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The Thrill of It All	By : signorinaravelli Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 927 -:- 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.

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“And what’ll you have, Rog?”

“Um, I-”

“He’ll have the cannelloni.” David volunteered, smiling amiably up at their waiter. Steve raised at eyebrow at his choosing for Roger as though he were a child, but Roger himself didn’t seem to be making any fuss over it…

“Right then, and the cannelloni.”

“Alright, signor…” their waiter jotted this last item down on his pad. “Your order should be ready in twenty, twenty-five minutes at the most.”

“Fine. Oh, and a bottle of Sagrantino, please.”

The wine came quickly, though not quickly enough in Roger’s opinion. As soon as the liquid had sloshed into his glass it was already down his throat.

“It’s alright, Rog.” Alan assured him. “I won’t get up and run off if you don’t down it all in one go.”

He smiled slightly but couldn’t even pretend that it was sincere. His mind was on David and that little controller in his pocket. Of course David had chosen a seat well away from him so that he could really monitor his movements. His hands were thankfully within sight at the moment, folded atop the table while he was eying up a few model-type girls at the table adjacent to theirs.

Oh, that’s just typical, isn’t it?

In spite of the fact that his common sense was telling him to ignore this, that David wasn’t worth getting jealous over. Not his wonderfully square jaw or the curve of his spine or the curls below his belly button. It seemed to Roger, however, that his “common sense” had gone fluttering out the window this week – between his commitment to David and the indiscretion with Nick, he hadn’t been quite himself as of late. Jealousy was always something of a problem for him but he honestly couldn’t remember a time in his life that he felt that emotion more then he did over David. And why the hell should he? David was a smug little prick – he knew that despite his attempted coldness over their whole affair, Roger was mad about him. What’s more, he seemed to think this gave him carte blanche to act even more of a prick. So why should Roger care?

And while he sat there thinking about how he shouldn’t care, he was twisting his cloth napkin about in his hand and wishing it was saturated in chloroform: then he could shove it in David’s face, hoist him over his shoulder and carry him out of this place like a giant slab of meat. Because that’s all he was to Roger, really.

A piece of meat that happens to play guitar quite well. He sneered to himself. Adequately.

“How about that one, Dave?”

“I wouldn’t mind having a poke at her.”

You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me… It had mainly been Roger’s executive action that led to Syd’s sacking and it had also been Roger’s executive decision that led to David being “allowed” into the band. You’d still be driving a van and living in that fucking hole you called a flat if it weren’t for me. Ungrateful little shit…

This internal dialogue was interrupted by a familiar vibrating sensation and it was a wonder he hadn’t cried out in surprise at its suddenness. His eyes flew back to David, lips thinned by that goddamned wide grin. One hand had disappeared from the table while the fingers of the other were brushing along his lips musingly. Roger’s face remained blank and he tried to keep still as was possible under the circumstances. His stomach was doing little somersaults of its own accord and he could feel his legs wanting to shake. He tore his eyes from David’s gaze and stared at the bit of red that pooled in the bottom of his empty wine glass. He didn’t even have to see Nick to know that he was staring – he’d been keeping a keen eye on both of them since they’d left the villa, eager to witness the way Roger dealt.

The vibration continued for about thirty seconds more and when it did cut off, Roger stared back at David, who cocked an eyebrow. This seemed to say “touché” and Roger couldn’t help but feel a little burst of pride inside. The food arrived soon and everyone was quite eager to tuck in. More wine was poured and in spite of his indifference to cannelloni, Roger had to admit that the dish was quite tasty. About halfway through however, he received another shock, one which caused him to pause mid-bite because of its intensity. He shifted uncomfortably and his knees really were shaking now. David meanwhile, sat and ate his gnocchi and talked and laughed and was generally quite merry, not sparing a glance for Roger, save for a quick sweep.

Briefly he considered excusing himself to go to the gents and pull the wretched thing out but he’d probably be forced to dress as a chicken and lay eggs or some other such nonsense. He focused on that idea.

It’s happened before. That one bird…Empress Anna? Yeah, she forced these two blokes to do it because they offended her or something. Then she made this couple spend the night in a palace made of ice…I wonder if David’s got any Russian blood… He cold feel himself straining against the confines of his jeans. Ohhh, Russia…Russia…Kozak dancers… Stalin…furry hats…Winter Palace…Bolsheviks…ballet… borscht…cold borscht…extremely cold borscht...

He gasped aloud when the vibration intensified and was compelled to forget about his dinner and bury his face in his hands.

“Rog, you alright?” He didn’t even know who asked it. He had only enough concentration to decipher the words and not the speaker.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He heard his voice trembling. Beneath the table his legs were shaking and his toes were curling and his cock was begging for attention. “It’s a – I’ve just got a headache.”

“Nothing serious I hope.” That was David. He didn’t dare look up to see his expression – probably superior as ever.

“Oh yes, we are clever with our little electronic devices, aren’t we…?” It was barely above a murmur and no one but David, who was now closely watching, caught it. Not that he caught the words but the tone certainly revealed their gist.

“Didn’t quite catch that, Rog.”

“I said,” he raised his tone. “Thank you very much for your concern but I’m fine.”

“What are friends for? Anyway, shall we have another bottle then?” Grunts of agreement all around and the waiter was summoned back once more.

“Could we see the desert tray?” asked Nick.

“Hoping for some pie, Nick?” Rick smiled at him playfully. As requested, the tray was wheeled around everyone had a look at all of the appetizing confections. Selections were made, mostly tiramisu and marble cheesecake. Roger declined but David insisted he be given some of the former. A plate was set before him, along with the customary coffee, though Roger didn’t think he could keep anything down in his current state. He gazed down at the custard that leaked out slightly from under the dusting of cocoa and the obvious thoughts came to mind, probably the reason why David wanted him to eat it. Gingerly he picked up his spoon and scraped a little up, staring at the whitish mass in distaste…God, it felt degrading. Another jolt that nearly caused him to drop his utensil – he assumed that it was a request to stop dawdling about and just eat the stuff. Painting his face with a remarkable glare, he ate what was on his spoon quickly and efficiently, taking no pains to look appealing whilst doing so.

Some tiny part of him wanted to please what he hesitated to call his lover, though after the incident in his room that part seemed to be shrinking smaller and smaller by the minute. David still ogled those women and Roger was almost one-hundred percent sure that it was for his own benefit. David had always done his share of casual flirting but tonight it was more pronounced and always within earshot – was he enjoying the fact that Roger was sitting there and seething over the whole incident, not able to do anything about it? Any other evening he’d have tried to one-up the guitarist, or at the very least entice him away to the bathroom or some other concealed area and make him forget about whatever he’d had eyes on previously. Obviously he couldn’t do that. Clearly this was a control thing, both physically and mentally. Oh, and the vibrator was definitely part of it: He was sure David was getting some kick over having that remote and “pushing his button”, so to speak, at random. That was his personality, though. While Roger exerted control over everyone out in the most blatant way possible, David was wont to simply remain in the background, never showing his hand ‘til he was sure the cards were in his favor.

Snake in the grass… It seemed to be the thousandth time that Roger thought those four words in the past couple of days.

When the vibration started up again it certainly must have been at one of the higher levels…six maybe? In the back of his throat he pushed back a whimper and felt his back bowing against the chair. His legs were more than trembling now – it seemed he couldn’t keep them bent so they’d begun to stiffen before him, toes nearly touching Alan’s across from him. Not wanting to make eye contact with anyone at the moment, he stared down at the half-eaten tiramisu instead, stared at the Lady Fingers smeared with custard, all that thick, creamy custard…this course of action was clearly a mistake. His left hand had been rubbing his thigh in agitation, itching to get at his cock. He knew that if someone happened to look over at see him masturbating himself at a table filled with men that it would not look good. And he just kept staring at that dessert and imagining the Lady Fingers were David Fingers, and the David Fingers were wrapped around his hard-on, relieving him of the pressure. Then he’d spend himself in his attentive hand in the guise of so much custard – no! NO! It was pointless trying to distract himself now, however, because his body had already made up its mind that it was going to bend itself to David’s electronic will. The hand that had been rubbing at his thigh gripped the tablecloth instead, twisting the fabric between his fingers in a futile attempt to relieve some of the tension. He leaned his head against his free hand, still feigning a headache, and fortunately everyone else continued laughing and drinking and having a grand old time, oblivious to Roger’s state.

Briefly he looked out of the corner off his eye at David, who was looking right back at him, fingers still brushing his lips. The smile was subdued but it was clear that he was enjoying every moment of Roger’s torment, eyes gleaming predatorily. As much as he hated him at the moment, Roger couldn’t help but feel another wave of arousal slam into him at how damned sexy David looked when he stared at him that way. A little moan did escape his lips then, though he could hardly chastise himself for it at the moment: his hips were arching, toes curled painfully, mind alternately blank and exploding with color and loud inaudible sound and light.

It was all he could do to mouth a silent “fuck you” at his counterpart before he came, obviously quite messily, in his trousers. This was infuriating. And on top of that, he’d answered David’s earlier query in the affirmative…as he excused himself for the bathroom, he swore that he’d never eat tiramisu again as long as he lived.
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The Thrill of It All