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Sunshine	By : signorinaravelli Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 748 -:- 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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“Large brandy, please.”

We’ve been whisked away to the Algonquin. Roger and I have agreed not to join the crew in an aftershow party and instead return to our hotel for nightcap instead. He’s got a bastard of a headache and slumps back in his seat, watching the reflection of New York’s lights passing endlessly over the tinted windows. Newspaper in the limo mentions something about a new letter from the Son of Sam killer and I peruse it with a marked lack of interest. There’s a pit in my belly, blood in my mouth from chewing on my lip a bit too keenly. The pills are burning a hole in my pocket and I know that in spite of the refreshing post-show shower I’d enjoyed, I’m sweating like the man who knows just how guilty he is.

Hotel bar. One large brandy for Roger here, just a Guinness for me, thanks. I joke with the bartender about something stupid – what the fuck is with this levity? How can I even pretend to be lighthearted and casual? My hand’s in my pocket, rubbing two pills together like lucky pennies. Roger would never tell. For one, I’m the world-renowned guitarist in his internationally famous band. And second, he’d be too ashamed. No, he won’t open his wide fucking mouth for once in his life about this.

I mention that I’m going to watch a bit a telly before I go to bed and ask if he’d care to join me. Hee-Haw, perhaps? The band has taken a masochistic interest in it since the US leg of the ’73 tour.

“Yeah, alright.”

As we walk from the bar, the famous Algonquin cat, Hamlet, twists his wiry body ‘round Roger’s legs and meows softly. Roger is very fond of cats and cats in turn tend to be fond of him. He sets his drink on an empty table and crouches down to stroke the animal quite lovingly, scratch it behind the ears.

“I miss my cats.” I believe that. He’s not necessarily your classic example of an animal lover but I think he likes how impartial they tend to be, something he’s always found to be a problem in humans. For a moment I relent, watching him coddle this cat like a little boy. This action makes him seem all the more human and the desire to hurt gently subsides for just a moment. I never wanted it to come to this. All I’d ever wanted was a casual shag. That was in ’68. I thought he was a bit cute and knowing that he went neither one way nor the other, I propositioned him. The last thing I expected was to be turned down point blank and with little ceremony. This had never happened to me before…my pride…well, I hadn’t realized how vain I was ‘til then…my pride was severely wounded by this ugly sod rejecting me. But I was determined that I’d fuck him sometime so I kept on keeping on, just like the song suggests. It would always be the same negative answer, though.

And how dare he.

Then suddenly his unattainable status made him utterly immaculate – I was aware of everything. The curve of his mouth when he grinned wide. The way his long fingers danced over his bass strings. His Adam’s apple. His delicious cheekbones. Accusing eyes. Monstrously long, awkward gangly limbs and big hands and feet. Not even the well-manicured fingernails went unnoticed.

And while I silently worshipped every movement of this immaculate creature, he looked down on my attempts at seduction as a parent would when their five-year old brought home a messy finger paint masterpiece.

How sweet. Patronizing cunt.

In his room now, adrenaline pumping. Telly’s on, Roger’s gotta take a piss. He leaves his barely-touched brandy sitting on the dresser and I know this is my only chance. I silently cross to the dresser and take a pill out of my pocket – it ought to be enough to knock him out. Twice what I take to completely turn off the world around me. I hear the sink running and I quickly drop the pill into the glass, then anxiously watch it dissolve and disappear altogether. Remarkable stuff, this. Then I take my place innocently on the sofa just as the bathroom door swings open and Roger emerges once more. As I hoped, he retrieves his drink and comes over to slouch beside me with a heavy sigh.

“What’s on, then?”

Five minutes - a few sips.

Ten – The glass is half empty. Full from my point of view. He traces the rim lazily with his fingers.

"Hey Grandpa! What's for supper?"

Roger stares at the screen but I don’t think he’s really taking it in.

Fifteen minutes – “Feels like I had three of these…you don’t think it’s gone off, do you?”

Twenty minutes. - His eyes look slightly glazed and I realize that it’s now or never. I can go back to my own room and leave him to pass out on the sofa or I can…

One hand carefully, quietly snakes its way toward his shoulder. I touch a bit of his hair and he doesn’t notice. I’m close enough to smell him now: brandy on his breath, heavy, hot. I can barely contain my excitement. Feels like my blood’s vibrating, purring like a engine just beneath skin. I can still walk away…if I wanted to, that is. But I don’t want to. Because I’m in control. Not fucking George Roger Waters, for once. ME.

I stroke the backs of my fingers against his throat and this is when he suddenly snaps into awareness. I wouldn’t call it so much “snapping” as very slowly realizing that something is probably amiss and turns to look at me, still half-dazed.

“What…” he stares at me as though I’m out of focus. “What are you doing?”

I don’t answer.

“What are you doin’…?”

I lean in to brush my lips against his lightly and he turns his face away in disgust.

“The hell-” I hear him cry out when I suddenly grab hold of a handful of his hair and sharply JERK his head back. Before he even has time to think, I’m pushing my lips against his with bruising force. For a moment he slumps there stunned, unresisting, inadvertently allowing me to slip my tongue between those delicious slack lips. It isn’t until I start to ease his shirt up that he suddenly springs to life again, though his reaction time is delayed.

“No,” He starts to stagger to his feet, a note of panic in his voice. I grab him by the wrist and he comes collapsing on top of me, just as heavy as I’d always imagined he’d be. He moves to hit me with the other hand but I easily restrain the other wrist and hoist him off me, onto the other cushion. His eyes are rolling around in his head, I can only imagine the state of confusion he’s probably in. Hee Haw continues to play on the telly, scoring our tussle with its own unique commentary.

“Oh, you'll never hear one of us repeating gossip, so you'd better be sure and listen close the first time!”

“You fuck…” he whispers. “Y-you gave me something, didn’t you? You fuck!”

I climb off the couch and wrap my arms around his torso, dragging him up along with me. Jesus Christ, he’s heavy as a fucking ox.

“Shh, shh…” I try to comfort him in some odd way, hauling him further into the cavernous suite. I wonder if I’ll even have any strength left to do my dastardly deed when I finally reach our destination. “You’re just sick right now. I have to put you to bed.”

“You fuck!” That was a bit too loud for my liking. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna kill you!”

I reach out and hit the clock radio on my way past, eager to cover up the sounds of his protests which are gradually increasing in volume. The room is filled, appropriately enough, with sounds of Donna Summer’s “Love To Love You Baby”. By the time we reach the bed, I finally lose my grip and he goes crashing down onto the floor like a severed marionette. Panting, trying to crawl away on his hands and knees, but I grab him by the hips and pull him back toward me. He grasps for the table a few feet from the bed but it seems his depth perception is a bit off, so he winds up groping desperately at nothing but air. I keep pulling at his hips, growing winded, while he musters all his strength and pulls in the opposite direction. Seems that with our combined effort, we’ll manage to tear him in two. I loosen my grip momentarily and he goes off balance, his front end slumping against the floor with his ass in the air the way. Funny, ‘cause that’s how I always like to picture him…

He heaves, once, twice. Clearly his body wants him to be sick but all he can manage is a little rust-colored bile, strings of saliva clinging to his lips as he coughs and wheezes. All to a sweet disco beat, just how he’d want it to be.

Do it to me again and again,
You put me in such an awful spin.
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Sunshine