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The Thrill of It All	By : signorinaravelli Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 926 -:- 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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Whatever David was currently doing certainly didn’t seem to be all in the spirit of good, clean fun: degradation, especially degradation that Roger willingly accepted, was one thing. At the moment however, he was getting the feeling that that the spirit of fun was not well and alive in his “comrade”. After all that business in the restaurant, Roger had gone back to his room, yet again, to be alone and it only seemed natural that he’d be followed there – right, he could deal with that. It wasn’t until David had started sneering and speaking down to him in the most condescending manner possible that Roger began to grow angry, angrier than he’d felt earlier.

It was mostly belittling remarks about Roger’s lack of self control, though the bassist doubted that David (or anyone else for that matter) would have fared much better in a similar situation. This led to some caustic remarks about weakness, manhood, and other subjects that Roger was incredibly sensitive about. Those insults earlier in the day were different from this: there was no true malice behind those words. And from here the conversation turned to Roger’s little episode with Nick, David’s tone growing more vitriolic than ever.

“Anyway, I heard that you were getting a bit touchy about our, em…”open relationship”. Are you jealous or something, Rog?”

“No.” He spat, steadying himself with an admirable amount of self-control.

“No, sir.” It came out rather like a spiteful child would say it. “And I don’t believe you. I think it fits in rather well with your personality. It’s pathetic.”

Roger made an attempt to shut his mind off and step away from the situation. That was what his mother taught him to do when he was young, when his temper was worse. This volatile nature coupled with his rather awkward looks was fodder for many schoolyard fights, which led to many reports, and a lot of grief in turn – emotional and physical. Roger’s incentive to learn to control his anger was a rather nasty wooden spoon that left great red welts on his body and admittedly this was extremely effective. Years later he’d wonder where all this resentment and repressed rage sprung from but at least he’d mastered the indifferent glare and the stiff upper lip for situations such as this.

“I mean, when Judy got upset about your fucking on the side, you felt so persecuted, didn’t you? But you know what? I’ll bet that if you heard right now that she was having another man, you’d go fucking mad. You know, despite the fact that you’re over here with me. Wouldn’t you?” Roger wouldn’t answer. “Wouldn’t you?!” David paced the room like a caged animal, all the while keeping his band mate fixed with the same hateful glare and gesticulating wildly. “You go on about things like monogamy but in your world that applies to everyone else and not you.”

Roger’s apparent indifference did little to curb his rage. He marched right up to him and, in a manner that might look comical to anyone else, started to shout up in his face.

“You have no right, no right, to get jealous over me! I never told you that there was anything between us. Have I ever, once, implied that I actually gave a shit about you?”

Actually-

“You’re just the fucking writer. You write the fucking songs, you play half the bass, and we fuck because it’s convenient for me!”

“You know what, Dave?” He could absolutely not hold his tongue any longer, especially now that it was all becoming obvious to him. “It seems to me like you’re awfully worked up about this whole thing with Nick.”

“That’s a load of-”

“You are, aren’t you? You’re really upset about it! So you have to come in here and give me this rash of shit about being jealous of you.” David said nothing for a moment, the words rolling about in his head and being processed. “But that’s so typical of you, isn’t it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” David had backed away a few paces now, trying and doing a rather poor job at feigning ignorance.

“I’m always the prick, aren’t I? And you’re just so fucking easygoing and likable and agreeable and – and whatever else you act like! I think you’re just covering up ‘cause you can’t stand the idea of showing that you’re weak like everyone else.”

“Weak? You’re one to talk!”

“Right, so why don’t I just come out and say it now then? Here goes, you might wanna record it for future use,” he took a few steps toward the guitarist. “I was jealous. There, I’ve said it out loud. Does it make you happy to physically hear me say it?”

“I could care less how you feel: that’s always been something you could never wrap your inflated fucking head around, right?”

“Then how about you, Dave? How do you feel? You may as well come out and say it seeing as how I’ve already done it myself.”

“If you want me to say I’m jealous…”

“Yeah, that’s what I wanna hear. That we’re both jealous-”

“Don’t you dare compare me to yourself.”

“Why? Because you hate me?”

“Yes!”

“Do I disgust you?”

“YES!”

“Is that why you’re fucking me then? Is it some sort of punishment or something?”

“Shut up!”

“Because I don’t think that’s the case. I think you fancy me more than you’d like to let o-” He swiftly dodged a fist that was on a collision course with his jaw. When David, in a blind rage, tried again he grabbed both wrists and tried holding them steady while the guitarist fought against him.

“Calm down!” A boot caught him in the shin and Roger hissed in pain but kept hold, slamming David up against the wall and pinning him there with his body. “CALM THE FUCK DOWN!”

“Get off!” The voice was attempting to sound strong but it came out terribly weak and pathetic. Upon closer inspection it was apparent that tears of frustration and embarrassment were welling up in his eyes, humiliated at being overpowered this way. And by the person he’d been dominating for the past two days on top of it – just another blow to his manhood. “Let go!”

“I’ll let go when I know that you’re not gonna hit me! Calm down!” David’s movements had gradually begun to slow and he was sobbing freely now, something that Roger had never before seen. Watching it was odd. Uncomfortable, like the first time he’d witnessed his mother (master of the stiff upper lip) crying. And it felt pathetic because Roger could count on one hand how many men he’d seen cry, including himself. In the rational part of his brain he knew that it shouldn’t be anything shameful, particularly having just emerged from the sixties. Men were allowed to be sensitive, weren’t they? Men were allowed to cry.

The deeply ingrained ideas of what was and was not normal by society’s standards were much stronger, however. Seeing David cry was surreal and uncomfortable to watch, especially crushed up against him the way he was. And Roger was the reason he was doing so. He realized that he was still gripping his wrists with white knuckles and slowly loosened his hold, not quite releasing him yet.

“Dave?” David shook his head, cheeks burning with shame. “Dave, I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Again he was attempting to sound calm through the gasps. “Okay, fine.”

“Dave…” Roger released his wrists and they dropped limply by his sides. “I’m so sorry. I was being an utter cunt.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He pushed away Roger’s arms when they tried to encircle his torso.

“I think it does.” He persisted and eventually David gave in and allowed himself to be held like some sort of injured animal. It didn’t exactly fill him with pride but he had to admit that it was comforting, particularly being in these particular arms. “Dave, this’ll probably be the last time I say this but you know that I care about you. A lot. And I could really give a shit less what you think of me.” A final choked sob. Roger knew that David wouldn’t reciprocate, at least out loud.

“I know that I look like a fucking idiot…”

“Probably not as bad as I looked at the restaurant earlier.” He nuzzled his neck and David smiled quietly, still shuddering a bit.

“You looked pretty stupid.” He agreed, hands slipping around his shoulders to find Roger’s back. Why did this feel good? He should have been ashamed of himself, first for crying like that in front of that bastard, then for succumbing this way. The warmth of his skin through his t-shirt felt so natural against his palms and each lean muscle was more familiar than he would have liked to admit.

Cunt.
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The Thrill of It All