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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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“You’re not playing to an empty auditorium. The seats are filled…with Pompeians. Ancient Pompeians – their ghosts! All here to witness the…the…” he struggled to find the words that fit. “The aural aesthetics of The Pink Floyd!” Adrian was, suffice to say, a bit of an idealist.

On the way the amphitheatre, The Pretty Things had been the music of choice on the 8-track. Their driver was obviously quite adamant about his car sound system and one could certainly hear the difference. Not tinny in the least but loud and enveloping, the perfect thing for Roger’s headache. Parachute, Quadraphonic, each sound crystal clear as though it were the star of the record. Roger was again pressed against the one of the back windows in this hot, sweaty, rank-smelling car with a goddamned speaker vibrating right behind his head. The seats smelled like they’d been soaked in a combination of patchouli, sandalwood, and stale Marsala. By chance he’d happened to choose the side with one of the two faulty windows that refused to roll down in this heat. And even the two that were down couldn’t obscure that other familiar scent, like burning tires in an herb garden full of cat shit. Yeah, he thought that described it pretty well.

He felt sick. He was going to throw up, he just knew it. By the time they’d reached “Cries From the Midnight Circus”, the throbbing bass was proving too much. Each thump felt like it was fucking his head into a pile of cerebral mush. All of the sudden he felt the acidic rush coming up from the bottom of his throat so he doubled over and heaved between his legs. Copper-colored fluid splashed all over his boots and the carpeting alike, the sight of bits of that morning’s bacon bringing on another thick spurt. All of the sudden there was a cacophony of “Roger, you alright?”s around him and he felt a hand rubbing his back reassuringly, its owner posing the same question. After he’d coughed up the bit that was left, he just shut his eyes, head slumped against the seat in front of him.

“Rog…” David gently urged him up by the shoulders into a sitting position. “Rog, do you want us to pull over for awhile?” “He picked off the bits of hair stuck against his mouth and someone passed back a handful of tissues from the front. It was a rather odd sight to the car’s other occupants: men didn’t usually do this sort of thing for other men, did they?

“I’ll be fine.” He muttered. When David started to wipe his chin off in a very maternal fashion, he snatched the tissues away in annoyance. “I can do it myself, you know. I’m not completely helpless.” For the first time since they arrived in Rome, he could really have cared less about his indiscretion and its consequences – he had every right to be snappy. Besides, David seemed to understand how badly he was feeling at the moment so he’d probably make an exception.

He apologized profusely to the driver but the young man seemed unfazed. He was a fan of the group so even if he was actually irked, he certainly wasn’t going to show it. After the forty minute hellride, they finally arrived at their destination where everyone else was already waiting. The technicians had arrived in advance so everything was nearly ready for the band to rehearse before shooting commenced. By the time everyone had emerged from the car, Adrian came running out of the amphitheatre with typical enthusiasm, a finder dangling around his neck. He rather reminded one of an over-excited child, all keyed up to play with his new toys.

After Nick had explained Roger’s sudden illness, the director (though clearly miffed) was understanding enough. He offered to get some water and suggested that Roger sit under the shaded arc of the south entrance for a bit. Fair enough. While he settled down on the ground he watched as the others wandered into the theatre to have a look around and “ooh” and “aah” over the antiquity. Eventually everyone regrouped to rehearse for a bit, a roadie standing in for their out of action bassist. From a distance, Roger could only mentally critique all the little imperfections but it was just as well he supposed. He’d cleaned off his boots with a cloth provided him, drank some water, and even been offered some chewing gum, so he was already beginning to feel better. The fresh air certainly didn’t hurt either, nor did the brief lack of responsibility for what the band did. Bizarre, because had this happened any other day, he’d have been falling all over himself to make a show of feeling alright and take command regardless. Stranger things had happened he supposed, though very few in his knowledge…

After a while Nick came walking and nodded over at him.

“Comfortable?”

“Very. The ground’s top notch.”

“Share with me?”

“Of course.” He gestured graciously at the spot beside him. “How’s the crowd out there?”

“Oh, they’re tough, believe you me,” He lowered himself down to take a seat beside Roger. “But they’ll come around. They always do. I’ll tell you one thing, though: it’s fucking hot.” He patted his jeans pocket. “Cigarette?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

So, uh…” Nick pulled the box out, searching his other pocket for a lighter. He’d mentally gone through what he’d say beforehand and decided that beating around the bush was never the way to go about anything with Roger. “David’s been a real lamb with you lately, hasn’t he?”

“Eh?”

“I said ‘David’s been-”

“I heard what you said. I just didn’t understand what you meant by it.”

“Well, I mean, last night in the car, then today...in the car again.”

“What happened last night in the car?” Roger smiled and took the cigarette offered him, performing his patronizing bastard routine quite well. It was what he did when he got nervous because showing his anxiety would never play in his favor. You had to make your opponent feel like they were an idiot – opponent meaning your potential aggressor, which was what practically everyone in Roger’s life was.

“David had his head on your shoulder.”

“And…? Aw, Nick, did you enjoy it?”

“Why? Did you?”

“You first.” They were both smiling at one another, Nick probably more genuinely than Roger. “I think you might be implying something.”

“I-”

“Or maybe you’re just projecting.”

“Roger, I wasn’t implying. I was leading up to asking – not that I really even need to do that since I know anyway.” Surprisingly enough for how hostile Roger had come off, Nick had remained level-headed. This was because he was used to dealing with the constant animosity and had learned how to cope with it without getting too flustered. It was a skill that came in handy during band in-fighting and there was certainly a hell of a lot of that…“Anyway, I guess I should tell you that there’s not much point in embarrassing yourself more because I know, so…” he trailed off and waited for any more protests. Roger’s sudden silence and pink cheeks were response enough that he wouldn’t be denying it.

“Okay.” He took a sharp, uneasy drag. “What the fuck was the point of coming over here and telling me this?”

“Dave told me that in Tokyo you made a big thing about me finding out about you two in that hotel we stayed in.”

“Oh, God.” he tore his gaze away. “Jesus Christ…where does he get off telling you all of this anyway?”

“Well, Rog, unlike you, he knows that I could really care less if you liked sticking your tackle in a stuffed turkey. Get me?”

“It wasn’t just you.” He glared at the wall opposite them, imagining it were David with his big mouth. “It was everyone.”

“Yeah, well, he said that you were making a really huge deal over it in the hotel room and it just really bothered me that you’d think that I, out of all people, would care.” He took off his sunglasses and looked at him seriously for a moment. “I mean, did you honestly think it would matter to me?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No…” sang Nick.

“You - you don’t know my mind!” Roger blurted out, not realizing until after he’d said it what a silly-sounding statement it was.

“That’s an old Clara Smith number, you know.” In spite of himself, Roger couldn’t help but crack a smile and just looked away, shaking his head. There had been a lot of reasons why he hadn’t wanted him to know. First of all, Roger rather felt that to not be a raging heterosexual was a strike against him. Second, to be in anything but competition or a tenuous working relationship with David was something of a personal defeat. And third…

“You’re not still on about that Poly thing, are you?”

“Fuck off…”

“Ah, you are.”

The “Poly thing” had been an incident that Roger cared to forget about; Nick didn’t even dare ask whether or not he should mention it ever it again after it had transpired. As it happened, during their ill-fated tenure as architecture students they’d chanced to go to an end-of-exams party. One thing led to another and eventually they found themselves in the host’s upstairs bathroom for some rather drunken (and later on hazy) petting. Favors were exchanged and Roger was abandoned on the linoleum where a few other guests found him paying tribute to the porcelain god later on.

“You know, that’s part of the reason why I came over here to ask you about this whole thing. See, I was always under the impression that you…you know…you were strictly into women. But like Dave tells me you’re not. And Dave also tells me that it’s not like you two are exclusively seeing one another. Do you understand what I’m getting at?”

Roger slowly looked back over at him, half-insulted at the very idea that Nick, out of the blue, would proposition him over a seedy encounter that happened seven years ago. And still another part of him was intrigued. Half-intrigued. Just a little. Really, only a little a bit.

“Your room’s right down the hall from mine and was thinking that maybe I could pop in one night this week or something? I mean, I’m not trying to pressure you, Rog, only if you want to. It’s just that…please don’t get upset with me for saying this, but,” he sighed and laughed a little at the absurdity of the statement. “You gave really great head.”

Alright, so that was twice in two days. From David he felt flattered but from Nick he felt…flattered? After all these years to finally be given feedback about his performance by his band mate was somehow exhilarating and he couldn’t even find it in himself to be insulted anymore.

“You’re actually serious?”

“I’m fucking serious!”

“Dave told you we weren’t seeing each other exclusively, did he?” Despite the fact that it was true it did hurt a bit to know that he’d actually said it to an outsider.

Yeah, why? You going steady or something?”

“No, though I’m sure he’d like that.” He glanced into the distance where David was having a laugh with Rick and felt himself fume with rather unfamiliar and unfounded jealously. He looked over a Nick with consideration. “I might take you up. Depends on how the mood strikes me…”

“You’re being a tease.”

Roger smiled and shook his head.

“I’m being unsure of whether or not you’d be a waste of my spunk.”

“You are being a tease!” His looked back at their busy entourage, then at the bassist once more, impish grin playing around his lips. “Mind if I stick my tongue down your throat?”

Roger shrugged and Nick wasted no time, leaning in slipping his tongue in his mouth with very little ceremony or semblance of a kiss. Roger had been the more drunk of the two their first time around and so he remembered very little of the encounter – afterward he’d always thought he remembered Nick as being much more slow and tender. That was clearly wrong. David, on the other hand, liked to take his time for the most part…not that he disliked this, of course. Indeed, he pushed back with as much force as Nick and elicited a pleased murmur, a pair of hands sliding over the warm, exposed band of flesh where his shirt rode up. Roger broke away and brushed the hair back from Nick’s right shoulder to lay a few a kisses along the side of his neck, punctuated by a series of sharp little nips. In turn the drummer’s nails bit into the skin of his sides and Roger moaned at the delicious feeling, moving back to claim his mouth again…

“I’d like everyone to assemble, please!” Adrian’s voice crackled through his megaphone. “David, you look wonderful without the shirt – like some sort of psychedelic Adonis! No – the psychedelic lovechild of Apollo and Dionysus!”

Alan shouted back that two males couldn’t have a child.

“They’re gods – they can do what they want!”
- 7
- 8
- 9
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The Thrill of It All