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the life that was ours	By : luna65 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 734 -:- 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-the life that was ours
- 1
The crocuses were just beginning to bud, David noticed, on his way to Fitzbillies for a Chelsea Bun (all he could afford for his tea) when a dark-haired blur on a bicycle passed him in a flash, swerving down Trumpington Street ringing his bell and calling “Oi Fred mind yer step!” and of course it could only mean one thing.

Syd was back.

And the sky, already blue in the light of day which carried with it the scent of Spring, suddenly seemed brighter, and higher, and so very beautiful…as if he’d never seen it till this moment.

David ran after Syd, his surprise distracting more immediate concerns.

“Syd, wait! Where’re you going?”

“The Grind, meet me in the Meadows. Bring me a bun!”

“But I –“

The other was gone. David reached into his pocket and pulled out its’ contents. He counted three times but each time it rendered the same total, only enough for one. If Marianne was working today he might charm another one out of her.

David was grinning wide when he joined the queue in front of the bakery, because the sun was back in the heavens.

Syd was home.

Being a beautiful day, the Grind was full of gadabouts: locals enjoying the sun, students blinking at the big ball of fire in the sky which they rarely saw, kids laughing and chasing each other around…and David dodged them all as best he could, having cadged his brother’s bike all the quicker to get to his dearest friend. After finding the last space in one of the racks at The Orchard and locking it up tight, he set off down the path and across the vistas of Grantchester Meadows in search of Syd, whom he found lying picture-perfect upon a incline, smoking and staring up at the sky.

“Here m’dear,” David said, placing the paper bag upon his friend’s stomach. “One delicious bun deserves another.” He gave Syd a gentle pinch when he sat down next to him. Despite the sun the ground was slightly damp.

“Cheeky thing,” Syd muttered, opening the bag. He put it to his face and inhaled. “Mmm, missed this, they’re not half so good in Peckham.”

“How’s it been, brown town mouse?”

Syd reached over with a teasing flick to David’s arm. “Very noisy, it’s a wonder one can ever concentrate on anything.”

“Been so very dull since you left, Storm continues with his strange films and such but no one’s had a good ‘do in ages...Willa and his happenings.” David made a huff of derision.

“I thought you were playing all the good ‘dos.”

“Hardly. Just the same gigs as always. But we’re ever in demand it seems.”

“Y’sound right gloomy, Fred.”

“Dunno…sometimes it feels like I want to get off the whirligig.”

“You’re not allowed to be gloomy today, alright? Lie down and look at the clouds with me.”

“Yes dear.” David lay down and cradled his head in his hands. “So what have you seen, floating about up there?”

“Lots of swiggles haven’t grown up to be proper clouds yet.”

“Only just born then, like the spring lamb.”

“Hmm,” Syd replied, with a mouthful of pastry.

David thought it interesting that his hunger had faded in the act of providing for Syd, the type of thing one might define as chivalrous, as if there was another motivation beyond kindness.

Well of course you do. But don’t burden him with your maudlin mood, just be happy he’s home.

“Y’know, if you came back with me, you’d be the second prettiest boy in London.”

“Dunno if I could settle for second, lad.”

Syd turned with an instinctive motion, aware David wasn’t looking at the sky, and those deep dark eyes devoured David’s will and he could only swallow repeatedly, his heart quickening like the flash of a swallow in the air.

“It smells green, doesn’t it? That special sort of smell, water and growing things.”

David said mmm-hmm and they smiled, all of it fading to a pleasurable shoosh and hum and twitter and whistle as the ground warmed beneath them.

“When did you arrive?”

“This morning. Went straight home and slept till three; thought I’d tottle ‘round, get the soot out of my brain.”

“So no one knows you’re here?”

“’Cept Mum, Ruthie and Roe. But I’m expected tonight, to have a play with Alan and Steve.”

“Can I come ‘round when we’re done?”

“Climb up to my window, Romeo.”

“I fell from that trellis once, if you recall.”

“Then you don’t love me enough to risk it?”

Of course I do. “If I break a limb they’ll be no wooing, princess.”

Silvery giggles, then the irresistible coy soft voice. “I’ll knit you some wings, from silkworm thread. Maybe for me as well, and we’ll fly up and find a nice cloud.”

“But look, that one is like fairy floss, all over the sky. Even sort of pink, now.”

The day was slowly departing, as sections of the sky underwent the glorious transformation bequeathed by the waning light. The shadows slid down from the top of the hill and the ground grew cold once more.

“Come for supper, and I’ll show you my project; I’ve done some sketches.”

David nodded vigorously, and their journey – a mechanical dance through the cradle of their selves, the loving and familiar town which was home - took no time at all, as always seems to happen when events are much hoped for.

They were up in his room in the house on Hills Road: the balsa wood mobiles hanging from the ceiling, the crazy quilt covering the bed he found at a jumble sale and proclaimed it would give him interesting dreams, as David plucked out a Leadbelly tune on Syd’s Hofner.

“You look much better this way, Fred,” the troubadour was informed by his friend, as his head hung off the edge of the bed. David stuck out his tongue at Syd and continued playing.

Maybe I’m right, maybe I’m wrong
lawd you gonna miss me when I’m gone.

“You chaps play that one?”

“Nah. No blues, really. No one wants to dance to the blues.”

Syd flipped himself over backwards onto his feet. “I can!”

David began the song again and Syd demonstrated with hilarious gyrations which reduced his friend to tears of laughter within a few moments. Syd then collapsed boneless onto the floor right in front of the other. David stopped playing, smiling.

“Oh, I did run into Bob at Miller’s,” Syd recalled.

David snapped his fingers. “Ah, I was s’posed to meet Emo an hour ago!”

“He’s probably still there.”

They chuckled. Syd reached out and brushed David’s hair from his forehead. They leaned incrementally closer to one another, each mesmerized by what they saw in the other. They were practically kissing when Win’s voice came between them from downstairs.

“Roger, David, come on then!”

Syd got up and held onto the doorframe, leaning outward.

“No need to shout, woman!”

David shook his head. “You’re a tyrant, sir.”

“She loves it! Every woman longs for a man to give her grief.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

David didn’t have to resort to unconventional methods of entry, merely let himself in through the kitchen, taking care not to collide with any of the cats who seemed to outnumber the actual occupants of the house. Syd was still awake, lying on his bed, looking up at the projection pattern of a makeshift magic lantern upon the ceiling. The way he smiled at David’s arrival made the other feel full of moths, drawn to the light, desperate for the damning flame.

“Ah, Young Gilmour in his white Levis, making all the girls wet their knickers.”

David chuckled. “And you can wager those stripeys don’t care for it t’all. But they’re all homesick so that’s why they hire us, it’s like listening to the radio for them.” He made sure to latch the door behind him. “But you, Mr. Barrett, do you feel a swoon coming on? Attack of the vapours?”

Syd smirked, began running his hands over David’s looming form. “Perhaps…if you’ve brought something in defense.”

David carefully extracted a tinfoil packet. “Why yes, I’ve a curative right here. And another for later.”

Syd extended a hand with long-fingered grace. “Your tribute, legionary.”

“Yes centurion.”

A sweet jest, as Syd began to discern over the years that the Belle of Cambridge was hopelessly in love…beyond the mere crushes others had on him in their circle. While outsiders were always drawn to Syd – picking him out of a crowd or stopping him on the street – the natives fluttered after David as someone clever and comely. Syd thought if he were American he’d be a Kennedy. While everyone in town could be said to be potentially clever, the combination of elements into a stew of irresistible grace and charm was a rarer occurrence. Syd knew with equal certainty that the only regard David truly possessed was for him alone, and for eons of moments he stopped feeling so alien when kissing that beautiful boy.

“May I impose to raid the larder? I’m suddenly peckish.”

“In yonder icebox lay the remains of the chicken, bring it up and I’ll throw you a bone.”

“Woof.”

Sometimes, in grinning ferocity, they were fifteen again…in the space of seconds…bringing them back to the beginning,…moving only in widening circles, seemingly apart but never severing the bond.

A garden: roses in full bud, waiting to fully open their painted porcelain petals, violets to be tasted, plucked from dark earth, their sweetness so subtle on the tongue but inescapable to the nose…a two-dimensional garden littered with bones, poor spring chicken…a sad dun hen, Syd thought, unable to lay and therefore fattened up for the hatchet.

But she was delicious all the same.

Syd licked his lips and turned his head as David exhaled sweet smoke into his mouth, then swallowed and held his breath as long as he could. Parting lips for a vapor wraith drifting upwards in the colored light, red and blue and green. The bells sounded one less, hour after hour, and the sky turned silver.

“I feel ever so cuddly, let’s have a lie-in.”

“You’ve only to ask, darling.”

Kisses far gentle than those tasted with others, often between the same lass who lost her heart to someone new every week, and their combined tally was fearsome for cunning country lads. Conversely they were sweet and slow with one another, even as their natures commanded they be hungry and quick with the birds, the foxes on the hunt, looking to flush the partridge from the brush. Their care and their regard meant for kith and kin, the boys left on their own.

“Missed you, my pixie.”

“You could visit the kingdom, humble squire.”

It was where he truly belonged - the distant shining city which had claimed his Syd - but as always David would not venture where he was not wanted, if he could not be completely assured of that specific desire.

They had long since shed their outer skins to slide silky and warm against one another, fingers with burgeoning calluses exploring the taunt landscape. Muscles flexed, eyelids fluttered, their instinct and inexperience (having only known one another) in kind leading to an inelegant but passionate dance of proximity.

“Oh, don’t stop that,” came Syd’s command, throaty and hushed.

“Pay the toll.”

Lips brushing the eiderdown of a cheek, then to the mouth ever-ripe and sublimely sinfully sweet. Tongues brushed, thick and teasing, telling the tale of their adoration.

Syd opened his mouth against David’s, a gentle ooohhh and became liquid against the other’s hand as David smiled, blue eyes widening in joy.

“Feel better, sweet thing?”

Stretching smugly, then David was put on his back, covered in a blanket of eager young buck.

“I’d eaten a mushroom or two, lying at the bottom of David Gale’s garden, and the sky blinked at me. The sky was your eyes and I said, ‘How did you get up there, Fred?’ but I s’pose you couldn’t hear me, all the way up there. I was the earth, it seemed, and every time I blinked I could feel all the things inside move about, the bugs and the roots and the rocks and the bones –“

“When was that?”

“Oh, ages ago. But I suddenly recalled it, looking in your eyes.”

Syd sought to please David just the same, with nimble fingers stroking and an eager hand pulling and he laughed to see all the expressions the other made: comical and ecstatic and sublimely beautiful; even as it seemed to cause pain, David’s face clenched and his breath released in rapid pants.

“Y’alright, dear?”

David smiled, cleaned himself with a tea towel brought up along with the chicken.

“Didn’t want it to end, but then it hurts when it doesn’t.”

“Which is why it must.”

Their tongues had so much more to discuss, and when next they tired of communication the sun was rose-gold through the mist outside the window.

“You said you would stay,” Syd whispered.

“Of course.”

“No matter how loud Mum knocks, or asks to come in, you have to stay.”

Another kiss, on the tip of the pixie’s nose. “Woof.”

Syd sang, his voice creaky in the early hour, with an impish grin.

Oh Fred, he was a hound going round the town
but when his master called him home he never cared to roam.

“Let’s have a snooze, dear thing,” David murmured, rubbing his face on the back of Syd’s neck, and that warm whisper of breath against hair and skin was familiar to the other: was home.

Their euphoria was complete, in the dawning of the day, which would bear the scent of Spring…a season of possibility.
- 1
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the life that was ours