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The Thrill of It All	By : signorinaravelli Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 927 -:- 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
- 5
- 6
- 7
As it turned out, the “hotel” was a renovated sixteenth century villa on the outskirts of Rome – another anomaly of lodging for the group. It was locally owned and operated a bit like a casual bed and breakfast. The rooms, while incredibly spacious, were made up rather simply: bed, dresser with mirror, and few other basics which looked odd against the sumptuous design of the building itself. There were two large bathrooms and a couple more utilitarian ones with showers, all of which had been thoroughly modernized. And for how unexcitingly the rooms had been made up, the there had clearly been no expense spared on the baths. Black marble and apparently intended not only for two people but a whole party. There were two low steps leading up to the tub and Roger thought they’d be a pretty good way to slip getting out. Still, the whole scene looked like an interesting proposition all around and he was sure that his counterpart concurred (assuming that it fit into his mysterious plans.)

After having been shown to their rooms to unpack and settle in a bit, small queues were beginning to form outside the bathrooms, most hoping to get in a shower before the night was through. Roger preferred to remain in his room alone and sort his belongings out very meticulously. In the side compartment of his case he discovered the lube he’d packed and quickly concealed it in the folds of a black turtleneck. As he set it in the top drawer with the others, he couldn’t stop his mind wandering back into territory that was best to be forgotten this even. Lube…God, he wished he could feel the stuff on his fingers now, even if it did make a horrible greasy mess. That bastard guitarist three rooms down the hall…how dare he deprive him like this. Probably just trying to make him crack and much to Roger’s annoyance it was almost working. After a few minutes Nick ducked into the room having just finished up with his shower – one of the lucky ones.

“Hey, Rog.” He smiled at the familiar organization of clothing and personal effects. “You know, my ex-girlfriend was majoring in psychology. She told me that perfectionism is just a way of over-compensating. Do you find this to be true? Can you not get it up or something?”

“Oh, fuck off.” He hadn’t really thought about it before he’d said it out loud. On impulse he clapped a hand over his mouth and chastised himself internally for the slip of the tongue. At least it wasn’t in front of the wrong person…Nick faked a gasp of shock.

“It does speak!”

“Ah,” It was pointless to avoid talking to him now, wasn’t it? But he supposed, when he thought about it, David didn’t know; it’s not like he could hear through the walls what Roger did at all times. And Christ, it was silly acting like this, of being scared of him to a degree. “well-“

“David told us you were just on your monthly.”

“Well, I could tell you that David is a lying little shit but that doesn’t necessarily make it true, does it?”

“Point taken.” He smiled and nodded over at the little case of toiletries sitting on the dresser. “Could I borrow your razor? Just for tonight. “

“Yeah, here.” He retrieved it from the bag and handed it over, along with a small box of replacement razors.

“Thanks, man. It’s just that I forgot to…” he thought of Roger’s odd behavior again and trailed off. “Why haven’t you been talking anyway?”

“I’m, em…” Certainly not the truth. And not about his mood either so what was left? “It’s a bet. To see how long I can go without making a sound.”

“Oh God! You? Whose idea was that, then?”

“I can’t remember actually. We were really smashed last night.” Well, that was true anyway.

“But you’ve been talking to me. Doesn’t that mean you’ve lost?”

“Well look, Nick, you’re my friend…” He put an arm around him. “You wouldn’t tell, would you?”

“On principle I really should-”

“Nick!”

“Oh, come on,” he laughed and waved him off. “You know I wouldn’t do that to you. Besides, it’s none of my business anyway.”

“Well-spoken.”

“Right then, now that I’ve involved myself in your sinister web of lies I’ll be off.” He held up the razor. “Thanks for the murder weapon. See you downstairs!”

“Yeah, see you.” Roger muttered distractedly, now fumbling with the window. The damn thing was jammed pretty good. Almost as quickly as Nick’s footsteps disappeared down the hallway, another pair was audible and it became clear that someone else had entered the room. This made Roger stop, hands frozen on the windowpane. Behind him the door swept shut and the ominous click of the lock sounded overly loud in his ears. There was no question about who this was or what it was about. Resigned to whatever fate awaited him, Roger looked back to see David standing there clad in only his jeans, damp hair hanging over his shoulders. Ah, another lucky one. He’d be very interested in the sight if not for the feeling of dread bubbling up in his stomach.

“Take your trousers down.” The command barely registered and instead he just stood there to watch David cross the room and take a seat on the edge of his bed. The guitarist looked over at him again, narrowing his brows in annoyance at the noncompliance. “Have you got cloth ears? I told you to take your trousers down.”

But recognizing the look of obvious fear of Roger’s face, he sighed and relented for the moment, beckoning him over instead. He hadn’t expected the man to show how afraid he was and against his better judgment he was nearly feeling sorry for him. And he wouldn’t get anywhere by showing him any sort of leniency, would he? Roger gradually made his way over to be taken gently but firmly by the hips.

“Now you’re not going to like this bit, Rog, but if I don’t do it now you’ll never learn. So just make it easier on yourself and do like I said, alright?” The softness of David’s tone was something of a comfort even if the words weren’t terribly encouraging. Of course the desire to get whatever this thing was over with far outweighed any of quitting and so he reluctantly obeyed, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them far down enough to expose himself. He stared at the windowpane, waiting for another order or comment or movement but nothing seemed to be happening. Accidentally catching sight of his reflection in the glass, he tore his gaze away and watched David in his peripheral vision instead. David himself caught onto this quickly enough and stopped in his appraisal to scold him.

“Something else I meant to tell you; you won’t stare at me. It’s fucking rude behavior, especially from a slave. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Roger answered dutifully. It was strange because even though the resentment over having to say those two words was still there, it didn’t sting half as much. And it was actually quite upsetting to feel so “out-of-character” so to speak. Without any warning, David grabbed him by the arm and yanked him down, half on top of his lap. Roger was so stunned by this that he could hardly protest when he was positioned face down over his knees, as though he were about to receive a…

Oh, God, NO.

It didn’t take a genius to imagine how silly this scene probably looked. Not only were they two grown men but Roger was so tall that he slumped forward on the polished marble floor on his elbows. Adjectives of all sorts were flying through his head at the moment, the most prevalent of which were “DEMEANING” and “HUMILIATING”. The nouns “bastard” and the verb “kill” were present as well, though everything seemed to dissipate when the first slap reached his ears. He couldn’t not even gather his thoughts enough to think of an appropriate expletive, so blank his mind went. This was beyond embarrassing; it was downright mortifying.

It was not exceedingly hard but enough to be detrimental to what little pride he still clutched at. And to think of it: David Gilmour, whom everyone saw as the most placid creature in the world was actually spanking someone over his knee. Christ, no one would believe it even if he’d told them! The second slap was harder and got increasingly rough after the third, forth, and fifth and by the sixth a tiny whimper escaped Roger’s lips. This acted as a sign to David that he was using the appropriate amount of force so he continued in the same fashion, beginning to properly enjoy this. It was only the second time he’d spanked someone, being on the receiving end much more frequently and so it was quite entertaining to be in this position. Roger was doing remarkably well on managing not to wriggle about or make very much sound and this was certainly admirable. Perhaps he’d reward him tomorrow after shooting was done. He’d already had an idea floating around in his head, just a possibility, though he’d have to be sure that a certain friend would be game as well…

Things continued this way for a bit, and with each smack Roger willed his upper lip to stiffen more and more. It would be over soon enough. David was no machine so it had to be over soon enough. For what seemed like the hundredth time the hand came down and Roger was certain that by this point his ass would be almost as red as his face felt. If this was the punishment for talking out of turn what the hell would a worse one mean?!

The slaps finally began to slow after a few minutes though the damage had already been done. Roger knew that it would be hell sitting down for awhile to come and imagined how awkward he’d look, trying to maneuver onto one side or wincing in pain if he decided to bear it. A similar thing had happened before and been picked up on by others, though it was for a different reason entirely. Once, after noticing his obvious discomfort, Alan had jokingly asked if he’d been fucked up the ass the night before. He hated how unconsciously conscious of things they could be at times.

When this embarrassing incident came to a close, David chuckled and patted his rear good-naturedly, commending him for his remarkable composure.

“I didn’t expect you to cry or anything but you’ve done even better than that, haven’t you? Good boy, Rog. You can pull your jeans up now, unless you want another go.” He flexed his fingers and raised his eyebrows at his reddened palm. “My hand’s a bit tired actually…”

Oh, sod your hand!
- 5
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The Thrill of It All