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A Day to Remember	By : luna65 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 770 -:- 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-A Day to Remember
- 1
People can be said to have silly quirks, it’s part of what makes them human.

And David Gilmour had a quirk which could be said to be very silly, depending on who was providing the commentary.

He always changed the opening line in the song “Papa Was A Rolling Stone,” either in his mind or when singing along, from the very first time he heard it in 1972 to the present day.

It was the sixth of September
that day I’ll always remember, yes I will.
. . .the rest of the song didn’t matter.

But what inspired the quirk was already deeply rooted in his heart, of course. For good, for bad, forever.

1970
A certain birthday boy was getting nicely sloshed at the local with the lads then planned on stumbling home to Jude and his cats.

He was achingly angular and sharp of wit and of tongue.
He had interesting ideas and strong opinions.
He looked down his prominent nose – literally - and out his lovely saucer eyes.
He was infuriating, willful, insecure, intelligent, driven, imaginative, funny, and perverse.

He was the only person David Gilmour had ever wanted that he did not think he could have. But he was going to try: somehow, some way.

They had all bought Roger things they knew he would like: books, and interesting t-shirts, and funny little gadgets, got themselves well and truly pissed, teased him about rapidly closing in on 30.

“Well I’d guess I’d better live while I can, eh? Soon it’ll be the home for me.”

They all laughed, but David only smiled, then gazed at him with painful fascination.
Yes, let’s live while we can, you and I.

David was less drunk than the others at the end of the evening, all the better to ensure a thoroughly sodden Roger made it home safely. Once David managed to dump him into the back seat of the cab, Roger leaned against him and David shivered from the touch.

“Oi Dave, I’m positively snockered,” he slurred, and David chuckled.

Even piss-drunk you’re a wordy bastard, aren’t you?

“Was it fun then, your birthday?”

“Oh yeah, s’lots of laughs.”

David turned his head and let his lips brush Roger’s hair, that shiny mass he was always so tempted to tug at with sublimated avarice and more obvious frustration.

“Happy Birthday, dear Georgie.”

“Told you not to call me that, twit.”

“Just between you and I, sweet thing,” David whispered.

Roger frowned, eyelids fluttering. “What?”

“Nothing. Go on and pass out, then.”

And he did. When David could hear him snoring he rested his head against Roger’s and closed his eyes as well, perfectly content.

1971
They had all returned from holiday and began rehearsals for the next set of European dates they were able to book before they went off to film with Adrian. As if specifically planned, it seemed they never toured when it was Roger’s birthday, already he was working his will upon the Floyd’s career. Then again, they were all apt to believe that birthdays were for celebrating, not for working. So they had decided to take that specific day off, a dinner party was planned, along with other festive activities.

Even so David could not resist a preemptive gambit of well-wishes, and so rang his bandmate at an annoying early hour.

“H’ullo?” he heard a sleepy voice say.

“Happy Birthday, you bastard.”

Roger blew a raspberry into the receiver.

“I’ve something special for you, lad.”

Roger chuckled, but then lowered his voice immediately. David could hear the sound of shifting weight upon a mattress. “And how do you plan on giving it to me?” he asked, and his voice couldn’t hide a certain hint of erotic curiosity.

David also chuckled in response, decidedly obscene. “You’ll have to go to the flat. But it’s a surprise. You ponder that, Georgie me boy.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“It’s our birthday tradition.”

“What?”

“From last year.”

“Remind me to invent something equally annoying for your birthday.”

“For my birthday I’m going to have you baked into a cake.”

Roger’s reaction was one of breathy surprise. “Stop,” he whispered, just barely audible. “Don’t wanna be stiff this early in the day.”

“What. . .don’t like the idea that I want to eat you?”

“Hush, you prat.” David could hear Roger rise from the bed, sounds of maneuvering the telephone from its’ normal resting place. “You’ll get your chance, but I can’t get away until just before the party, the family’s coming over.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“What, all day?”

“The only thing that matters today is that it’s your birthday.”

Roger sat down on the floor, momentarily stunned. He had often wondered if the thoroughly confusing and intense feelings he had for David were equally reciprocated and his heart started to pound at the seeming admission. He smiled, feeling warmth travel through his veins, an urge to kiss a certain beautiful mouth, and a distinct response of arousal.

“I’ll try to come as soon as I can.”

“Oh you will, lad, you will.”

1972
“Open it,” David commanded, as Roger regarded the gold box in his bare lap. Unwrapped, it revealed what appeared to be a tea cake, with white frosting and a large red ‘R’ on its’ surface.

“It’s cake?”

“Yes,” David replied, removing the confection from its’ packaging. He pushed Roger’s naked form upon the mattress with one hand. “It’s just the right size, you see, to do this.“

He crumbled the cake in his other broad hand, then smeared the contents all over Roger’s cock.

“Oh Christ,” Roger exclaimed, his head tilted back in surprise.

David then crouched down between Roger’s legs and took a lick of a clot of frosting which came to rest on his inner thigh. “I call it having my cake –“

He paused and nipped at the skin. Roger gasped.

“ – and eating it too.” He found a piece of actual cake on Roger’s scrotum and removed it with his tongue very slowly.

“I thought that was your birthday wish,” Roger teased, but his face was split by the largest of grins.

“That was fun, wasn’t it? We should always fight with cake, it seems to turn out well.”

“It took me –“ gasp “ – days –“ moan “- to get it all out of my hair.”

“Fussy thing.” David held up a finger full of frosting. Roger took it in his mouth and sucked it clean. He let out a mmmm.

“S’good, isn’t it?”

“It’s a lovely present,” Roger said, his eyes fluttering, suddenly shy.

David gave Roger the smile he could never resist and bent his head to the task of cleaning his “plate.” As he did so, he hummed “Happy Birthday To You” and Roger giggled.

“Oh I’m the luckiest boy, aren’t I?”

David looked up, lips smeared with frosting. “You bet your arse.”

Roger pulled at one of his arms. “Come here then, you’re a right mess.”

David moved to lay beside him and Roger picked another piece off himself to feed to his lover.

“Delicious,” David murmured.

Roger leaned in and ran his tongue across David’s lips. “Absolutely.”

1973
“What is this?” Roger asked, pulling the ribbon off the very large and heavy box.

“Well you’d know if you opened it,” David quipped.

“Hush, prat.” He pulled off the tape sealing the box then removed the lid. “Oh my God,” Roger exclaimed, as he pulled out a 35mm film canister. “How in the world did you get hold to this?!”

“It wasn’t easy, I’ll tell you that. But now you don’t have to wait up every night hoping BBC One will show it again. You can watch it whenever you like.”

Roger carefully placed Reel One of The Dam Busters back in the box and tackled his lover in joyous gratitude.

1974
The party was still in full swing as the night moved closer to the dawn, but given the size of the property noise wasn’t specifically an issue.

David had sent Ginger home in a taxi, as she had concurrently developed a headache and peevish attitude the later the hour became, and he wasn’t about to explain to her why it was important for him to remain till the bitter end.

He wove his way through the crowd of friends, family, hangers-on, relative strangers, and denizens of the Cambridge Mafia alike, giving everyone the same counterfeit smile as he searched for the birthday boy. But unlike everyone else he knew exactly where Roger would be, and indeed he found him by the light of the flickering projector in his studio, all alone and slumped in a chair as the film rolled on.

“Need me to clear them out, then?” David asked. The party was lacking a hostess, though David was not about to mention that specific fact.

“I don’t care,” Roger replied, quietly. He then looked at David. “You didn’t ring me this morning.”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t get a moment alone.”

“You could’ve phoned, just so I’d know you didn’t forget.”

“I will never forget,” David assured him. He sat down on the floor next to Roger’s chair.

“You promise, then?”

“I do.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather be alone.”

“I don’t think you should be, not now.”

“Please David, otherwise I’m apt to become very nasty, and I think we’ve both had enough of that, haven’t we?”

“Roger, I can make you feel better, if you’d just let me.”

“But it never lasts, that’s the problem. It’s like some hellish reoccurring dream.” He put his head in his hand, sighing.

“At least let me give the Birthday Boy a kiss, then,” David whispered, getting up on his knees and putting an arm around Roger’s shoulders.

“Alright.”

David put his forehead to Roger’s. “Happy Birthday, dear Georgie.”

“Sod off,” Roger murmured, then they kissed: sweet and soft and sad.

1979
The line rang and rang and David waited for the answering service to come on, but they weren’t picking up. He wasn’t about to phone the house and endure small talk with Carolyn just to speak to Roger for less than five minutes. But he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t keep his promise. He dialed another number and issued a summons, which was honored, albeit sulkily. James didn’t like Los Angeles that well, he bemoaned the lack of nature and the surfeit of distraction. So David made sure to ingest his dutch courage before his arrival.

“I was planning to drive to Lake Arrowhead,” James informed him when he entered the house. “With or without you.”

David raised an eyebrow. “Fine, we’ll go for a drive but I need you to do something for me first.”

James just stared, waiting for him to continue.

“Phone Roger’s house for me.”

“I already rang him this morning.”

“Please, dear thing. Then we’ll do whatever you’d like.”

James sighed. “Fine.” He dialed the number, exchanged pleasantries with Carolyn, then handed the phone to David, who waited for Roger to come on the line.

“Well lad, this better be good, bothering a man on his birthday and all,” Roger groused.

“Happy Birthday, dear Georgie,” David said, in a decidedly sarcastic tone.

“So, did you just toss one off with the kid, hmm? S’that why you phoned?”

“I phoned because I never forget, you bastard.”

“I see. Well don’t work the boy too hard today, thinking of me, alright then? We need him for other things, after all.”

“Shut yer rutting gob!”

“You can go fuck yourself, Gilmour. Oh wait, that’s what you’ve got the kid for, isn’t it?”

David slammed down the phone and smacked his palm against the wall, letting out a shout. James, who had relocated to the kitchen as soon as David got on the phone, suddenly looked heavenward and folded his arms across his chest, exhaling a shuddering sigh.

2006
The day was crystal clear and hot, traditional Mediterranean weather. Despite the temperature, David drank hot coffee with his breakfast, perusing a stack of newspapers. Polly had taken the kids to the beach, she had learned over the years that he needed to be alone on this particular day. His eyes kept moving to the cell phone sitting on the table beside his cup. As with each passing year, he thought about the last time he kept his promise.

“I want you to know, ‘always’ is no longer an option. I hope you’re happy now.”

But the truth was, of course, that neither of them were.

David, however, could claim to be at peace, resigned to a different life now. But one day a year the curiosity tugged at him, the ghost of passion seemed to move through the very air, reminding him of tumultuous and wanton times past.

“Happy Birthday, you bastard,” he finally whispered, looking towards the Aegean, and, of course, much further beyond.
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A Day to Remember