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Sunshine	By : signorinaravelli Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 747 -:- 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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1975

I’m limp. Invertebrate. Puddled into the leather sofa like jelly. Everyone’s having a good time, right? Everyone’s happy. I’m happy, aren’t I? Happy as fuck. Happy and high. Happy and gelatinous, pumped full of God knows what. At least I didn’t drop any acid.

Baby, baby, I'll meet you - same place, same time

Parties were never really my forte. I mean, I was always much better is terms of socialization than you but in all honesty it was difficult to deal with. When I was young, I used to like getting smashed with friends but I preferred doing it on my own now. I read once that that was the sign of an addictions problem – when it stops being a social thing. But I’m not addicted – I’m in a club teeming with people. Party thrown by the record company. All necessities provided. Right now a smooth, bare thigh is stretched across my lap, the owner a bubbly young American in hot pants. Through the haze I can make out the rest of her, small tits, chubby face spattered with an ungodly amount of make-up. She can’t be older than fourteen, fifteen at the most. Why am I here? My dick’s hard but my mind is somewhere completely different. Ginger’s at home right now, probably asleep. I hope she’s asleep ‘cause I hate when she waits up for me. That’s when I have to look her in the eyes and lie, which there isn’t really much point in doing because her face tells me what a sod I am. Yet she takes it, she always takes it.

Richard disappeared hours ago, I can only imagine where he is. We’re in a VIP room, dark save for some purplish lights. Some bloke is doing something familiar with a razor and a mirror and you’d been watching with keen interest until you looked over at me. Wish this bird would attach herself to someone else, even if I can’t help but respond to the feel of her warm soft flesh. I make eye contact with you and realize that you’re fucked like me, only not nearly as badly. You’ve been incredibly quiet for the past five minutes and you stare at me unceasingly, though I know it isn’t for the reason I’d like.

Roger the Hat comes swaggering into the room and I direct his attention to the young girl.

“You can find some place better for her, can’t ya, mate?”

“I believe I could. Come on, darlin’, I can help you with yer al-ger-bra.”

Your gaze hasn’t left me, hazy as your eyes are in my vision. Christ, those eyes…Syd’s eyes were always penetrating but yours are always accusing. In spite of your thick as shit bastard exterior, those eyes can look so vulnerable that it would be a sin not to fucking violate you. Your image is going in out of focus, like a telly. I have to keep adjusting the aerial to keep the picture – don’t wanna miss this show. You’re tired, half-lidded, thoroughly stoned seated in an identical sofa across from me. Fitted tee-shirt and too-tight trousers, long legs bent up against the intrusive coffee table where six neat lines now lay invitingly. Usually I would dive into the party favors headfirst but I can’t tear my eyes from the creamy patch of skin where your shirt’s ridden up. Belly buttons like that were made to nuzzle, to tongue, didn’t you know? Your hair’s sticking to your sweaty face, you down another gin. Wish I could lick the sweat from your face, let the intense, salty taste sting my tongue.

The bloke hands you a short straw and you bow your head over the table for a moment – a snort, followed by an involuntary shudder. You raise your head and sniffle, then lower it against for another go, repeating the process. Another sniffle, you wipe your nose. The bloke offers me a straw but I shake my head ‘no’. You’ve slowly risen to uncramp your legs. I can take you in completely now, every awful inch of your lean body. You walk a few paces and sigh and wince. Is the music too loud? Does your head feel on the verge of imploding? Those too-tight jeans are driving me wild, particularly the creases that seem to draw the focus directly to your impressive package. As you pass by me on your way to the balcony, I catch an eyeful of the way the material molds to the swell of your little ass, each cheek shifting pleasingly with every step you take.

I manage to stagger to my feet as well, wobbling a bit until I regain my sense of balance and will my legs to move toward you, toward my goal.

“What the fuck are you doing, Dave?” I’ve got you up against the railing, arms on either side of you. You keep your voice hushed, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to us. “Dave, you’re gone, do you know that? You’re on fucking Jupiter right now.”

“I’m right here with you…”

“We’ve talked about this-”

“Jus’ lemme kiss you. Once, jus’ once…”

“No! Now get off me or I’ll throw you off.”

“Rog,” I’m breathing stale Guinness and cigarettes in your face. “Rog, I’m so fucking stiff right now. Just a kiss. Just a teeny tiny little kiss.”

“If I let you give me a kiss, will you fuck off?”

“Of coursssse…”

It’s sloppy and awkward. You were expecting something sweet and chaste and here I am lapping at your lips and trying to thrust my tongue past them. You finally pull away and tell me that’s enough, grabbing me roughly by the shoulders and pushing me well back. I try to cop hold of your torso as you walk past me, back inside, but you shove me away (perhaps with a bit too much force.) My side hits the railing and I cry out silently, partially from the physical pain, partially from the thousandth rejection I’ve suffered at your very capable hands. I stare over the edge, out into the darkness of the city, then I look back into the club to search for traces of you. Naturally there are none.

Bastard…I know he’s fucked men…am I not good enough? I could get anyone I wanted. I’m ten times more handsome than that spotty cunt. He ought to be flattered that I’ve shown him any interest at all. Ungrateful bastard. Needs to be taken down a peg or two. Hateful prick. I’ll show him. I’ll fucking show him. Needs to…to…

The last thing I remember is everything going black.
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