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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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“Rog.”

“Nn.”

“Rog.” David shook his bedmate by the shoulder. “Wake up.”

With an angry grunt, Roger swatted the offending hand away and pulled the covers tight about his shoulders. David persisted.

“It’s eight.”

“Yeah, and our plane doesn’t leave until two-thirty.”

“But I’m hungry now.”

“And?”

“And I want you to cook me breakfast.”

“Fuck off and make your own breakfast.” was the muffled response.

“Have you forgotten about our agreement?” With much annoyance, the memory of last night’s conversation filtered back into Roger’s consciousness. Damn it. He was comfortable!

“I take it back.” David scoffed.

“Not even five minutes and already you’re giving up…that’s worse than I expected.”

“I’m not giving up, I just think the whole thing is fucking silly.”

“Then I suppose you lose.”

“We never said this was a game.” There was an obvious hint of offense in Roger’s tone. He absolutely hated to lose any type of game, regardless of how inane it was, regardless of whether it was even acknowledged as a game or not.

“It basically is, isn’t it? And you lost, Rog.”

“Right.” He growled, unwrapping himself from his quilted cocoon and clambering to his feet. “I hope you’re awfully satisfied with yourself for getting me up at this hour…” Glowering back at David, he pulled on his crumpled jeans and seethed with anger at the self-satisfied smirk the graced the guitarist’s face.

“I’d like some sausages and two eggs, sunny side up.”

“Stuff your eggs…”

Roger prowled out of the room, leaving David to sink back against the mattress, big smile still plastered on his face. His mind raced with all the things he’d be asking – no, commanding that Roger would do for him. And not just this breakfast nonsense. They were both big boys and consequently this would be far from the children’s game that Roger had naïvely imagined it to be. And David was confident about how uncomfortable he could make this, particularly as they were flying to Italy this afternoon to start work on a concert film. But he’d have to handle things a certain way. First of all, there would be no beating around the bush about announcing what he wanted this morning – he’d have to assume a commanding presence. He’d been in this position many times before and taking baby steps was usually the most effective approach with people, but that would get him nowhere with Roger. Then he’d take a trip down to the shops before they left, though he expected he’d probably be able to buy what he was looking for in Rome as well. Fantastic.

He was greeted by the cheery expression he’d been expecting when he padded down to the kitchen a few minutes later. Roger all but threw the plate on the table then turned to walk to the cupboard and secure a box a cereal for himself.

“What are you doing, Rog?”

“I’m making myself something to eat. Why? You’re not satisfied with yours? Shall I add the salt for you, master?”

“Did I tell you could eat?” David toyed with his eggs, suppressing his amusement at how obviously unbelieving Roger’s face had turned. Really and truly unbelieving, because he was under the impression that it was some sort of joke. Rolling his eyes, he opened the cupboard and pulled the box out, much to David’s annoyance. “Roger, did you ask my permission?” The distinct lack of humor in his voice couldn’t possibly be feigned. Roger cocked an eyebrow and stared back at him.

“You’re not serious.” David didn’t waver. “You’re not actually serious?”

“I’m deadly serious. Put the box back and maybe you can have some in a few minutes if you ask properly.” Roger could only laugh and shake his head in disbelief.

“This is my house!”

“Actually it’s my house this week. It’s my food. That car out there? It’s my car.”

“You’re joking…this…none of this was part of the agreement.”

“I guess that we have differing opinions on what the agreement was, don’t we? You agreed to be my slave – so I own you. Naturally all of your belongings would go to me too.” He pushed his plate aside and propped his arms on the table. “Now put the box back and sit down – there are a few things I have to explain to you.”

“I never agreed to any of this.”

“That’s just another way of saying you can’t fucking handle it.” Stung, the defense mechanism in Roger’s head cranked into action and he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“You couldn’t handle it!” Oh God, that was childish…but David simply laughed knowingly.

“You think so? Well, Roger old boy, I did handle it. And for much longer than you have to.”

But…but if David had done this before and Roger refused, he’d be one-upped! Oh, it was a difficult choice…which would be worse? To be so subordinate that he’d have to ask permission to so much as eat breakfast or to live with the knowledge that David had been able to do something that he couldn’t? Granted, the guitarist would never let him forget either, but which was the lesser of two evils? To that end, he mustered the nastiest scowl in his repertoire and shoved the cereal back in the cupboard, slamming the door shut. The smug smile returned to David’s face as he watched Roger pull the chair out across from him and slump down into it like a big child about to be reprimanded.

“Rog?”

“What?” he snapped.

“Did I tell you to sit on the chair?” Roger, who had been staring hard at the table, suddenly raised his eyes in question over the seemingly contradictory request. “The chair is only for boys who earn it through good behavior…”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You want me on the floor?” David nodded and gestured to the linoleum. Struggling with himself, Roger slowly climbed off the chair and lowered himself to the ground, instantly regretting his lack of upkeep around the kitchen. Oh, where was the fucking mop when he needed it?
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The Thrill of It All