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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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Much to his relief, David ultimately yielded and did let Roger have an airline-sized bottle of scotch. Never before had alcohol tasted this sweet and he silently swore that this would be the last time he’d take that warmth flowing through his body for granted. David was being surprisingly nice actually. Though he didn’t give him permission to speak freely, he did seem to be understanding of Roger’s nervousness in the air. When Rick got up to sit beside one of their crew for awhile (he’d kindly taken the aisle seat), he was quick to take Roger’s hand in his own and squeeze it reassuringly. The two made eye contact and for the first time today, there was no hint of maliciousness in Roger’s gaze. He gave the tiniest hint of a smile, something of a “thank you” and expected his hand to be released then. Instead David kept hold, stroking Roger’s palm with his thumb and sending incredible vibes of well-being (the type that one usually associates with controlled substances) coursing through his fingers.

So this was nice. Why was David being so nice? Was he relenting? Perhaps any moment now he’d announce that the idea was ridiculous and call the whole thing off. That hope was interrupted by the clunky arrival of the food cart and all its fascinatingly mysterious smells.

“Chicken or fish?”

David eyed the trolley’s contents warily. He was never much of an airline food connoisseur but he knew that the shady fish right out. To that end he decided to take a chance on the chicken and smiled warmly up at the stewardess

“Em, chicken, please. Lesser of two evils, right?”

“Most likely.” She eyed this handsome young man with veiled interest, wondering if he smiled so invitingly at everyone. After handing David his tray rather lingeringly, she glanced at Roger, who was gazing out of the window. “And you, sir?”

“He’ll have the same.” David muttered, trying to force the little table attached to the back of the seat in front of him to fold out.

“Ah, sometimes we have to give that one a little encouragement. Here.” She thumped her fist against it lightly and the table came clattering open accordingly. “Sorry about that.”

“Thank you very much,” he eyed her name tag. “Linda.” Then he offered her another big smile as she leaned over him to hand a grateful Roger his meal. He hadn’t been hungry when he was finally permitted to have his cereal but he certainly was now. After setting up his own table, he pulled back the foil top to see what culinary tour de force awaited him in the little box. The contents were, suffice to say, rather underwhelming. One chicken patty with artificial grill marks, sprinkled less than liberally with peas and diced carrots, and some stiff-looking mashed potatoes on the side. Delicious. He looked over to see how David was coping and noticed that his stewardess friend was pushing her cart away, smiling back at the guitarist. And very obviously swinging her hips to and fro as she went. Roger wondered what it was like to harbor such immense power over women, especially when David didn’t even plan to use that power half the time. Was it just habit by now, the disarming smile? Ah, lucky bastard…

“She’s not half bad but I doubt she gives head as good as you do, Rog.” Roger grimaced, outwardly annoyed with the remark but rather pleased internally. Unable to express his disdain out loud, he turned back to the window, what little interest he’d had in his food now lost. “Aw, does that really upset you? I’m sorry…I can’t help but admire your skill though.” With a wicked grin, he leaned in to press his mouth against Roger’s ear, the latter jumping slightly at the intimate contact, praying that no one would chance to look over and notice them. “Do you know what I’d really like?” Roger said nothing but shifted anxiously, very much effected by the feel of David’s heavy breath. “If you got down on your knees, right now, in the middle of this plane, and did it for me. Do you know what I’d want you to do, Rog? You’ve got my permission to speak.”

Roger looked over at him with unusual shyness and shook his head. There were certain things he was usually willing to do and talking dirty was not one of them. David had long shown a propensity for it but never pushed the issue of asking him to participate before, at least not until now. But Roger didn’t know now. The situation was decidedly erotic – that whole exhibitionist scene that he’d really been getting into lately. And there was really little else they could do.

“Come on, Rog” David whispered, leaning in again. “Say it. I wanna hear you say it.”

Roger remained silent but visibly shuddered when he felt a wet tongue slip into his ear. Oh God, he wanted to say it. But David wasn’t commanding, was he? He was simply asking. He may as well take advantage of the ability to refuse while he could, in spite of the way his stomach was flipping. Even the way David asked was turning him on like nothing else; when that man lowered his voice to a hush Roger may as well have spent himself right then. How did he do it? How could one man wield so much power over anyone, much less the decidedly immovable Roger himself? He felt his hand being taken once more, felt those beautifully callused fingers stroking against his palm encouragingly.

“Rog…I know you want to say it…maybe you need a clue?”

He slowly guided Roger’s hand under the little table, an excellent cover, and placed it over the obvious bulge in his jeans. Roger made a small noise of delight in the back of his throat and barely suppressed a murmur of “bastard…”

“Tell me what I want, Rog.” David continued to hold his hand in place, aware that the bassist wouldn’t have pulled away even if he’d released him. “I wanna hear it.” He sighed when Roger’s hand started to move of its own accord, fingers trailing over the rough denim. One teasingly traced a line down the zip, then back up again. Roger was the one smiling now, fumbling to open the open the button and feeling pretty satisfied with himself for subduing David. Of course this was the moment that Rick had decided to return to his seat. Slightly panicked, Roger started to remove his hand only to feel his wrist swiftly grasped and held in place. He shot David a glare and nodded over at their newly-returned band mate; it didn’t seem to concern him in the least. Rick had brought along a rather impressive blunt and held it out to either of them invitingly. David laughed and shook his head.

“You’re not allowed to smoke on the plane, you know.”

“It’s not a cigarette, is it?” He eyed the cardboard chicken with keen interest. “Are you eating that?”

“No, do you want it?” He urged Roger onward, slipping his free hand under the table and undoing his zip. How Rick noticed none of this was unbelievable and thoughts began to rush through Roger’s head that he had noticed and simply wasn’t saying anything. But David was calm and that was a slight reassurance. Granted, he always kept a level head regardless of the situation but things usually turned out well in the end. Roger ultimately trusted his judgment.

To that end he complied, slipping his hand down the front of David’s trousers, pushing down the waistband of his Y-fronts, and wrapping his fingers around his hardness. David practically melted under his hand, struggling to maintain an indifferent appearance for the benefit of their neighbor. As it turned out, Rick was not even looking at them, focused instead on somehow devouring the airline food with admirable gusto. David was doing rather well also. Despite Roger’s increasingly frantic strokes, he was managing to remain almost totally silent and appear remarkably casual, save for a few twitches and the occasional labored breath.

Relaxing a bit more, Roger remembered his earlier request and decided to make good. Leaning his head over a bit, he stared hard at the seat in front of them and didn’t so much whisper as breathe articulately.

“You want me to suck your cock.” David couldn’t suppress a little moan of approval and a nod. For all his restraint, his eyes were half-lidded and incredibly hazy as if everything he was unable to do in public was channeled into them. Beside them, Rick had slumped down in his seat and was leafing through an emergency pamphlet with a marked lack of interest.

“And…” David lowered his head. “Would you swallow for me?”

When he received no answer, he glanced over at Roger, who stared back at him with coy yet predatory green eyes. This clearly meant that he’d have to find out for himself. It had not been a terribly long time since Roger had gone down on him last but the desire to see those gorgeous lips kissing his shaft, the pink tongue darting out to taste his skin…oh fuck, it was overwhelming.

Roger could feel David’s hips beginning to arc and increased his speed, hoping that these rather exaggerated movements wouldn’t garner any unwanted attention. The fingers of David’s left hand gripped the table, body so taut that his ass was no longer in the seat. The seatbelt sign above them suddenly came to life and a voice over the intercom announced that they were preparing to descend. Thank God David had never bothered to take his off…with much skill Roger did his up one-handed, never once pausing in his other duties.

David suddenly jolted and with a strangled gasp, he came in Roger’s hand just as Fiumicino Airport had become visible through the clouds. It was a mind-blowing feeling, literally descending from the sky, coupled with the sensation of coming down off that fantastic high. His stomach did somersaults but his legs were like jelly. It was as though his body wasn’t sure whether he wanted to relax or not…Roger hadn’t released him yet and David looked over at him bleary-eyed in a silent “thank you”. It wasn’t until they’d hit the runway that Roger finally disengaged. His long-absent hand emerged from under the table, fingers partially splattered with cum. David could only watch as Roger eyed the white mess with curiosity, then brought the hand to his mouth and licked a bit off. Roger noticed David staring like a peep show customer and, with a little grin, slowly slid one digit in his mouth and back out again, repeating the process with each finger until he was more than pristine.

The intercom kicked on again though neither was really listening. Even as fellow passengers were beginning to rise and move into the aisles, David and Roger were still sitting and practically giggling as the realization of what they’d done had begun to dawn on them. Like a couple of naughty schoolboys.

“We apologize for the slight delay earlier but I’m sure you’re all aware that we here at the BEA always put safety before speed. But we’ve arrived safely and you’ll all been very patient, so I extend our thanks to you. We are now in Rome. Time: about 5:45 PM. Weather: fair. Thank you for flying British European Airways and please choose us again."
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The Thrill of It All