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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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“You know, I really think I’m going to enjoy this.” David mused aloud. Roger harbored no doubts about that. He was practically radiating pride at the mere act of sitting at a higher level than him. “Right, here we go then. I expect you to remember all of this or there’s going to be some consequences I’m sure you won’t like very much at all.”

Roger was dying to ask if he’d be taken over his knee and spanked should he forget anything but was a bit wary about giving him any ideas. Besides, David probably had something worked out already that was equally if not more humiliating and/or painful. But then again, it was silly thinking any of these things about Dave, wasn’t it? Well, not unless you knew him well…while Roger himself was a fairly outright bastard, David was much more of a snake in the grass, what with his mellow exterior. If you were a nice person then you’d only see that laid-back side but if you crossed him, my God, he could be terrible. In an underhanded way, mind you, but terrible nonetheless. This is why the two of them together were like water and oil.

“First of all: you don’t call me ‘Dave’ or ‘David’ anymore. From now on it’s ‘sir’. Or…” He smiled in amusement. “‘Master’, since you seemed to prefer it earlier.”

“Oh, no ‘King Gilmour’ then?” Roger rolled his eyes and tried to pretend that he was simply annoyed but the idea of a grown man referring to someone his junior as “sir” was just embarrassing. Anyway, ‘sir’ was bad enough but there wasn’t a chance in hell that he’d sink to calling him ‘master’.

“Next: You won’t backtalk. You won’t argue. You won’t speak unless you’re spoken to or I give you permission.”

“Then how am I supposed to ask for permission?” He smiled at his own logic.

“I can’t help but notice that you’re talking out of turn, Rog. And about your question, you’ll just have to figure out something indiscreet, won’t you?” Roger went to open his mouth again but David quickly shushed him. “You’ve already been warned about that once. I’d really hate to have to punish you on your first day. So, continuing…when I tell you to do something, you’ll say ‘yes, sir’ and do it.” In accordance to the earlier rule, Roger could not say anything but continued to glare daggers up at him so David would make no mistake how he felt about the situation. “Oh, and don’t make me ask you twice either. And…I think that’s about it for now.” He retrieved his plate and began to slice a sausage. “Understand?”

Roger sucked in a heavy breath and, avoiding eye contact, gave a very grudging “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Oh, get me the ketchup, will you?”

Rising, Roger had begun to make his way over to the fridge when he heard the deliberate clearing of a throat. Ah, he’d forgotten something, hadn’t he?

“Yes, sir.” he hissed. He hoped that wouldn’t count toward being told twice. After having retrieved it, he was further annoyed by the insistence that he apply it to David’s plate and stood there feeling like a waiter, slapping the bottom to encourage the stubborn mess out. He half expected to be asked to feed him but was mercifully denied that embarrassment and told to sit back down on the floor instead. In reality, David had actually been considering it but decided against it, at least for the time being anyway. It was much better to bring on the heavier stuff later, once Roger had settled into this routine. The rest of the morning was rather uneventfully. David sat in Roger’s favorite armchair and read while Roger himself was restricted to the rug in front of him, making him feel rather like a dog. He shuddered at that idea, blissfully unaware that the thought had already crossed David’s mind more than once. He was eventually allowed his cereal for being so quiet, though he really didn’t feel much like eating anymore.

Around one o’clock, the van arrived to take them to Heathrow. Nick and Rick had been picked up first, with Alan Stiles in tow and Steve O’Rourke driving. All were greatly surprised to see Roger ambling down the pathway carrying not only his own luggage but David’s as well. A moment later David himself emerged from the house and waved cheerily at their comrades, striding past Roger to secure a seat by the window. Alan quickly disembarked from the van and took two of the cases himself, earning a thankful smile. They loaded them into the back, Alan slightly confused by the lack of conversation, even a greeting from the band’s typically outspoken leader. Roger wisely took a seat beside David, staying away from the others lest they try to engage him, which they thankfully didn’t. At least not until they reached the terminal.

They were unfortunate enough to meet up with Adrian Maben and his entourage on the way in. It was moments like these that Roger wished he were shorter so he could easier conceal himself rather than being difficult not to spot. The director naturally gravitated toward him first as he was The Pink Floyd’s leader and representative in spite of how physically evasive Roger was being.

“Roger, I’m so glad we had a chance to meet up before we left. Did you have any problems getting here? Oh, the traffic coming in was just awful, wasn’t it?” These questions could only be responded to with nods or shakes of the head, as David was watching out of the corner of his eye. “How are you feeling? You look awfully pale.” He shook his head and waved it off, all the while anxiously watching Steve as he was discussing something with the woman stationed at the counter.
Oh, get on with it!
Adrian’s questions were beginning to become much too complex to be answered with a simple “yes”, “no” or shrug. And though David was currently chatting with someone else, Roger really didn’t think he could afford to take any chances right now. Much to his annoyance, Adrian wrapped an arm around him and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “You’re sure you’re feeling alright? You can tell me. Because I’ve only booked the amphitheatre for a few days and-”

“Right!” called Steve as a rallying cry to band members and roadies alike. “Listen up: it’s Gate Four! Everyone got that?” The reply was a resounding “yes!” and the herd was again on the move. Steve noticed that Roger was still being detained by a certain Frenchman so he cut in, pulling them apart. “I’m sorry, Adrian, but I have to steal Roger from you.”

“Yes, but-”

“I’m sure we’ll all be able to talk once we get settled in Rome.” As he was walking away, Roger could hear that Adrian was voicing his concern about his current state to Steve…oh God, this was embarrassing. Already he had people worrying over his condition as though he were ill or something. Did he really look pale? He wouldn’t be surprised.

Suffice to say the wait in the departure lounge was more than awkward. Rather than sitting beside David as he’d opted for earlier, he chose a seat as far away from everyone as possible. It was certainly noticed, but perhaps they’d just think he was feeling sulky today and leave him alone for the time being. He could tell they were continually sneaking peeks over at him and so he tried his best to appear as if he were silently brooding over something that was best not asked about. Which, essentially, he was.

“Rog?” Christ, it was David…what did he want now? Roger looked over at him questioningly, trying to ignore the way that Nick and Rick were attempting to covertly listen in. “I don’t really feel like getting up. Be a pet and get me a lager from the bar, would you?”

“Yes, sir…” He murmured between clenched teeth. David raised an eyebrow and leaned up a bit.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Aw, you’re being so polite today…”

“Are you alright, Rog?” Nick asked with genuine concern. And why not? Blind obedience was not a trait that you’d usually associate with Roger Waters. Hell, this was the complete antithesis of everything the man stood for! And the fact that he appeared to be taking orders from David, whom he was almost always at odds with, was even more distressing. Perhaps he was depressed? Well, more depressed than usual anyway…he noted that Roger distinctly made eye contact with the guitarist, like he was trying to communicate in some way. David gave a nod and Roger looked over at Nick.

“Yes.” Then he got up and walked to the bar as quickly as possible. Nick watched him for a moment before turning back to David, who appeared to be doing the same, only with less distress visible on his face.

“Dave?”

“Hm?”

“Roger’s acting a bit odd, don’t you think?”

Rick was finishing his second cigarette, trying to get as many puffs in as possible before they were restricted on the plane.

“Don’t jinx it!” he stubbed the thing out and gestured toward the bar. “He’s the most bearable he’s been since...well, I can’t even remember. Not one complaint all afternoon. That’s got to be a record or something….”

“He’s just moody today. Best to just leave him alone.”

Everything fell silent again as Roger returned with two lagers, handing one to David and taking a seat with his own. Just as he’d begun to lift the bottle to his lips and take a swig, he saw David climbing to his feet with a very stern look on his face. Oh God, what could he possibly have done now?!

“Roger!” He quickly slipped into the chair beside him and attempted to snatch the bottle from his hand. This left Roger dumbstruck but still unwilling to loosen his grip. “Did you ask if you could have one?” He noticed that Nick and Rick were both watching in genuine bewilderment. David was speaking low enough that they wouldn’t have been able to make out what he said but the whole scene surely looked bizarre enough. After all, how often were grown men visibly scolded? He turned back to look at David, communicating everything he would have said aloud with his eyes instead.

“Do you want to be punished? Because you’re certainly acting like it.” Their proximity should have been maddening for a completely different reason and yet Roger could not help feeling slightly turned on. For one thing, David’s scent always drove him crazy. For another, he couldn’t help imagining what this mysterious “punishment” could be and perhaps the fact that he didn’t know was a bit exciting. He almost wanted to disobey him so that his curiosity could be satisfied (and hopefully in one of the many ways he was currently imagining…)
For his own part, David was staring worry about his own jeans growing a little tighter. The look on Roger’s face was absolutely priceless; it was this proud sort of defiance that he always carried off so well. It usually warranted some kind of danger, whether that be a punch in the mouth or an equally violent kiss. Of course David didn’t easily back down either, especially something he felt so adamant about, so he continued to stare Roger down until the bassist relented. Which he did, against his better judgment.

He hesitantly allowed the bottle to be pried from his fingers, internally screaming out for the presence of alcohol in his system. If there was ever a time he needed a few drinks to steady his nerves it was now - even this luxury couldn’t be afforded him. And on top of the uneasiness over all this slave business, he’d have to be flying sober. Christ, he hated flying. The others weren’t terribly fond of it either but Roger held a particular dislike for it, always imagining all the things that could go wrong up in the air…a pre-flight drink usually calmed him a little but he could see now that he’d have to go without it. Unless of course he decided to admit that David was right all along and accept that all of the humiliations today had been tolerated in vain.

No. He wouldn’t do it. Not in a million years would he give that bastard the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

I’d rather kiss his fucking boots…
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The Thrill of It All