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At Full Throttle	By : luna65 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 975 -:- 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-At Full Throttle
- 1
Which came first: the action or the emotion?

David could swear that it was the former, Roger the latter. It was indicative of their personalities that they would have opposing reactions to the same stimuli of desire.

Whenever they would tussle, even if it was the slightest exertion involving flicking fingers or the slight prod of a foot, David would find himself panting, heart racing, but he didn’t feel as if he were short of breath; merely winded from the strain of having to suppress the urge to throw Roger to the floor and kiss him till they truly were breathless.

From that first day David appeared wholly within Roger’s scrutiny with his trendy King’s Road shag and his perfect Cupid’s Bow mouth, he felt a tightening in his chest whenever he sat close to their new member, or looked directly into that crystalline gaze. . .it was too obviously beautiful and he couldn’t breathe, terrified he might do something intensely stupid without realizing it, like murmur you remind me of a Botticelli, then smile shyly.

Which came first: the compulsion or the pathology?

They faced one another in the rehearsal room, their faces tight with anger. Rick and Nick had managed to duck out, but Roger wasn’t allowing David an exit so easily.

“The arrangement is boring, David. You’re not thinking beyond the riff.”

“It doesn’t need to be sorted out this very minute, Rog.”

“Yes, it does. We have to be ready to play this in three days.”

“I’m going home, we can talk about it in the morning.”

David set down his guitar and reached over to a nearby chair to retrieve his coat. Roger stepped sideways and grabbed it up.

“Give me my bloody coat!”

“No, you’re not leaving till we’ve solved this.”

David snatched at it and Roger put both hands behind his back. David suddenly shoved him against the nearby wall, one hand upon his chest. He came nose-to-nose with his bandmate.

“Give it to me,” he whispered.

“No,” Roger replied, then kissed him. David jerked his head away and pushed harder, practically crushing Roger.

“Not in the mood, you prat, give me my fucking coat!”

“Take it, then, if you’re so strong,” Roger gasped. But he made his arms taunt and David couldn’t get either of them to budge. He thought about pulling Roger away and with the element of surprise just wrenching it from his grasp, but suddenly he was possessed of another impulse. He took his right hand and put it around Roger’s throat, pinning him. Roger’s saucer-like eyes went almost comically wide with surprise and David stared at him, saw himself mirrored: determined and angry and something else. . .something he wasn’t sure he was prepared to acknowledge.

“What are you doing?” Roger croaked.

David leaned in again, entirely intimate. “Being strong. Will I have to throttle you? I can do it, you know.”

“Go ahead,” came the taunting gasp. “S’only way you can win.”

David tightened his grip and the two of them locked eyes. Each could hear their own pulse thundering in their ears, feel their nerves prick from the adrenaline of a power play rendered in the physical sense. David heard Roger’s breathing hitch and he let go, panting heavily, then pushed him back again and delivered a violent kiss. David’s jacket dropped to the floor as the two of them pulled at clothing, hair, and raked their fingertips over skin, moaning, growling, finally going the way of the garments, succumbing to gravity.

Which came first: the need for power or for passion?

On the train from Copenhagen to Hamburg, Roger and David were playing backgammon, their preferred method for passing numbing hours of travel time. In the seats behind, Nick was snoring faintly and Rick was trying to read, but he was continually distracted by the patter of the players.

“Hmm,” Roger murmured as he rattled the die in the cup, “what are my options?” Rick could see he was posed with a finger across his lips, though it appeared his pondering was strictly for the purpose of pissing David off.

“Your only option is to take your fucking turn,” David muttered, though his voice was more indulgent than threatening.

“Is it? I wonder.”

Rick heard a sound, sort of a muffled thud, and David moved in his seat just slightly. Nick snorted, but did not wake.

“So help me I will break your fucking foot,” David hissed.

“I doubt that, darling.”

Oh Christ, here they go again.

“Throttle you, then.”

“I hope so, but not now.”

Now what the bloody hell does that mean?

Another meeting, or exercise in extreme bitchiness as David liked to refer to it. This time it was Rick reciting a laundry list of complaints regarding their relentless schedule. David was standing by the window of the suite, his position was directly behind Roger, who turned to straddle his chair and pretended to choke himself. David instinctually began to laugh and Rick stopped mid-sentence.

“What is so bloody funny, Dave?”

He flushed, and looked at the floor. “Sorry man, I’m punchy today.”

“Well p’raps if you slept instead of fucking the night away you wouldn’t be prone to bouts of hysteria.”

Roger snickered. “That’s good advice.”

“So said Mr. Pot to Mr. Kettle, you wanker,” David snapped, but Roger was smirking at him as if to say and who are you keeping up all night, I wonder. David began laughing again, and Rick stubbed out his cigarette in disgust.

“You can both sod off, I’m going to the pool.”

As he stomped out of the room, by now Roger and David were overcome with giggles, and Nick gave them an gentle quizzical look.

“C’mon chaps, what’s the joke?”

This caused even more uproarious response and Nick shook his head.

“I think you both need to be sedated, that’s what I think.”

He wandered out and eventually the laughter died down. David grabbed a nearby chair and copied Roger’s positioning so that they were face-to-face, less than an centimeter of space between them.

“Think that’s what we need? Sleep?” he asked.

“I know what I need,” Roger said, his voice low and seductive. “And it’s nothing to do with such boring activities as sleep. I need you: one hand on my cock and one hand on my throat. And you’re throttling them both.”

“Come back to my room and you’ll get something up your arse as well.”

“Is there enough time before we have to go to the hall?”

“There has to be, because I couldn’t possibly do anything else right now.”

“Lead the way, strumpet.”

Rick spied them as they left Roger’s room, he ducked back into his own and eyed them covertly from around the doorframe. They were laughing again as they walked as far as David’s door, then stopped. As David put the key in the lock, Roger’s hands went around his throat and playfully shook his neck. David leaned back and pretended to choke, then they practically tumbled into the open doorway with an eagerness which left Rick's mouth gaping from shock. He had received an answer to his rhetorical question of months earlier, but truly did not want to contemplate what it meant.

The compulsion was voracious, the opportunities seemingly endless.

David was in the tuning room, he could always count on Phil to get it right but sometimes he felt more secure doing his own tuning. It took his mind off whatever nervous flutterings might reside within. He heard the door open and shut quickly, and didn’t bother to turn around, figuring it was one of the crew. David continued to play scales until he felt two long-fingered hands go around his neck.

“Oh Christ, Rog, not now,” he whispered. “You’ll get me all stiff then I won’t remember my own name, much less how to play these damn songs.”

“Your name,” Roger said, as he tightened his grip slightly and put his mouth up against David’s right ear, “is David–“

“Please.” David could have wrenched himself from Roger’s grasp but didn’t care to; he could sense, underneath layers of the usual aura of odors which Roger carried with him, a very strong smell of arousal: the scent of warmed skin and hot breath.

“Jon –“

“Gonna make me beg for your mercy, then? So cruel.”

“Gilmour.” Roger finished his recitation by running his lips across the side of David’s face, then the faintest of kisses just shy of his mouth. David tried to turn his head towards Roger’s mouth, but the hands clasped still harder.

“Tonight you’ll beg,” Roger whispered once more, breathing in an obvious fashion against David’s ear, and the sensitive spot just below the lobe. “Because you crave my cruelty, don’t you?”

David closed his eyes, his breath hitching not only because of the restriction, but the sheer intensity of emotion caused by just the feel of those hands around his neck. How he ached for the fury they could deliver unto one another and he knew Roger did as well.

“Yes,” he gasped, feeling strings cutting into his fingers, gripping the neck of his guitar so tightly.

Roger released him. “Don’t turn around,” he commanded, then left the room as quietly as he entered.

David swallowed, relishing the slight ache which remained, and tried very hard not to think of what they would do to one another in mere hours to come.

Roger and David had locked themselves in a room which appeared to be used for spare equipment by the venue, stacks upon stacks of folding chairs comprised one half of the space. They had wheeled in their favorite road case which was almost exactly waist-high for David and large enough for Roger to sit upon with legs spread wide. In less than a minute they had divested themselves both of clothing and subtlety.

“You’ll be lucky to walk tomorrow,” David growled, holding Roger by his shoulders and pushing him onto the case after setting the brake for the casters. “Very lucky.”

“It’ll take a real man to break me,” Roger taunted, smirking with that full-lipped pout which David wanted both to suck with lust and bite with spite. “Not some dishy twit who can noodle about on a guitar.” He opened the jar he had secreted in his pants pocket and quickly made David’s cock fully erect and slick.

“I’ll give you dishy twit, lad,” David retorted, thrusting into Roger hard enough to make his head hit the wall with a breathy oof.

“Oh please do,” Roger purred, but his laughter had a mocking quality. He then closed his eyes and tilted his head, spreading his entire body for the probing.

“Gonna fucking throttle you,” David mock-threatened, hands went from hips to throat, and the feel of Roger’s larynx just under his thumbs was indescribably erotic.

“Let’s not cripple me all at once, we still have to play tonight. You’d better get on with it before we’re missed.”

There was no issue about the noise, their thumps and moans drowned out by the sounds of load-in and the loud music piped over the house PA. David leaned into the case with his knees and grabbed Roger’s ass, pushing and pushing as they each gasped and groaned and hissed obscene encouragement.

“Gonna fuck you down to your bones, you slut,” David said.

“You haven’t far to go then, do you?” Roger quipped.

David leaned in and bit Roger on the neck, but only hard enough to leave an impression of teeth rather than a bruise.

“Ow, you fucking savage!” Roger cried, then grabbed a handful of not-so-clean hair.

“You know you love it!” David grunted as he pulled at Roger’s hair in turn. “Don’t try to pretend you’re too delicate for my affections.”

“The fact remains –“ gasp “ – that you’re an absolute beast –“ groan “- Mr. Gilmour.”

“AAAGH!” David roared, and grabbed Roger’s neck with both hands, any concessions to pacing or the other’s pleasure completely abandoned. Roger threw his head back again, a look somewhere between pain and utter ecstasy molding his features. Although he barely remained in control enough not to choke his lover for real, David didn’t let go until he felt himself unload with a hot lurch deep inside Roger. Then he released his victim and Roger sagged in the space between himself and the wall, coughing and gasping. David had both hands on the sides of the case, he leaned forward utterly winded.

“Too much, Rog?” David whispered between pants.

“Never,” Roger declared, sitting up and pulling David to him, their mouths meeting and smearing with lips and tongues and teeth. They moaned to one another in the depths of the kiss. “Don’t you ever hold back on me or I will throttle you.”

“Not if I get you first, lover.”

They chuckled in unison between nibbles and licks.

“Mmm the hunt is on, then.”

“Oh yes. . .I need some bones to gnaw upon for later.” David ran his teeth against Roger’s jawline and nipped his collarbone.

Roger laughed and held David tighter. “Sod the schedule, I need you to bang me again, right fucking now.”

“They’ll be looking.”

“We’ll just keep quiet this time.”

“You insatiable slut –“

“Oh you’ve no idea, David.” Roger drew out the syllables as he was wont to do when speaking seductively, so it sounded more like Daaayviiid.

“I wonder if there’s a wheelchair about, you might be needing one when we’re through.”

“You can just wheel me out on this thing, though I s’pose we should get it out soon, it’s got the stash in it.”

“Is that what we use it for?” David inquired, laughing.

“Only if asked, dear boy.”

Boundaries were erased, motivations blurred, desires mutated. But above all, the need called them down the road of compulsion, racing at full throttle.
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At Full Throttle