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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.

Chapter List
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Despite their engagement with Adrian, after everyone had finally settled in it had gotten too late to leave. Technically they’d run over the time that they were actually allowed at the site as it “closed” after nine, so there wasn’t much point. They’d just have to have their first look around tomorrow, which seemed much more practical anyway. Most of the crew went out for drinks but a select few decided to call it a night and stay in. Those remaining had all gathered in Steve’s room to watch television: He’d found a station that transmitted BBC programs and all we quite happy to see that Flying Circus was on, even Roger. If there was anything he needed right now it was a laugh to maybe help put things in perspective a bit. Anyway his heart absolutely melted when he saw David smiling and enjoying himself. Why could he never stay mad at him for any extended period of time?

That sentiment only lasted through until the morning when, again at an obscenely early hour, he was roused by a persistent hand on his shoulder. With a soft groan he rolled over on his back to see a chipper-looking David staring down at him expectantly, probably waiting for him to get out of his beautiful, warm bed. Not wanting to have to be told, he sat up and swung his legs over the side, waiting for the next direction. He made sure to avoid directly meeting his gaze as he seemed so bloody offended by staring and looked instead at his own bare thighs. He got the impression from the sustained silence that David was probably doing a bit of the same. Hmph. At least he still held a little sway there.

“…Right, get dressed. I’ve got some shopping to do this morning.”

“Yessir…” He rose and dragged himself over to the dresser, suddenly becoming even more aware of how tired he was. He hadn’t fallen asleep until what, three AM? It must have been eight or so now. Stupid Dave, having gone to bed so early…

“Oh, and Rog?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I want you to wear the shirt with the two buttons at the top.”

“The black one, sir?” He hoped that wasn’t out of line.

“I wasn’t aware that you’d been wearing anything but black for the past two years.”

I’ll take that as a “yes” then.

Once dressed, Roger accompanied David down to the kitchen for breakfast. The manageress was there, frying something up in the pan. She greeted them both very warmly, asking if there was anything in particular they’d prefer. It was actually very pleasant and homey, this set-up. Room service and restaurants were nice but sometimes it was just nice to sit in someone’s kitchen for a meal and a chat. The food was fantastic too – things this greasy had to be good. Roger had a cup of strong black coffee, which, along with the heavy food, definitely helped his spirits. By the time they’d walked outside into the glare of the morning sun, he almost felt the urge to smile. He did love mornings, aside from the waking up part of course.

“Em…I didn’t think of calling a taxi.” David smiled at his own lack of forethought. “Shall we walk then? We’ll get one on the way back.” Roger nodded and began to move, only to be grabbed by the wrist and pulled back. “Hey,” Oh fuck, what had he done now? He steeled himself for yet another scolding but was pleasantly surprised when he simply felt David’s lips meet his own. Quickly of course, lest someone happen to glance out of their window and see something that made them wonder whether or not they were still dreaming. It was enjoyable anyway, mostly for the assurance that in spite of his actions, David was still David, and North was North, and the rules of physics still applied even in a weird situation like this.

Half an hour later they wound up in front of an unsavory-looking shop on a backstreet. It was obvious by the scenery they were in the heart of the red light district, though at this hour it was lacking most of its color. David had followed a set of directions written down on napkin for him by one of the porters at the villa. Apparently he’d been able to get the young man aside and with David’s miniscule knowledge of Italian and the porter’s only slightly better knowledge of English, he’d managed to express what he wanted. It was sheer luck that the man knew just the place David was looking for, by address and all. Ah, strange conveniences in Rome…

The window was filled with curiosities, many of which Roger couldn’t even imagine the function. There was a gimp mask that he had to admit put him off a bit – he hoped David wouldn’t be buying something like that. Other than that, there were creative, colorful restraints, toys, and riding crops. A strange comic book about the adventures of some sort of dominatrix superheroine. David announced that he was going in and for Roger to wait outside for him.

What?! Stand outside this shop? Even if the people milling about were probably only here for shady purposes, it was still embarrassing to be seen loitering outside of a place like this. And impossible to look inconspicuous. He tried in vain to draw as little attention to himself as possible and as before, his height made that extremely difficult. Wearing all black he stuck out against the bright street even more. Sex was not a part of his life that he preferred outsiders to know anything; exhibitionistic activities were one thing but at least those were fairly well-concealed and executed.

He peered inside and saw David with his back to him, examining something. It was impossible to make out what it was from this angle, only that it was black. Well, it looked like a lot of things in there were black. And leather. And designed for not-very-conventional and probably unpleasant practices. It was funny, because yet again David just seemed like the last person in the world to be interested in this sort of thing. And by the way he was browsing, it was clear he’d done this sort of thing before, probably many times.

The last time Roger had been into a sex shop, it had been an immature, drunken mistake. He’d been out with a young lady and they’d just left the pub after drinking and having a merry old time. The chances looked good that she’d be inviting him back to her place. On the way there they were passing the aforementioned shop and Roger, in a moment of what he thought was brilliance at the time, suddenly pulled her inside. Surely seeing all the weird devices would get her going, right? Instead it had the adverse effect. Here he was drunkenly and suggestively fingering French ticklers and anal beads while she just stood there looking embarrassed at even being here, especially with this asshole.

The date and indeed their acquaintanceship ended soon after - there was the distinct feeling that he’d be the sort of person that she talked about whenever her friends brought up dating horror stories.

In the present Roger was staring at a pair of boots that resembled ballet slippers on tiptoe. Could you actually walk on those? Frankly, they looked a bit scary, just like the gimp mask. Inside David was saying something to the cashier, while another man hovered behind him, trying to look inconspicuous and quite clearly ogling his ass. He didn’t blame him, really. With a small smile he turned away, only hear the bell jingle on the door as David emerged a moment later, carrying a non-descript brown paper bag.

“Some bloke in there just goosed me! Can you believe that?” Roger raised a questioning eyebrow as if to ask what he’d done. “I told him I’d give him what for. I don’t know if he understood me or not…”

I’ll bet you liked it anyway.

By the time they’d returned no one was up yet, with the exception of Rick who seemed in unusually good spirits today. When they walked past the open door to his room, he was actually whistling. It made David backtrack and stick his head in.

“Who’d you fuck last night, then?”

“What? I can’t be in a good mood?”

“Oh, you know I’m just messing about…I’m glad you’re happy for whatever reason you’re happy. Excited about your big screen debut?”

“Not really.” He ran a hand over his face. “But do you think I should shave the beard before we go?”

“Nah, keep it that way. Makes you look rugged.”

“Eh, I don’t know…”

“Why don’t you call Juliette and ask her then? I think she’s probably more qualified to give you advice about your looks than I am.”

Roger couldn’t help but notice the way Rick seemed to ignore that comment, though he supposed it was a typically Rick thing do, what with his silence bit and everything. He nodded at the bag.

“Where’ve you been shopping at this hour?”

“Just some Guinness I bought for later on.”

“Yeah?” There was a slight hint of condescension in his tone and Christ, it made Roger nervous. He briefly considered the possibility that Rick would pursue the matter, but he’d already returned to his own world. David offered a hasty “morning, then” and two proceeded down the hall again, back to Roger’s room. Once inside, David quietly pushed the door shut so as not to wake those sleeping on either side of the wall, and placed the bag on the dresser. Roger stood well back, unsure of whether he was permitted to view its contents and almost too afraid to anyway. Anything but those shoes and he figured he’d be fine. Well, not quite anything. Perhaps there were only handcuffs? Possibly even the fur-lined ones that would be easier on his wrists. Or better yet, a simple book on technique; That would be just fine!

“Rog?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you want to see what I’ve picked out for you?” It would probably add a few years to his life if he didn’t but he felt obliged to accept and nodded. David beckoned him over and instructed him to hold out his hand, which he did without actually looking. The first item felt cold, metal, small but heavy – it didn’t seem like it was intended for any orifice, which was a great relief.

“Don’t look away, Rog. It’s very disrespectful.”

Obeying, he eyed the device in his palm and immediately understood what its purpose was. There was a pair of small metal clamps, each with their own weight, strung together with a chain. The tips were mercifully rubber so as not the bite into the skin but certainly unpleasant-looking enough.

“Those,” David slipped a hand up Roger’s shirt and tugged at a nipple, “are for these.”

Thanks, I couldn’t figure that out on my own.

The next item were a pair of leather cuffs equipped with D-rings and it certainly didn’t take a genius to assume what their purpose was. David, apparently anxious to see them modeled, slipped them around Roger’s wrists, secured the straps, and appraised his pet.

“It’ll look much better once you’ve got them connected up.”

The urge to shy away was becoming a bit harder to control. Roger honestly didn’t think he could handle being restrained like this. He’d always had issues with vulnerability, with feeling out of control, which was why he overcompensated by being as fiercely independent and aggressive as possible. And now this, which wasn’t only being helpless figuratively but quite literally as well. He might panic. He might break after two minutes. If the cuffs hadn’t worried him enough, the ball gag David produced certainly did the trick. He visibly recoiled and shook his head ‘no’.

“Are you telling me ‘no’?” Roger hesitated to dignify this with an answer, knowing that swift retribution was already at hand and any response would probably only make it worse. “You ungrateful little twat.”

Oh God, David was really getting into this scene…well, at least verbal abuse was better than another spanking, assuming he didn’t have any more unpleasant tricks to pull out of his magic bag. To that end he was fairly relieved at the string of insults directed toward him and he got the feeling that David was enjoying himself as well. At one point the guitarist couldn’t hide his smirk simply at the idea that he was chastising Roger in such a way, and there was actually no backtalk. He may as well enjoy it while it lasted, unless Roger found that he actually liked this sort of role…and that was pretty unlikely.

“When I buy something, especially for a two-penny slut like you, I expect to be thanked for practically throwing my fucking money away. Now get on your knees; that ought to be easy enough for you.”

Fine. He could do that. Admittedly the marble was not the most comfortable material to kneel on but that was the least of his worries now. Was David expecting a blowjob or something? If he was, he could be fairly certain he’d feel a bit more of Roger’s teeth than usual…

“Are you sorry?”

“Yes, sir…”

“About?”

“I’m very sorry for my…disrespect after sir was so kind to waste his money…on…on rubbish like me. Sir.” David folded his arms across his chest, clearly unimpressed. Roger was actually a bit shocked that he hadn’t meant for the incident to deviate into something sexual. Shocked and appreciative of David’s obvious seriousness about the whole thing. At least he wasn’t treating it as an excuse to take advantage of him whenever he felt like it.

“I may or may not forgive you. Depends on how well you beg.”

“Please forgive me, sir?” Understatement was worth a try but predictably unsuccessful.

“I’m not convinced…”

“Please forgive my, em, indiscretion. It wasn’t my place to criticize and I really do like what you wasted your money on, even if I don’t deserve any of it, being a worthless whore.” This was actually becoming easier. The words were flowing freely now, without a great deal of thought behind them. As he continued his litany of self-abuse and David glorification, he tried to remember: when, if ever, had he ever said such things about himself? Naturally there was always that nagging sense of inadequacy that dogged him throughout his life but this was much different. He didn’t actually think he was utterly worthless or a whore but the extremity of those statements certainly stirred something. Though thoroughly demeaning he couldn’t deny that in some strange way he felt a sense of liberation to be able to say such derogatory things about himself in a private environment. Completely under duress of course. Hell, he honestly wouldn’t have minded being David’s whore provided he had no choice in the matter…

“I believe you’re sorry.” His tone was not quite as harsh as before but still maintained an air of authority. “You have permission to kiss my boots.”

Roger went about this without protest and without the slightest bit of hesitance. He still resented being physically humiliated but then again, this wasn’t the worst thing he could imagine happening. He pressed his lips against the coarse suede of one tip, then, incase one kiss wasn’t satisfactory, he repeated the process twice more and bestowed similar worship on the other foot. When that was finished he remained on his hands and knees, face to the floor, and waited for some sign of approval. This came in the form of a hand helping him to his feet, a beautiful, typically irresistible smile, and a nip on the nose. Sweet as pie.
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The Thrill of It All