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Obscure Alternatives	By : signorinaravelli Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 935 -:- 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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Since their arrival, it seemed that there was something a bit off about Japan.

First of all, its restaurants seemed to lack the English standards that Pink Floyd were accustomed to: the beef, potatoes, pies, and custards. The staples, damn it, the staples! The steaming pot of oden they’d been served smelled and tasted delicious but somehow lacked the comfort of their favorite dishes. David felt less than full even after consuming his second helping and decided to follow it up with something sweet. A kind of sponge cake called kasutera sufficed, but lacked much richness and he was left feeling wholly unsatisfied.

Next there was the subway ride where the car seemed to be packed to twice its capacity - though no one else seemed to care very much about their sardine-like state. Roger, who did not particularly like such a lot of close human contact at once, began to feel claustrophobic soon after the ride started. He was crushed up against a window along with the others – excluding Nick, who had been swept toward the other side of the car. As for David, he was crushed against Roger’s back. Pressed tightly against his thighs to allow the bassist to make out a little bit of definition…not a tremendous amount, but enough that Roger was growing nervous. Oh God…why now? Why here? The urge to move back against David was matched only by the urge to move away and avoid this embarrassment. Unfortunately there was a gentleman situated in front of him and Roger didn’t want to risk making any movements that would be considered suggestive.

The car shuddered a bit and David’s hand came up to grip the same rung as Roger’s, startling the latter even more. His eyes darted about to make sure that no one else was picking up on his secret panic but everyone seemed to be minding their own respective business, thankfully. But this was becoming unbearable: David’s body heat, his crotch against his thighs, and now his warm hand touching his own. He wished that hand was gripping something else right no- NO! NO, NO, NO! He could not be thinking like this in public. As it was, Roger was struggling to keep control of his growing hard-on but that was obviously a losing battle.

Think about food. Think about getting to the hotel and having a Guinness at the bar…Dave’s fucking gorgeous lips teasing the neck of the bottle – no, no! Refocus, Rog. Think of how relieved you’ll be when you get to your room, alone. You’ll unpack and slip under the covers, the nice warm covers, and you’ll close your eyes. And as you’re drifting off, you’ll be fantasizing about what it would be like if Dave came in and slipped under the covers with you. Oh Christ, he probably gives fantastic head…

Fuck, this is pointless.

He gripped the handle tighter, aware of how slick it was becoming against his sweaty palm. Even this reminded him of things he didn’t want to think of. And poor David; he didn’t even realize what he was doing…it made Roger feel wholly guilty, to be silently getting off on what he knew were inadvertent little gestures.

When the car finally halted to a stop after what seemed like ages, he practically ran for the exit, then vowed never to venture into the Shibuya subway station ever again. As he was leaving, David had smiled good-naturedly at him and remarked something along the lines of “tight squeeze, wasn’t it?”

Now they were checking into their hotel – and it was about fucking time too. Everyone was exhausted from a day of sightseeing and knew they’d be back on the road early the next morning. A rest was sorely needed. Everyone thanked Steve, their manager, as he herded them inside. It was an odd building; small windows, some curtained, others just shuddered – none open to the outside light. The lobby was dimly lit and barren as well. Rick wandered over to a sign near the door and began to examine it. Having no knowledge of Japanese, he could only comprehend the rates that it displayed: 2,000 yen* for two hours seemed to be the least expensive. The most was 19,000. Two hours at a hotel? Surely that wasn’t so straightforward as it seemed…

Steve had made the arrangements by phone earlier and judging by what he’d said, only as a last resort. They’d had earlier reservations at a prominent European hotel chain but matters of financing went awry and the band were, to phrase it correctly, out on their asses. Steve was putting frantic calls through to the label’s Japanese representative but it seemed by an unfortunate twist of fate that nearly all the hotels in the city were fully booked this evening. Perhaps it had something to do with the three conventions being held simultaneously in town this week.

Even after that cruel hand however, fate seemed to smile on the boys in the form of an invite a purportedly comfortable place near Shibuya station. Still, the place was strange. Instead of a reception desk, there was simply a black-curtained window and a small hole for money exchange. Steve explained in limited, broken Japanese that the representative had called earlier to reserve four rooms. The attendant behind the black curtain sounded regretful, started saying something about “doseiaisha”** and the a few definite “no”s in English. Steve understood well enough that this was a rejection of some sort but persisted, the language barrier being of no help to either party.

Things managed to resolve themselves within a few minutes. The words “Pink” and “Floyd” seemed to have smoothed things over a bit and four room keys were slipped through the hole. With a mutter of curses under his breath, Steve divvyed them up between the four band mates, then asked who’d be willing to take him on as a roommate. Nick, ever the diplomat, volunteered immediately, leaving everyone else happy and grateful for their respective solitude. Bags were picked up and maneuvered into the elevator and everyone could finally breathe a sigh of relief. Nick and Steve got off at the second floor, said goodbye to the others and agreed to meet in the lobby the next morning. The third floor was Rick’s stop and he got off in a rush, looking rather agitated and eager for some private time. The remaining two eyed each other knowingly before the doors slid shut and they rose to the fifth floor, their destination.

The hallway was interesting to say the least. Sea green and painted with all manner of tropical fish, inking octopi, a whale with slightly creepy human eyes. And coincidentally, Roger and David happened to be neighbors. Roger put aside hopes of there being an adjoining door and fumbled with the lock instead. Then he smiled over at Dave, half-joked about dropping by for a visit, and slipped inside.

* meaning “homosexual”

* *In the early seventies this would be somewhere around fifteen US dollars...assuming my math is good. Which it's not.
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