placed his hands against the cold, dingy wall, much to his disgust. “Dave-”

“Shut up, Roger.”

“Fuck off and open the door!”

“Which should I do first?”

“Look, I’m no mood-”

“Oh, really?” David was up against Roger now, pressing him into the wall and making quite good use of his belly pudge in that respect. The bassist had begun to push him away but his wrists were grabbed and slammed above his head wall in a similar fashion. “Didn’t seem that way earlier…”

This was in reference to their usual close proximity during “Young Lust”, though this evening’s performance had certainly been something else. Typically they might have looked at one another whilst singing, delivering the chorus playfully (about the only thing playful between them these days) and mucking about, but tonight…Roger had been staring at David in a most peculiar yet familiar way tonight.

Just before the bassist pulled away, his gaze lingered a bit too long. Lids a bit too languid. Full lips a bit too slack. His expression was inviting and yet threatening, as though he were daring David to try his luck again. It had been over a year since they’d slept together last and though neither would have admitted to it up ‘til now, it was getting to be too much. In spite of the disgust, the mutual attraction was certainly still there. True, it could never be like it was in the beginning: somewhat relaxed fucks, seemly inconsequential and charmingly fumbling. There was more desperation and venom the last few times, owning to the obvious factors; David’s frustration with Roger and Roger’s sugar-sweetened abhorrence of David.

“I don’t have time for this shit!”

“I daresay you’ll make time.”

“You stupid-mmmffppph!”

Roger opened his mouth to complain again and David took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. Much to his chagrin, Roger found himself responding, relishing the familiar texture of his ex-lover’s soft lips and probing tongue. Hesitantly, he pressed back and soon made for a rather wet, messy kiss, the effects of which were certainly making themselves known on both their persons.

“Just so you know,” Roger pulled away, panting. “I’m not about to fuck you in this disgusting bathroom.”

“Quite right, Rog. I’ll be fucking you.”

“Oh, sod this!” Roger struggled out of David’s grip and began to make for the door, only to be grabbed by his tee-shirt and flung away from it, losing his balance and falling with a heavy, painful thud against the floor.

The overhead light hummed to life and there stood the guitarist, looking serious as anything, fingers already fumbling with his own zip. Roger glowered up at him before shakily getting to his knees and supporting himself against the wall while he slowly rose.

“Christ, you practically did my back in, you stupid bastard….”

“Your back’s going to be the least of your worries, mate.” He hauled him up the rest of the way and led him toward the sink, pushing the upper half of his body down against the basin. He made quick work of his trousers and underwear, leaving them bunched around his knees, the cold air hitting Roger’s cock unpleasantly. David paused for a moment, simply staring down at him relishing the sight. Then he smacked Roger’s ass in a manner just short of playful; the action made the bassist seethe with rage. “I’d forgotten what a bloody nice view you are from behind. A great improvement from the front, anyway. So shall we get to it then?” But he sighed in exasperation as he’d clearly forgotten something important.

“Wait a mo’, wait a mo’. I need a pick-me-up before we go back out there.” He produced a little vial and popped the top off. “Em, bit hard to do this without a mirror and razor.” He shook a bit out on top of his outstretched finger and as he was bringing it to his nose, thought better. Smiling, he dumped the powder back in the bottle and instead sprinkled a messy line over Roger’s just over Roger’s arched ass, taking care to continue the trail down his crack.

Roger, mortified, made no sound whatever as David quite noisily snorted the stuff off his skin, then retraced his path with his tongue so that no powder was wasted.

“Care for a pinch, Rog?”

“Certainly not from you.” He shivered at the feeling of that wet tongue running up a certain crevice once more. Despite the rejection, Roger found a little mound of snow white thrust up until one nostril on David’s pinky, its counterpart squeezed shut with another finger. Without much choice but really not fighting as much as he could have, Roger snorted and sniffled a bit before sneezing, something that always happened to him when he partook of la cocaína.

“Oh, and while you’re at it, do something for me, love, hm?” He suddenly forced his index finger into Roger’s unassuming mouth. “I’d make sure that it’s quite wet if were you.”

Roger moaned in protest around the salty digit but did as he was instructed, readying himself for the oncoming assault by arching up as much as possible and planting his feet firmly against the floor. Eventually he could feel David’s finger stroking his hole in short up and down motions, then slowly easing his way in. Roger grit his teeth, determined not to make a sound. Stared at the rusty metal-rimmed drain below him, into the infinitely black tube and felt something of a kinship with the thing.

“Why don’t you just fuck me and get this thing over with?” he whispered, trying to open his legs wider despite the hindrance of cloth around his knees. It felt very, very awkward.

“Never let it be said that I didn’t put my lover’s” -sharp acidic tongue- “pleasure before mine. Now, let’s see here…looking for Roger’s love switch…looking for Roger’s love switch…wherever can it be?” David hummed softly to himself as he continued to probe, motion becoming more fluid as Roger started to relax his body just a bit to better accommodate him.

“You…you bastard...” The bassist gasped. David crooked his finger a bit and felt a shudder go through his reluctant companion’s body. Clearly he was close now.

“Aren’t you going to fight me? Call for help? I mean, you obviously don’t want it.”

“You disgusting twat – ah!”

“Oh dear, I think I’ve found it.” He pressed again and Roger couldn’t bite back another involuntary gasp. “That’s right, don’t hold out on me…”

Roger felt that shuddering, butterfly feeling in his belly each time Dave’s teasing fingers stroked his prostate and it felt as though his jellied legs would have buckled under him had it not been for the sink. David leaned over to kiss his heaving shoulder blades through his tee-shirt, then brushed the hair away from the back of his neck to nibble at the tender flesh there.

“Oh,” David nuzzled his ear. “Feel free to have a wank if need be, Rog.”

Clearly the guitarist was refusing to oblige him in that department. Evil prick. At this point in their relationship, Roger had far too much pride to masturbate himself in front of David and could only hope that somehow the sex alone might get him off. And speaking of which, David’s finger had disappeared and the already slick head of his cock was brushing up against Roger’s hole teasingly.

“I haven’t got any lube, so I recommend that you brace yourself, love.”

The sustained whimper that Roger emitted was certainly impressive. David was taking no pains to go little by little, pushing it all in at once, then out again. The usual pleasant friction this was not, though naturally Roger was in much greater discomfort than David. Oh God…Oh God, it hurt so bad. He continued to whimper unabashedly now, and perhaps a bit too loudly. Concerned that someone passing by in the hallway might hear, David quickly slapped his hand over Roger’s mouth to muffle the sound. And naturally the cries vibrating against his palm only increased his arousal and incited him to pump harder, faster. The force of his thrusts pushed Roger up against the edge of the sink over and over knocked the breath out of him each time. His abdomen would definitely be bruised later on. At one point Roger’s jaw slammed into the faucet and even Dave had to wince in sympathy over the terrible dull thump it made. Christ, he felt so good though; all tight and comfortably warm inside, thin and pliable and glossed with a sheen of sweat outside.

“Look in the mirror, Rog.” He grunted. Roger ignored him and continued to stare down at the dirtied porcelain instead. David jerked his head back by the hair and demanded that he look, which he did now, resisting the urge to shut his eyes and block out the image. “Look at who’s fucking you. Look at who’s fucking you like the insatiable little whore you are, eh? You like the way you look when make those sounds like a right little slut?”

Eventually Roger’s cries turned into short little gasps that sounded in unison with the rhythm of both pairs of thighs slapping roughly together. David gripped him by the waist with both hands now, thrusting without abandon into Roger’s exhausted body, relenting only when he felt climax was imminent.

Without warning, David suddenly pulled out, ripped Roger away from the sink and forced him to his knees. The stunned bassist, held firmly in place by the hair, was assaulted with strings of warm cum over the canvas of his upturned face. Not really knowing what to do (having never been a party to such an act), he sat rather passively as David finished off his orgasm with deep shuddering breaths. Roger’s cheeks were burning with shame but somehow the slick substance clinging to his flushed skin sent tremors of delight down his abused body. David was quite thorough dispensing the stuff, splattering it against his lips, chin, and one cheekbone. A bit clung to one eyelash.

When he finished and came down a bit to gaze at him handiwork, he sighed heavily. The sight of Roger’s cum-stained face staring up at him was really the limit. Christ, those big, shocked eyes…David knelt before him and eyed him intently before leaning over to slowly run his tongue over the aforementioned cheekbone, then lick his own lips.

“Nice work I made of you, must say…you’d better wash your face, though. We’re back on in a couple.”

Roger remained on the filthy floor even as David cleaned himself up, making a big show of washing his hands as though he’d been touching something diseased. The bassist didn’t climb to his feet again until he was finally alone and even then he wouldn’t go near the sink and the mirror. Instead he pulled a few paper towels from the dispensers and wiped his face as best he could, knowing that the traces of semen that he missed wouldn’t be noticed during the opening dark bits of the second half. When the band changed into their black costumes, he’d take care of it then.

Perhaps he could convince Andy to let him borrow his life mask for the time being.
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Sentimental Fool