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History confides that every man will do his duty	By : luna65 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 640 -:- 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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III: let us do something today which the world may talk of hereafter

marchsixthnineteenseventynine
Roger should have suspected things were going to go horribly wrong when as soon as he arrived Steve was herding himself and the birthday boy into Rick’s music room where their bandmates were already waiting.

“I hate to throw a damper on the fete, lads, but things are looking worse than I thought,” Steve said, and he couldn’t look any of them in the eye.

“We’re broke, aren’t we?” Nick said, trying to play it off but he sounded much as the others felt: terrified.

“Norton is nearly done for, people are storming the barricades, wanting to know where the fuck their money is. I know you didn’t want to do this, but we’ve no other choice to keep the CBS advance.”

“What, leave the country?” Roger exclaimed.

Rick and Nick exchanged a pitying glance, as if their personal lives weren’t horrific enough, now further complicated by the possibility of exile.

“Yeah.”

David was tempted to laugh, had to bite back the chortle which leapt up his throat, so he coughed instead. Roger looked at him: the sudden sparkle in his eyes, and the smirk. He knew it well.

“A year, right?” David asked, quietly, almost to himself.

“Yeah,” Steve answered and Roger was tempted to yell is that all you can fucking say, you idiot?! But he couldn’t throw a fit, this wasn’t the time for histrionics.

“Where would we go?” Rick asked, in a near-whisper.

“Dunno, but we need to suss it out yesterday, I already had the solicitors file the motion, which means in one month you need to be gone.”

“So record…elsewhere?” Nick queried.

“And live. You can’t come back for a year.”

He shrugged. Nick would always shrug, he had the ability to travel light. Rick was looking as if someone had shot him, but there was no pain, no blood, only shock.

Roger felt a peculiar sense of weightlessness. He recalled riding an express lift once, somewhere, probably in New York, and it left one with that thrilling queasiness of moving faster than the body can react. It was the same sensation, knowing what the look on David’s face meant.

And it had to stop. But they were in the thick of it, and things were going well, despite the fighting, it was sounding bloody fantastic. And the boy had a contract, didn’t he? If Roger fired him he’d likely sue, file a grievance with the union, and they’d be fucked even worse than this bit of news reinforced. He liked him, he really did, it wasn’t his fault.

But it had to stop.

“We’ll discuss it tomorrow,” Roger said, making one of his well-known decisive pronouncements. “There’s a houseful of people any road. No sense in debating now.”

Steve nodded. They all stood there for a moment, frozen from the finality of the news. Then Nick clapped his hands and squeezed Rick’s shoulder.

“We’d better make sure they’re not wrecking the place, eh?”

Rick shrugged and they left the room. Steve followed along, probably desperate to be out of the range of Roger’s ire.

Then two sets of blue eyes regarded one another, with cautious curiosity.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Roger said, and his tone was quiet menace.

“Tell me, O Swami Rog,” David quipped, and not in a playful manner.

“You’re thinking you can give me the toss and get away with it, all the way ‘round. But you’re wrong.”

“What are you on about?”

He leaned forward, his mouth taunt like a wire at the breaking point.

“Don’t! Don’t play coy and stupid. You always get what you want because you’re so patient. You waited for years till you thought I could trust you enough, and now you’ve been working up to it from the start, you’ll wait as long as it takes, and then snap! In the trap he goes. But I won’t have it, do you understand? You can’t shitcan me because you’re bored.”

“You’ve made it very clear you think I’m worthless. You’ve given me the toss, Rog, not the other way ‘round.”

“Bollocks!”

“It’s the truth! If you had one ounce of faith in me we wouldn’t need Bob t’all. But because you believe I’m a moronic wastrel you’ve put all these people between us, and I couldn’t reach you now even if I tried. I swear to Christ, you threaten me again and I will hold this up, I will sabotage the entire enterprise. We’ll all be ruined. Is that what you want? It is, isn’t it? You want to see us all destroyed, don’t you? Because you think it’s what we deserve.”

A glacial sliver of fear. Roger had been dreaming of icebergs lately, after seeing a programme about Artic expeditions on Two. The cracking of the ice, an explosive sound when the shelf breaks apart and pieces drift away, pieces which clutter up the frigid sea, useless.

True? Possibly. But to admit it with such raw honesty would be the death of them. And he had to succeed. This was his last laugh in the face of the muffins, all of them, not just Messrs. Mason, Gilmour and Wright.

“Fuck you, David.” And the other merely smirked, then looked out the window at the crowd.

“No Rog, that’s not what I want for my birthday.”

Divisible by three.

An hour or so of drinking, doing his best to ignore the tableau before him, but everywhere he looked Roger could see David, blithely conversing with all attending, as they paid tribute to the birthday boy, that bloated bastard who used to be…the sun. The very sun shining at the apex of the heavens and Roger wanted to fly, futile or not, straight to the terminus and surrender to the light.

And now here he was, expending his still-considerable charm on someone else. It wasn’t without precedence, of course, Roger knew very well there had been other dalliances over the years, eroding the foundation of their regard, their partnership, their very union which united them in concerns artistic and mundane, personal and professional. They had meant something to one another, once. Something very significant. But now it was only empty gestures, meaningless babble…and the fear, the fear which had defined his ambivalence and his certainty in equal measure, made Roger numb at that moment. He had a queer detached feeling like he used to get while they were making Dark Side, as if he’d suddenly turned invisible and he couldn’t hear properly. But there was another nagging facet to this situation…he actually cared what happened to the boy. They had a rapport, they understood one another, the boy possessed an instinctual understanding regarding the work and the way it should sound, and a genuine desire to help Roger achieve it to the best of his abilities. It wasn’t just another project, just another job, to either of them.

Unlike the others, he couldn’t ignore what was happening, it was right in front of him every day.

Roger couldn’t be stabbed in the heart from a distance this time. This time the act was a most visceral murder. And murder was final.

I don’t believe

What was it, Roger wondered. Was it really love?

And if it was, why could he never seem to hold onto it? Not that any of them were capable in that regard. One succeeds at one thing or another, but never all of it.

But there was nothing now: no love nor money.

What did love actually mean if everything else was such a hollow sham?

What did it matter? Why? He didn’t need him, it was true. But somehow it did, or else why would he feel as though he were about to vomit…disgorge all of his fear and anger and hatred for what it all had become, spewing out before him in sour stinking poisonous bile.

I don’t believe I love you

David was charmed by many things when considering his prey, but that smile made the other buzz with something frothy and heady, and he had to stop himself from beaming in kind, stupid with hormonal affinity.

Because ultimately it wasn’t the best of decisions but he wanted it, and he was going to have it.

The absolute worship of this sweet vassal, who had already pledged his primary fealty to his masters: whatever, wherever, whenever. Forever and ever.

We have to leave the country for a year. Which means you have to leave the country too.

A shifting of brown eyes, towards the miserable mistress who was likely to become more miserable once the news was known. A glance of guilt, but resigned.

Then a nod.

“I don’t believe I love you, don’t think I have for a long time.”

Roger did not sing “Happy Birthday,” and he did not recall any other occasion in which he had not, focused as he was only on the moment. It was as if it had already happened, and he was waiting for reality to catch up. He stood in the music room and watched through an open window, looking at the crowd across the pool, at a table covered with cake, the golden girl beside the birthday boy. He could even see Carolyne, brow wrinkled in annoyance likely wondering where the hell he was. Everyone else was jolly and it wasn’t just the booze contributing a false gaiety, most everyone actually liked David. Roger knew another David who could convince others he was effortless, but that person was painfully shy and stubborn as the proverbial mule, and easily embarrassed by the consideration of his own shortcomings.

But he never let it show.

Roger could see it all anyway, the benefit of experience and intimacy and now he wanted to truly be blind. Every so often David would look in a particular direction, even if the other wasn’t aware he was being stared at, was in fact engaged in laughing conversation with Phil and their girlfriends and probably had no idea of the machinations going on for his very soul.

Now that’s a bit melodramatic, Georgie.

And damned if that voice wasn’t in his very head, the voice of his doubt and his self-deprecating alter-ego, Georgie Porgie, who kissed the girls and made them cry.

It was David’s voice, from long long long intimacy with its’ tones and inflections.

No, it’s not. You won’t stop till you’ve consumed his soul, the way you have mine. And if you won’t give it back I’ll be damned if you can have another.

Whispers going around, the women started to move towards the house as the cheering ended and Ginger shoved a piece of cake into David’s face. With a bit of malice, no doubt…the dream was starting to unravel for her as well.

That was another thing no one else knew.

They were all hopeless and even as Roger had what he had always wanted - a child, a son - the fear still rendered him unable to merely pause and savor the triumph.

The women were on the run now, as Roy started the battle, a hunk of cake flying towards the birthday boy, who gave an eerie battle cry and returned the volley. Roger smiled to see the Whiz Kid being pulled along by his girlfriend, but then Phil dragged him back and Roger heard the tail end of the gibe.

“ – Can’t hide with the hens!”

This ritual was ridiculous and yet they’d done it every year since 1972 (and where they’d managed to find a birthday cake in the whole of Japan remained a mystery) and everyone accepted the inevitability of marchsixth.

No, I never have. I was never wholly thankful you were born.

The sheet cake was at least a good metre long and was quickly being destroyed. There was even cake in the pool. Roger chuckled to see Phil and James crawling along behind a hedge, waiting for a breath in the battle to make a run for the table. But Griff hurled a piece directly at James as soon as he broke cover. Roger had been expecting that…or a dust-up between the two, though James was either seemingly immune to provocation or extremely savvy regarding the inherent politics of the organization. Griff was old guard, though too inexperienced to be of real use to the Corporation. But Roger counted both on his side, for now, and that was enough. He’d have a word with Young Nick (as they sometimes referred to him) about accepting the inevitable. James was In, and In he would remain.

James, cake sliding down his hair and his back, now made to grab some ammunition of his own, and who emerged from underneath the table to grab him?

Roger’s mouth opened in shock, he didn’t notice. Such a deliberate move, meant for Roger’s scrutiny alone.

“Oh ho, my most trusted man, an assassin! Oh infamy!”

This can’t be happening.

David lifted James off the ground, as best he could, speaking into his ear and Roger thought David might as well just throw James to the ground and fuck him in front of everyone.

So bloody obvious, but of course no one would suspect. But you know I can see, you goddamn fucking cunt.

David inched toward the pool with his bundle, still murmuring to the boy, as the other squirmed and laughed and seemed to enjoy the attention. They were at the edge and Roger was holding his breath, wondering if they would both go in. He knew James wouldn’t fight his fate, but why did he squirm?

ohgodohfuck A fait accompli.

Sure enough, David allowed James to remove his shoes and his watch and he made to actually throw rather than push him in and in doing so grabbed the other’s crotch but everyone was too busy being ridiculous to notice.

“Right then, it’s the drink for you, Whiz Kid.”

A splash, a chorus of cheers, and David thoughtfully picked James’ watch up off the ground and placed it inside one of his shoes. When James surfaced and treaded water in the deep end, surrounded by clumps of dissolving cake, David gave his best come-on smile and Roger did choke, the world momentarily becoming blurry as points of light flashed in his peripheral vision.

“Let that be a lesson to you, whelp. I always get my man.”

He was looking at James as though the other were cake, licking his lips, winking and leering, hands on his hips.

And just as Roger might have actually lost his dinner from disgust and jealousy, David’s eyes met his own for an eternity of cold observance. Then he was advancing; one battle was over, another one begun.

But Roger was ready, armed with the things he knew David couldn’t resist.

Lust, and chocolate cake.

“I want a divorce, Rog. I can’t live with you anymore.“

He could sense David on his heels, the angry gaze hot on his skin. He knew the other would follow him, corner him, and thus led him to an unoccupied bedroom. The door slammed and locked, sending objects on tabletops rattling in sympathetic vibration.

“You didn’t sing to me, Rog. Saving your voice? Oh but there’s nothing left to save, is there?”

“You’re stuck with me,” Roger said, advancing on the other. “You can say whatever you want but short of quitting there’s nothing you can do. We are bound.”

“Then prove it.”

“I’ve got what you really want, I always do.”

Why fight the inevitable, even if you don’t want it.

As Roger half-suspected he might, David pushed at him, his face creased in an expression somewhere between frustration and disgust. And the emotion itself, regardless of the cause, gave the other a frisson of arousal. Roger always desired passion, even if the source was poisonous. In moments when he only had himself to consider he knew this was wrong, but his experience followed the same paradigm always.

Akin to…climbing a wall, but never seeming to reach the top.

And here he was, hands and feet in the same worn-out crannies, precarious grasp, too high on either end to look up or down, only directly at the monolithic face of his misery.

If anyone could see them, struggling for dominance as David came to be pinned to the wall, a thump and again the thin chiming of a dozen breakable trinkets, they might imagine it was a dance, not a fight. It did resemble more intimate moments in their history, even as they both wondered what they were doing.

“Stop, you sodding cunt!” David finally exclaimed, barely-voiced, through clenched teeth. “Stop being so bloody ridiculous. This isn’t the time nor the place for a pity fuck, Georgie, even if I was so inclined.”

“Got to do something with this, don’t you?” Roger murmured, reaching down to squeeze the bulge in David’s trousers. “Can’t see you sullying your golden girl with your filthy secret desires, even if she’ll never know what they really are.”

“And neither will you.”

“I will!” Followed by an instinctive sshhh. “I will because that is the way of it, you and me. Now look what I have for you, prat.”

Roger took the cake he had placed on one side of the bed, in faint hopes of a more positive scenario, and with the element of surprise struck David right in the face. The blow didn’t make too much difference overall, as David was already smeared everywhere with crumbs and frosting, adding another surreal element to the proceedings. The world went black around the edges as Roger resisted the urge to keep pushing the plate until he broke the other’s nose. Before his partner could react he was pushed to the wall again and Roger began licking his face.

“Your favorite, isn’t it? And who knows that, hmm? Only me. I started the whole fucking thing because I knew it was just what you wanted. But then you had to make it into a circus, didn’t you, so unhappy unless you’re subverting me, as if you think I won’t catch on.”

David sighed, succumbing to his favorite fetish. He took a piece of cake from his forehead and ate it, eyebrows raised. It was his favorite.

“Why’re you doin’ this, Rog? You don’t really want me. You didn’t even want to come tonight, I wager.”

“Hush now and take your due, birthday boy.”

David closed his eyes and remained still, letting Roger undo his ruined trousers and take out his cock, covering it with the residue of the confection. Only a heavy sigh as Roger sucked him off, arousal by rote. The act was gifted as exactly as he had been taught to give it, eight years ago. And it was enough, knowing the weaknesses remained and all it took was to invoke them when required. Desire would prevail, had to prevail, if only to prove that Roger still held the power. But the truce was beginning to waver, because even as he’d won the battle the war was ongoing, and there were casualties yet to claim.

“I’m sorry.”
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History confides that every man will do his duty