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Obscure Alternatives	By : signorinaravelli Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 936 -:- 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
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The first thing Roger noticed when he flicked the lights was himself. Lots of himself, all over the place. It was a bit of a shock initially, as he’d expected to find himself in a seedy little hole of a room; thick air, double bed with a stiff (and mysteriously stained) floral comforter, perhaps a few unnecessary reminders of the former occupants. But instead there was…this.

Recovering from the slight surprise, Roger eased the door shut behind him and made a visual sweep of the room. And all the mirrors which covered the walls. And floor and ceiling. It was mirror overkill. As he advanced further inside, his boots clacked against the glass, emitting an uncomfortable sort of echo that reverberated against the walls. Christ, he didn’t like this. He didn’t like a whole army of Rogers staring warily back at him. The furniture was sparse and a pristine white; leather sofa and large bed. There was a sleek metal coffee table complete with magazines, along with a transparent egg chair suspended by chain from the ceiling. It was all much too pristine, much too shiny, so bright that it hurt his eyes. The place even reeked of bleach, a scent that Roger was none too fond of. He wondered briefly how David was reacting to his own room. Well, knowing him, he’d think it was complete rubbish, all this ultra-modern nonsense…it made Roger smile to himself.

Dropping his bag on the sofa, he wandered over to assess the bathroom – and thank God the walls weren’t mirrored in here. That was the last thing he needed…but the white and metal motif continued in here much to his disappointment, this time with the inclusion of a bathtub that resembled a giant silver mixing bowl.

‘What the fuck?’ indeed. He doubted he’d ever understand the ways of the Japanese…honestly, how could one check into a place like this and relax? And what with all these mirrors all over the place, you’d have to see everything you were doing – what if he wanted to toss off? He’d feel very odd tossing off surrounded by bunches of wanking Rogers. It’d suck all the eroticism out of it. Not that there was anything terribly erotic about masturbation, really, though mutual masturbation was a different story entirely, wasn’t it?

As he slumped down into the sofa, he began to elaborate on this, letting his mind begin to wander into more graphic territory. He wondered how Dave’s nicely callused fingers would feel against his own cock, lightly teasing, then encircling him in the warmth of his palm. Oh, what a fucking magnificent thought. He could almost feel the grooves in David’s skin. He grinned at the quick turn of thoughts: a moment ago he’d been bemoaning this awful, sterile room and now they were going down an entirely different, pleasanter road. Bless the young male mind with its ability to go from zero to sex in .2 seconds flat.

Roger suddenly found that his hands were moving of their accord, smoothing down his belly to pop open the first button on his trousers. Well, he supposed, as long as he was here he may as well take advantage of the solitude…now which fantasy to employ this time around? He quite fancied the shower one, hadn’t used that for awhile. So he situated himself, lying back, pushing his trousers off his slim hips a bit, and taking his cock firmly in hand.

Right, so…I’m in the shower and the door opens…no wait, Dave’s already in there with me. Right. Got it. And he’s facing away from me, washing his hair with – oh, who the fuck cares what sort of shampoo he’s using? So the water’s running down his gorgeous back and ass and argh…God, I just wanna grab it…

Slow strokes up and down his shaft, feeling it gradually growing firmer in his grip, the faint smell of the sofa’s leather drifting under his nostrils. Oh, and Roger knew someone who wore a leather coat. He’d had the good fortune of “accidentally” falling asleep with his cheek pressed up against David’s shoulder during one long tour bus ride. The scent of leather and stale cigarette smoke had pervaded his senses and since then, either could set him right off. All that was missing was the sweat and the sex, though he figured he could imagine those quite vividly on his own.

His thoughts had quickly turned from simply admiring his band mate’s many physical attributes to a more hands-on approach. His tongue was delving inside his mouth, teeth nibbling on those full lips, nipping along the jaw line. David sucked in a breath at particularly sharp bite, which made Roger practically melt in fantasy and reality alike. His thumb now stroked the head in circular motions, masquerading as the guitarist’s skilled fingers.
In the shower things were progressing quite nicely. David’s mouth had joined in the proceedings, making nice work of his throat and shoulders as his hands trailed dangerously low. All the while he murmured about just how hard he was for Roger, how good he’d make him feel, and naturally about how impressed he was by one of his lover’s assets. Roger’s strokes were becoming swifter, harder, more desperate, imagining Dave lowering himself to his knees, how appetizing he’d look as he smiled up at him. Coy yet wicked.

And then he opened his mouth in a rather slow and deliberate fashion to take Roger inside –

A sudden knock at the door was a cruel jolt back into reality. Roger gasped in shock, then groaned aloud. Things had been going quite nicely, hadn’t they? Just a bit more and he’d have come. It was all he really needed to relieve the tension after today’s anxiety, the proverbial cool sand to sink his toes into…for the first time he looked around the room to see his mirrored images staring awkwardly back at him, all clutching their manhoods.

Christ, I look fucking silly…does everyone look so stupid when they wank?

With much regret, he re-zipped himself and sighed, the remaining pictures of wonderful kneeling David fizzling from view. Well, whoever had decided to come banging on his door was going to get a pretty fucking choice piece of his mind, weren’t they? Cursing silently, he climbed to his feet and ambled over to the door. Just as before, he couldn’t stand the way his footsteps echoed as he went. It just served to amplify the immensity and emptiness of the room. Ha, he’d wager a guess that no one else was in theirs – probably all out pulling star-struck Japanese birds while he was stuck here. He supposed that “stuck” wasn’t nearly so accurate as “feeling anti-social tonight and refusing to leave”. Still, his stomach was gurgling a bit, so maybe he’d just pop out for a drink and a bite as soon as he sent his unwelcome caller away. Find a novelty “English” restaurant and order some sort of ornate fish and chips-type thing. That would probably suffice until tomorrow.

Putting on his best sulky face, he jerked open the door and snapped “yes?” before he’d even realized who it was standing outside. To his surprise, it wasn’t a stranger, nor was it Nick, Rick, or Steve, or anyone else that he didn’t care to see for that matter.

“Hey, Rog.” David smiled broadly at him. “You’re looking warm as ever.”
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