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bloodlust (something's in the honey)	By : luna65 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 871 -:- 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
- 1-bloodlust (something's in the honey)
- 1
America was plagued by bad weather in the last week of October 1970, and none of the members of Pink Floyd were particularly happy to be traveling through it. Their flight from LAX to BOS was especially bumpy once they hit turbulence over the Rocky Mountains.

“Sod this,” David muttered, tensing in his seat as the 747 bounced through the currents, the view through the window completely blurred by clouds and precipitation. The “fasten seatbelts” sign pinged on after the first large jolt.

“If we die,” Roger said between clenched teeth - turning a shade which made his complexion resemble some kind of cheese – “I hope the bloody record sells ten times over.”

“If we die I hope it happens quick,” David replied. “I can’t take much more of this.”

“I bet you yack up first,” Roger gibed, flicking David’s wrist with a shaky finger.

“Piss off, Georgie, everyone knows you’re the one most prone to vomiting.”

Everyone shouted as the plane hit an especially large air pocket, plummeting for what seemed to be minutes, although it was likely only thirty seconds.

“Christ!” David shouted. “Crash the fucking plane already then!”

“Do shut up, Dave.”

Another drop, this one longer than the last. David instinctively grabbed Roger’s hand and they each squeezed the other in a veritable death grip, leaning back in their seats with eyes closed. David found it much worse not to see, and looked over at Roger, who was grimacing, but even such a terrified expression did nothing to detract from his exquisite bone structure.

Can’t believe I’m going to die without at least kissing you. What a rutting shame.

Up and down, side to side, like a carnival ride gone horribly wrong. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed, but they finally came out the other side somewhere over Kansas, or so the comforting drawl of the pilot informed them over the loudspeaker.

“Fuckin’ hell!” Roger exclaimed, sweaty and pale. He continued to hold onto David’s hand, leaning close.

“If you say anything I’ll tell them the truth.” he whispered.

“Why would I say anything, Rog, unless you want me to.”

“Sod off.”

Their eyes were locked, and David thought he might kiss Roger any road, sunshine illuminating the interior of the plane as they made their way through clear skies for the moment. But then one of the stewardesses came up with the drink cart and the moment passed, though it was as if he could feel Roger’s fingers entwined with his own all the way to Boston.

Logan International was crowded with young people in all their flippant finery, and none of them appeared to recognize the four pale queasy Brits who emerged through Gate Fourteen along with their road manager.

“Are they all here to see us?” Nick asked. “S’like walking down Haight Street or something.”

Peter led the way to the baggage claim. “Nah, Halloween is tomorrow, s’a big deal ‘round here I’ve been told.”

“Halloween?” Rick asked.

“Y’know. . .Mischief Night, Samhain, all that rubbish.”

“Oh but that’s just for children!”

“Not here it isn’t.”

Waiting for their luggage, it was all very amusing to see so many punters acting silly, though some of the birds were especially luscious. David thought he recognized a blonde standing about a foot away, taping her black leather-shod foot nervously upon the floor.

“Nicky,” he murmured, looking to his left, “isn’t that Bobbie Watson?”

“Huh? Oh. Certainly looks it, eh?”

David approached the woman in question. The Floyd had never played a gig with Comus, but their paths had crossed often enough that they had occasion to witness each other’s sets, and although Nick was a fan David didn’t think they’d ever get a record deal, Roger Wootton’s songs were far too odd for even the likes of the Floyd’s audience. And yet there was a whole crowd which seemed to eat them up, the same punters who came to see Fairport and Steeleye Span. He wondered, cynically, if the whole “bloody pagan” act was just that, or if Wootton and his bandmates really did believe in all that sort of thing. Bobbie was certainly bewitching in her own ethereal fashion, though David had not managed, beyond some flirting, to interest her in the way her leader appeared to. But their guitar player Glenn had waylaid him once in the lavatory at The Roundhouse and David was not adverse to a good tonguing from a rather pretty boy though the other’s enthusiasm began to seem more frightening when he asked for a lock of hair as a remembrance, which naturally David did not oblige. He wouldn’t cut off even a bit of his hair for anyone, although if Roger asked...

Oh shut it you prat, his mind grumbled.

“Bobbie, is that you?” he asked the woman, who gave him a startled glare. “S’David Gilmour, from the Floyd.”

“Oh yes, how d’ya do,” she said, and her voice was high and breathy, as if he had truly frightened her. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Yeah, we’ve got a gig in town tomorrow. You?”

“Yes, we’re playing a festival in Salem. It’s where they hanged the witches, you know.”

“Well that sounds precisely your sort of thing, then.”

“Quite.” She looked at the concrete and for a moment David wondered if she was deliberately attempting to rebuff him, as if she didn’t want to give in to temptation. But any strategy he was ready to employ came to naught as the intense scowling visage of Roger Wootton seemed to materialize before him.

“Ah Gilmour, come to see the festival?”

“They’ve a show tomorrow as well,” Bobbie informed him.

“Do you? How interesting.”

Wootton pulled at Bobbie’s arm and she gave David a faint smile.

“Best of British, then. See you ‘round.”

“You should come to Salem,” Wootton said, his smile decidedly more sinister. “They’ll be revelry till dawn.”

David could only give him a pointed smirk as they moved away. Just then he spotted his bags on the carousel and went over to fetch them. Directly across the way he saw Glenn Goring staring at him. Standing off to the side, Roger Wootton also stared at David, then nodded to Glenn, who returned the gesture. When David had moved his luggage from the conveyor to the floor and looked up once more, they were gone.

“Didn’t I see Wootton just now?” Roger asked him as David added his bags to the pile in front of Peter, who was instructing a skycap on how to load the cart.

“Yeah, Comus are playing a festival in Salem tomorrow.”

“Why does that place sound familiar?”

“It’s where they hanged the witches.”

“Well that’s apt. That Bobbie, though, she’s a nice bit of alright isn’t she?”

“Indeed. But Wootton’s got the screws to that one.”

“He must be a bloody magician then, if he could bag a bird like that.”

“My word Dave, Comus is here!” Nick exclaimed suddenly, bringing his luggage over.

“Yeah, we saw them,” David said, sighing.

“Well we’ve got to go to Salem then!”

“They’re likely playing the same time tomorrow we are, you twit,” Roger snapped.

“No, Rob told me they’re not going on till midnight or so. We’ll be done before then, and it’s less than an hour’s drive from the city.”

“No thank you,” Roger sniffed. “They give me a headache.”

“Dave? You know how the birds get when they play pagan, hmm?”

David grinned, against his better judgment. “Hmm, yes that is true. Fertility rituals and such. Easy going, Rog.”

“What? Oh please, I can’t stand hippies!”

“I’ll come,” Rick piped up, and they all began snickering. “What?”

“Of course you will,” David teased. “C’mon then, Georgie, you’d rather be alone?”

Roger rolled his eyes. “Oh alright, we’ll go to the bloody festival.”

“Capital!” Nick shouted and then they all turned towards Peter, who was attempting to push an overladen cart towards the rental car kiosk.

“Peter, are we ready yet?” Roger groused, winking at David, who suppressed a snicker.

“Oh no lads, I’m fine, really, it’s just straight ahead over there.”

All four walked by without a word and once they had left Peter to his burden began laughing hysterically.

“We should help him, eh?” Nick asked.

“Eventually,” Roger answered. “Once it becomes less amusing, that is.”

David had developed an affinity for Boston because the older neighborhoods, with their colonial architecture, reminded him of parts of London; although the surrounding countryside wasn’t quite the same of course. He was also amused that they had their own version of Cambridge nearby. They had been to the city seven months prior, but were likely to spend less time in the environs this trip; they were booked on a flight back to England in two days, and had only another two days after that before they were scheduled to appear in the Netherlands. Though David thought he should laze about if they were having a late night to come, he felt too restless and decided to go for a walk to Quincy Market. Although The Tea Party was right in the neighborhood of Fenway Park, the band preferred staying near the Commons, within walking distance of the Public Garden and various historical landmarks. He managed to talk Roger into going with him and the two abandoned their original plan when they found a bookstore off of Boylston Street specializing in science fiction and fantasy. As Roger tried to find a novel he hadn’t read yet, David was merely browsing the aisles when he spotted a familiar blonde doing the same.

“Oh, here you are again,” she said, but this time she was alone and a great deal more friendly.

“H’llo again, Bobbie.”

“Nice shop, isn’t it? I was just looking for something for Roger.”

“Have you met my, err, our Rog, then?” Cool it, you idiot.

“No, I don’t believe I ever have.”

Once introductions were made the other Roger was attempting banal small talk which Bobbie seemed wholly interested in. David was baffled, and perhaps slightly jealous.

“So are you coming to the festival then? We don’t go on till the witching hour.”

“Oh yes, we’d love to come!” Roger enthused and David wondered if this was a scene from one of the novels Roger loved to read. He’s been taken over by some alien control, that must be it.

“Splendid. It should be quite a fete. It’s a very special place, Salem, the energy is amazing.”

“Is it?” David quipped, raising an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t want to miss that, then.”

Roger threw him a scowl.

“We’ll see you then. Just ask for Nod, he’s our main guy, he’ll make sure to bring you over when you get there.”

“But where is it, exactly?” Roger asked her retreating back.

“Everybody knows where the festival is!” she called back, then the bell on the door sounded and she was gone.

“Didya see?” Roger murmured, turning back in David’s direction. “She was keen for me.”

David laughed. “You’re dreaming, lad.”

“We’ll see. She really is something, I’ll say.”

David rolled his eyes, pulled a book at random from the shelf, scanning it without seeing. He wasn’t sure why he was so tetchy, Roger’s appetite for blondes was legendary, after all. And it wasn’t as if it had anything to do with –

With what? Your unrequited love for someone who’s a royal pain in the arse?

David snapped the book shut and shoved it back in its’ slot.

“No,” he whispered to himself. “Nothing at all.”

The gig went well, of course, The Tea Party was one of the better East Coast venues: large enough for a fair crowd, decent acoustics, if a tad drafty. The day had dawned gray and cold and had not improved over time. David tried to sleep through it but sometime after noon his eyes sprung open and refused all notions of closing themselves again. He had gone next door and played backgammon with Roger until nearly four, lying across the other’s rumpled bed, happy to stare at his bete noir as Roger taunted and cajoled his way through each game, eternally competitive.

Just before the hour Peter banged on the door, calling for the lads to get ready.

“Better dress warm, then,” he informed them all, “colder than the tit of a you-know-what out there.”

They all pulled on jumpers and made sure to bring their heavy coats and scarves. On the way across town to the club they spied more than a few people already in costume.

“Goodness, grown people going ‘round like that, how odd,” Rick observed.

“S’no different than us in some of those ridiculous outfits,” Nick countered.

“Should be a good gig, hmm? Everyone in a festive mood?” Roger mused.

And so they were, all the punters in costume and high spirits, some of which were likely chemically-induced. But the band was curious to see what kind of fun they themselves could find once they’d done their performing duty. Peter declined the invitation, saying he thought he was coming down with a cold.

“If we’re not back by noon, you can phone the bobbies,” Roger instructed him. Nick asked one of the venue staff to ring them a taxi. The driver was pure Bostonian: curt and nasally.

“S’gonna be wicked frigid out there, on the water.”

“Will you take us to Salem or not?” Roger demanded.

“Witch City? Sure, cost ya fifty.”

Peter handed the driver the money and waved them off.

“Don’t catch anything I wouldn’t, lads.”

David was struck by how old the town appeared, it had a sense of age which even the oldest part of Boston appeared to lack. Cobbled streets and century-old houses, wrought-iron lamps and a statue of Nathanial Hawthorne in the square. The trees – some nearly bare, other seemingly aflame with brightly-colored leaves – standing against the sky helped lend a sort of spooky feeling, he supposed.

“S’quite picturesque isn’t it?” he said to the others as the cabbie honked at vehicles and pedestrians alike, trying to get to the field at Gallows Hill.

“There’s definitely a sense of history here,” Roger observed, leaning over David to look out the window. They were sandwiched in the back of the taxi with Nick and David was feeling something between discomfort and delirium to be in such close quarters.

On an oak-lined side street the cabbie dropped them off, pointing towards the field and several signs erected to direct the crowd.

“Over there,” he said. He handed David a business card. “Call that number and I’ll pick ya up, I’m workin’ all night.”

“Thanks,” David said, and handed him a five dollar bill, wondering if it was enough of a tip. But given the general disposition of the residents of Massachusetts, he would likely never know either way.

Roger led the way through the crowd and Nick squinted skeptically at the large banner which served as a makeshift entrance to the festivities.

“Some of those symbols don’t quite look right,” he muttered, and naturally his observation was ignored as it always it was by the others, who didn’t care for hair-splitting when it came to matters of graphical representation. “More like sigils, one might suppose.”

They wandered around the field, after failing to locate Comus’ crew chief, as hoards of youths danced and staggered about intoxicated on one thing or another. Every girl they encountered bore a smiling come-on, and some of the boys as well. There were numerous fires around which people gathered, passing wineskins and other drinking vessels. David’s curiosity got the better of him and eventually he caught up with Nick who had found the band behind the stage. Sure enough, Glenn Goring gave him a sly smile when their eyes met.

“Well Dave, we rather wondered whether you’d come.”

A deep breathy emphasis on the last word and David felt his cock twitch. He’d forgotten how pretty Glenn was: all golden-haired and foxy-faced.

“This is quite a do, I’d say.”

“It’s Samhain, the night in which the darkness comes to claim us all.”

“Indeed. I’m rather afraid of the dark.”

“I wouldn’t allow anything from beyond the veil to take you,” Glenn whispered in his ear. “You’re much too beautiful.”

David smirked. “You’d have to look after me then, wouldn’t you?”

“Be more than happy to.”

And the boy knew how to flirt, didn’t he? How delicious. David observed Roger trying to chat up Bobbie, who actually appeared to encourage his attention. David felt himself grimacing.

Well fine then.

“How long till you’re on?”

“An hour.”

“Is there some place –“

Glenn smiled again. “Of course.”

Glenn led him to a large standing tent on one side of the field away from the festivities, with torches staked outside, crackling as they burned. It was all very medieval-looking.

“We won’t be disturbed in here,” he said, pulling David along.

It was warm inside, a nice contrast to the icy chill of the night, and a tantalizingly sweet smell assailed David as he shed his coat, making his head swim. The tent was tall enough for them to stand up upright, and featured a full suite of furniture in almost decadent design. Glenn pushed him upon a pile of brightly-colored soft pillows in the center of the space and came down beside him, eagerly undoing the buttons of his jeans. David leaned back with a smile, hands behind his head.

“Isn’t this where we left off?” he quipped.

“Exactly. Wishing our paths would cross once again.”

“Oh,” David sighed as Glenn’s warm hand gently withdrew his cock, “you haven’t lost your touch.”

“Wanted to impress you,” Glenn whispered, bowing his head to tongue the slit.

“And you –“ gasp “- do, lad –“ moan “ – to be sure.”

Glenn began to suck him with great enthusiasm, taking him as deeply into his mouth as he could. The smell was even stronger at ground-level, David’s mouth watered in response. Given the host of other sensations he was feeling at the moment it was akin to sensory overload and he immediately shot his load right down the other’s throat, his eyes rolling back in his head. It seemed to go on and on, as if he hadn’t had an orgasm in weeks, instead of merely a couple days. When he finally stopped shuddering, every nerve vibrating with an almost tangible hum, he looked down at his benefactor, who was wiping his mouth and looking at him with a decidedly predatory expression.

“Want more,” Glenn whispered, then licked his lips. “It was so good.”

“I’ll need time,” David gasped. “you bloody well drained me, boy.”

“Like to have some fun with me?” the other suggested. “Bend me to your will, master?”

David never could resist an offer of submission, even as nagging thoughts of Roger and what he was likely doing hailed his conscience from the back of his mind.

“You could take off that silly costume, for one,” David proposed and no sooner had he said it then Glenn was eagerly shedding the minstralesque garments, standing before him slender and pale and fully aroused.

“Like this?”

“Oh aren’t you a pretty one?”

David stood up and did likewise, then Glenn pushed him down again and set his mouth to the task of touching every inch of skin from head to toe. David didn’t think he ever been so enthusiastically seduced by man or woman, it was quite extraordinary. David brought him close for a kiss and he could taste something interesting in Glenn’s spit, not himself, though that should linger (knowing from experience it generally did), but something like mead, or mulled wine. Glenn reached over behind the pillows and held up a plastic bottle, shaped like a bear, full of a heavy dark liquid.

“Open your mouth,” he said, his eyes bright with avarice.

David obliged and Glenn flipped open the cap and squirted a small amount of the liquid onto David’s tongue. It was that same flavour, it was indeed honey.

“Mmmm. What will it do?”

“Let’s just see, shall we?” Glenn teased, and began distributing a steady steam on David’s cock. It was amazing: rather than feel merely tacky, it was warm and thick and it smelled so fucking good. Not so much like the stuff one ate, but rather the scent of warm flesh and erotic exertion. Like a long night of passionate sex which clings in the morning after, to skin and sheets alike. And the feel of it hitting his flesh, making its’ lazy way down the shaft, onto his sac and between his legs, his blood surged in immediate arousal.

“Ah Christ,” David cried, his skin prickling with goosebumps and his groin aching. “What are you doing to me?!”

“Do not invoke that one, if you please. This is for Comus that I give myself to you, you who are nearly as magnificent as a god. And this,” Glenn said, handing David the bottle and stroking the liquid all over David’s cock as he moaned and groaned further,” is what will help you take me.”

David made to do the same to Glenn, who stopped him with a sticky hand.

“No, not like that.”

He got on all fours and turned around.

“In there, master,” he whispered, and David took hold of the bottle, not quite believing this turn of events.

“Inside you?”

“Yes, just like that. Make the way a river of honey for your scepter.”

David had experienced more things in his twenty-four years than most, but never had he encountered anyone begging him to squirt honey in their arse. And the mere thought made him harder than diamonds.

There’s no bloody way I’ll be done with him in an hour, he thought, as he inserted the tip of the bottle into the orifice and squeezed, aroused beyond all reason at the sound Glenn was making.

“Comus make me the vessel of all delight,” Glenn whispered between groans. “Make me your vehicle of glorious excess.”

So they believe it then, all that pagan truck. No matter, he’ll be amazing either way.

Again, unbelievable that it wasn’t like glue when his prick slid inside. Instead, more like sinking his cock into velvet which had somehow melted. David had to bite his lip and think about something unpleasant - eating Brussels sprouts - in order to keep from blowing it all again in an instant.

“Take me,” Glenn breathed. “Take me and give me your sacred seed.”

David giggled at the high-flown turn of phrase but began pumping at a steady pace, it was so easy, well-oiled…hot and thick.

“Like this?” he asked, fingers digging into hipbones, pelvis slamming into a perfectly willing ass.

“Yes! Thank you Comus for this gift of wanton delight!”

Don’t care what he believes, as long as I can keep doing this to him, ah Christ, Comus, whatthebloodyhellever!

David wasn’t sure how he had held off for so long, but now his knees ached and his pelvis was surely bruised and his balls felt as if they’d been squeezed by a milkmaid. He lay on the nest of pillows in a post-coital daze while next to him Glenn idly ran a finger across a pearlescent trail of fluid on his inner thigh and put it in his mouth, sucking eagerly.

“Delicious,” he whispered once he was finished.

“Glenn, I’d no idea you were such a right strumpet.”

“It’s time you found out then, hmm?”

“Rather,” David replied, his voice hoarse. And even knackered as he was, he wanted to do it again. Immediately. As he reached for Glenn, the other pulled away, rising to dress.

“You can feel it, can’t you? Like the honey is in your blood, all through you. Warm and thick and soft.”

“Yeah.” David felt himself stiffening yet again. Oh bugger. “What is that stuff?”

“Something we. . .discovered.”

“A type of acid, then?”

“I s’pose you could say, yes. Except it doesn’t make you trip, it makes you feel things, intensely.”

David chuckled. “Yeah I get ya.”

Glenn pulled on his shirt then gave his prey a most wicked smile. “Oh you will, alright, you will get me.”

“One can only hope.”

“So you’ll stay, then? After the gig?”

“Absolutely.”

“And the others?”

“They can find their own bloody way back to Boston.”

“No, they should stay as well. You’ll tell them, won’t you?”

David shrugged. “Alright.”

“We should be getting back.”

David sighed and slowly stood up. He saw that many of the pillows were now stained, and wondered if this lair had been erected just for an assignation, or if all the members of Comus were staying there. He couldn’t imagine how he and Glenn were to have further adventures without the benefit of privacy. Or perhaps that was the game after all. Given the way he felt he didn’t think it would matter; carefully arranging himself within his jeans. How was he going to walk around like this? Though it was dark, hopefully no one would notice.

As he finally put on his coat Glenn came up to him and kissed him.

“I made it right this time, Dave, didn’t I?”

David returned the kiss, winding his fingers through long blond hair and grinding his bulging crotch against the other. “Dunno,” he replied coyly. “But this is a start.”

“Then I hope we never finish.”

Although the thought was sexy and sweet, and delivered with a compelling and passionate kiss, David felt immediate guilt. He’d never want anyone else the way he wanted Roger, it wouldn’t be fair to lead this guy on, even if Glenn was the most amazing fuck he’d had in years. After all, it could just be the drugs – whatever they were – causing his dick to do the thinking yet again.

“Where’ve you been?” Rick asked David peevishly, once he had returned to the cordoned area behind the stage.

“Out and about,” David quipped, taking a cup of hard cider from a buxom lass dressed up as some kind of witch.

“Y’mean you’ve been knobbing.” David rolled his eyes in response. “There’s something strange going on,” Rick said. He paused to light a cigarette, and his hands were shaking.

“What d’ya mean?” David asked, taking one from his pack and lighting up himself.

“Some of these kids, they’re very peculiar.”

“They’re all stoned out of their gourds, of course.”

“No, it’s more than that. Look at them, it’s as if they’ve lost their minds or something.”

“All I see is a bunch of tossers and dollies that have had one too many party favors.”

“Just watch them for a time, you’ll see it.”

David took Rick’s advice and studied the crowd for a while as he smoked. Though he was loathe to admit it, Rick might be onto something, because David did begin to notice a certain shambling mindlessness to the way in which some of them moved through the crowd. And many of them looked far too pale, even for a cold Autumn night.

But given the particular time, perhaps the collective imagination was imposing impressions upon the minds of everyone, himself included.

The band took the stage in a hail of applause, joyful shouting, and assorted noises, as it appeared many in the audience had brought their own instruments to play along.

“Joyous Samhain!” Bobbie proclaimed, spreading her arms wide. She was clad in black and it brought her flaxen hair into sharp relief, her round face alluring in the flickering ambient light of the nearby bonfire. David thought it was a stroke of genius that the band chose not to rely on typical stage lighting, it added the exact air of mystery which they seemed to cultivate whenever they performed.

Comus played in their signature style, as they were a wholly acoustic enterprise: each song began softly, just the barest hint of melody and rhythm, which then built slowly but surely into utter abandon, by the end a frenzy of syncopation and vocalization which teetered on the edge of chaos. All six members looked grimly determined as they played, even as the crowd whirled around, working themselves into a sweaty, almost hysterical mass of celebration.

David looked at Glenn and his eyes were shut, his attention utterly consumed by the demands of the music. He wanted to touch the other so badly at that moment, it was as if he could taste the lust he was feeling, a residue of honey on his tongue. David began sweating despite the temperature, hunger coiling in his stomach.

Comus, I’ll eat that boy up, I will, stake him to the ground with my cock. Oh yes.

He snapped out of the reverie, shaking his head. “What in the world –“ he murmured.

The song played on and on. Where were the others? He suddenly felt dizzy, and as if by psychic demand the same girl brought him a cup of water.

Roger Wootton greeted the audience. “The Lord of Misrule welcomes you!”

The shouting and cheering was punctuated by a few screams, but no one seemed to notice. David saw a girl shove at one of the shambling boys, who fell to the ground, grunting.

“He tried to fucking bite me!” she cried, and her friends put their arms around her and led her away through the crowd. The accused crawled away in a most peculiar fashion.

David had a vague idea to try and find his bandmates but he looked at Glenn again and was immediately distracted by flashes of the most obscene ideas – such as having the boy eat honey out of his arse – that any logical action was summarily pummeled into submission.

Some other local outfit - likely members of the Society for Creative Anachronism – took the stage after Comus, keeping the party going, though they were neither as intense nor professional. As the band filed off stage, their bodies steaming in the cold air, Glenn pulled David into a corner, kissing him passionately.

“Did you tell the others?” he whispered.

“Can’t find them,” David replied, then pushed back at his seducer. “Are you mad? Someone will see us!”

“No one is watching,” Glenn murmured, trailing his tongue down the side of David’s neck and when David looked over the other’s shoulder, it was true: people went past as if they weren’t even there. Glenn put his forehead to David’s, running his fingers through his coveted hair.

“I’ll be back in a mo, please don’t go anywhere, alright?”

A libidinous urge seized David and he growled hurry in response. In mere minutes Rick and Nick came right up to him, even as he had been wondering how to find them.

So many odd things happening.

“I want to leave,” Rick insisted, but his voice was the same familiar soft tone. “It’s bloody freezing and things are getting more barmy by the minute.”

“’Tis a strange vibe,” Nick said, looking around. “But I s’pose I can stand it well enough. I know Rog refuses to go, he thinks he’ll get a knee trembler out of Bobbie.”

“She certainly is giving him that impression, isn’t she?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“C’mon, chaps. . .what if we find you a nice warm body to cuddle, Rick, eh? Far from the maddening crowd.”

“Possibly. But she’d better be the cooperative sort, ya get me?”

“I’ve no doubt we can find one in this group. I’ll ask Glenn.”

Just then he spotted the bear-shaped bottle sitting atop a road case.

“Oh lads, you’ve got to have some of this. Open wide!”

Rick complied immediately but Nick held back, as he always did.

“C’mon kid, it’s not going to hurt you. Do I look like I’ve raving? I’ve already had some.”

Nick sighed and stuck out his tongue, and David placed a dollop of the honey upon it.

“It tastes,” Rick paused, “like something else.”

“What?” David asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not like what you put on toast, that’s for certain,” Nick interjected, pursing his lips.

“I can’t say what it makes me think of,” Rick said, with a wry grin, “but it’s most unusual.”

David knew Rick was thinking of sex - Nick as well - but he was always less obvious about such things. David smiled broadly.

“Now are you ready to have some fun?”

Rick smiled in turn. The thought arose in David’s mind that Rick was far more attractive than anyone gave him credit for. He felt a heavy hand upon his shoulder.

“Ah, here’s the gang,” Glenn enthused, smiling at all of them. “Anything I can see to for you lot?”

“We were looking to pull a couple birds for the lads here,” David said, and Glenn smirked at him.

“Oh Nod’s got a line on more than a few.” Glenn pointed to a man who towered above the passing crowd, possibly the largest man David had ever seen. “Just tell ‘em you’re with us and he’ll set you up proper.”

“What are you going to do?” Nick asked David.

I am going to get the shagging of my life, I hope. “We were going out on the prowl, you know I like a challenge.”

Rick rolled his eyes. “Y’mean determining if it takes one minute or two before a girl’s on her back for you?”

He really is pretty in his way, isn’t he? Such delicate hands.

“I see you’ve been in my honey,” Glenn said, his voice a literal buzz in David’s ear and it was all he could do to stop himself from turning to kiss him, the seemingly obvious response to such a flirtatious observation. “How does it taste?”

“Delicious,” David answered, with a soft giggle.

“Does it?” Glenn let his lips brush against David’s earlobe.

David experienced a momentary panic, surely they were being a little too fey, but the other two had wandered over in Nod’s direction.

“So where’s your other one? Your Roger, I mean.”

Not mine, damnit. “Dunno, although I suspect he was lying in wait for Bobbie. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

Glenn put a finger to his lips, giggling. He took the bottle out of David’s hand and squeezed a drop onto his own tongue then pulled David in for a kiss. They both said mmmm and the surroundings were utterly ignored as their tongues merged and melded and chased and sparred and teased. David’s erection ached and made his jeans feel two sizes too small.

“Going to get you,” David murmured, “right now.”

“Run me down, run me through with that steel you’ve got,” Glenn gasped, squeezing David’s cock as he let out a pained gasp. David grabbed his hair and tugged hard.

“Now, boy,” he growled and Glenn took off running. He felt like howling up at the sky as he chased his seducer through the crowd back to the tent.

Mere seconds inside till they were bare again and this time David shoved Glenn upon the pillows, practically tackling him with randy force.

“So hungry for you, like I could swallow you whole.”

Glenn twined his legs around David’s hips. “Let me do it to you, a true love feast.”

David could smell the honey again. His stomach cramped, though his mind was insisting he wasn’t really hungry - it was just the smell making him think so - but he could feel a small amount of saliva escaping from the corner of his mouth.

“What I did, you mean?” His voice was equally hungry, husky and barely audible.

“Yes. It feels amazing.”

David turned onto his back, spreading his legs.

“Do it then.”

The tip was uncomfortably unyielding, but David bore it stoically. Glenn smiled as he pushed it in just enough to ensure the liquid would have nowhere to go but up and then paused.

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” David answered, with a slight breathy giggle.

“No, you’re not, but you’ll see.”

And at that Glenn squeezed the bottle and David gasped as time seemed to freeze.

That boy, in Marbella, the one who looked like Syd. Curls and cheekbones and a lithe body browned by the sun. They took turns fucking each other during the daily siesta, the sound of the ocean a constant comforting shoosh, though for David it often made him melancholy as the heat made him lazy. But he could close his eyes and pretend it was someone else giving him that sweet ache, that indescribable ecstasy of having someone spend themselves inside you, flood you with their palpable lust.

Not just the feel of it invading him, setting off the bundles of nerves everywhere at once, but the warmth and that seemingly synesthetic feeling: furry and silky and thick, filling him as completely as if he actually had a prick inside him. His own was erect again, and even as Glenn continued to fill him in gentle increments he leaned his head down and began to suck, his tongue knowing just where to lick, the absolute talent for the task he had shown months prior. David thought of all kinds of absurd but encouraging things to say - Polish my knob till it shines, boy! - yet was only capable of the most basic grunts and groans as he got it both ways. . .and how.

David creamed again, painfully firing streams of jizz into that hungry mouth which sucked and sucked and sucked till it seemed he had come enough for the both of them. When Glenn released his cock, thoroughly sodden and completely flaccid, it was almost a relief. But that delicious pressure inside his ass kept him immobile and dazed.

“How it is you drain me so well?” he murmured, more to himself than to his playmate.

“I want it all,” Glenn whispered, sucking on his own lips. “Every drop.”

He gently removed the tip of the bottle from David’s anus and licked it clean.

“And now for my other treat.”

He knelt before David, pulling his hips onto his folded legs. Pushing his hair back, he spread David’s thighs as far as they would go, then the cheeks of his ass as he tongued the orifice, a steady puddle of honey coming to the surface. Again, David’s mind was awash with specific memories and an obliterating tide of sensation. The way Glenn’s tongue not only lapped at the liquid coming out of him, but slid inside to find it, was beyond delight. He loved to be tongued in all ways, and it was difficult finding adventurous partners to return the favor once he showed them how good it felt.

His hips bucked of their own accord as Glenn made sounds of satiated satisfaction, his tongue going deeper and deeper with each foray. In moments it was as if David were being fucked, between the pressure of the liquid inside him and the pushing of Glenn’s tongue.

“Nourish me,” Glenn whispered, lapping at the surface again, “let me feast on your ambrosia.”

The notion that this was exactly what he wanted and now it was happening made reality become distinctly hazy around the edges, David’s sense was coming loose from the moorings, sliding off the surface which held everything together, he was ready to succumb to a weighty oblivion, but the boy kept sucking it out of him, as if he were a fountain or a wineskin.

“I would sustain myself this way always,” he confessed, as his lips pursed around the hole and teased it out. How much was in there? “It is that much sweeter when it comes out of you than when it goes in.”

David was crying then, startled by the feel of tears upon his face. It was too much - too much - this shattering of the barriers, and what lay in the void was unknown as darkness descended. But before he could dive headfirst into madness he saw two figures enter the tent and interrupt his tableau of bliss with angry voices.

“By the pantheon!” Wootton exclaimed. “You were supposed to be done with him by now!”

David wanted to move, wanted to get out of the thoroughly compromising position he was in, but could not. He felt positively leaden, and worse, didn’t care. A faint whinge left his lips because Glenn had ceased his activities.

“Leave us alone!” Glenn shouted.

Bobbie came up and prodded one of David’s feet with the toe of her boot. “The Belle of Cambridge, eh? More a common whore, I’d say.”

“Shut up!”

“Comus is coming,” Wootton intoned. “Chaos is coming.”

“All the more reason for us to get the hell out of here,” Bobbie said, her face pinched with nervous pique.

David could feel the liquid leaking out of him, dripping onto Glenn’s legs, and the other wiped up the residue with his fingers, sucking them like the aftermath of a good meal.

“Give me a few minutes more, then he’ll be out,” Glenn whispered.

“We need to complete the ritual,” Wootton hissed. “We need to find the others.”

“You lost them?” Glenn queried.

“It’s nearly a riot out there, the tall one got away from me,” Bobbie said.

Somewhere in David’s mind he was relieved Roger escaped whatever seduction had been planned. But he was seemingly sunk in amber, held fast by the scheme to ensnare him.

“If we don’t find them then this one’ll have to do,” Wootton said, drawing a dragger and letting the candlelight flash upon it.

“You said I could keep him!” Glenn cried.

“Comus demands blood. And if it is not shed, the bloodlust will take over everyone for good and all.”

“Not us!” Bobbie declared.

“No,” Wootton agreed. “But I fear our fate will be something much worse if we do not appease our deity.”

“You can’t have him,” Glenn insisted, “he was promised to me.”

“It would therefore be in your best interest to get your tongue out of his arse and help us find the others.”

“Then let me finish!”

The three stared one another down, letting out sounds of exasperation and possibly fear. Wootton grabbed Bobbie’s arm and they left the tent. “Don’t fuck it up,” he called out to Glenn, “or we’ll all pay the price.”

Must get up. Can’t let them kill Roger.

Glenn bent his head once more to lap up the honey, and it was as if there was an endless source of it within David, he still felt as literally stuffed as he did at first. And it was so bloody good, he was being pulled under by that pleasure once again, to a dark depth of oblivion. His tongue sliding into the entrance, teasing the nerves, providing just the right pressure to make David cry out with grateful release. And the sound he made while doing so, as if David were literally made of honey, the most delicious being ever created.

Oh Comus make him do this to me always. . .wait, ah Christ, I have to distract him or we’re all doomed.

Strange, how he could be detached and overwhelmed at the same time.

“I. . .I want you to take me now. Please, Glenn.” David could barely whisper, but he fluttered his eyes and felt the hunger, it wasn’t an entire ruse. He wanted to be fucked, his rectum was slick with honey and saliva and his lust burned within him, despite the impulse to pass out in surrender to the campaign of seduction and the larger fear of realizing that something murderous was afoot.

His would-be paramour looked up with wide blue eyes and slowly removed his tongue from David’s anus, which the other suffered with more-than-faint regret.

“Take you, claim you? You acknowledge you are mine, then?”

“Yes.” If there was ever a time to be utterly irresistible, Gilmour, now would be that time.

His eyes fluttered again, lips pursing as he pulled the other close in a sweet, deep kiss and felt the passion rebounding, knowing his gambit had succeeded, it was the reaction of someone completely infatuated or possibly in love.

Who could have known? Was this all to do with me, I wonder? This absurd plan?

“This is our honeymoon, then, my love. Comus promised me I would get you if I made the honey, and here you are, and you want me.”

David fought the urge to roll his eyes, kept smiling even as it felt like a grimace but when Glenn entered him, sliding slow and going deep, he opened like a flower to the sun and aaaahhhhh oh yeeeessssss it was better than anyone, any time, even when desperate enough to think if he didn’t get pounded he’d surely die.

This was true bliss, this must be what it felt like for a –

Listen to yourself, it’s all trickery and lies.

David closed his eyes, a true smug smile on his face, lifting his legs to better enable Glenn to push all the way inside, to get to the spot which would make him lose his fucking mind yes yes yes ram me boy, give it all to me, every fucking inch.

“Oh my beauty, you are even more astounding than I knew you’d be,” Glenn breathed, and thrust harder as David cried out aaah and oooh and YES. He slid out for a moment and David nearly cried because he didn’t want it to stop, but when Glenn drizzled more honey over his cock and slid his hand over the shaft then plunged back in as far he could go the tears sprang sudden, but it was from joy it was so much unbelievable joy. He sucked on Glenn’s fingers as they were placed in his mouth, and he felt as though he had been starving, this was literally the flavour of everything and exactly what he wanted, what he needed. Their mouths came together in a kiss and then a sticky hand stroked his prick and the world turned white as he came and came and came and so did his lover he could feel that hot tide which bathed him in fiery brilliance and how could this be? Sex was wonderful but this was. . .

Yes, you get it now, don’t you? It’s an illusion, you prat, and it will hold you fast if you don’t get a fucking grip NOW.

David opened his eyes and his heart was hammering in time with Glenn’s, who had collapsed upon him. They were both panting and David could feel the intensity ebbing away, the world coming back in increments, the outside reasserting itself with the sounds of chaos, the situation unchanged. But even so, he wondered if he would ever feel exactly this way again, as if he were a god and had fucked one in turn. The very pinnacle of ecstasy, the kind of experience certain chemicals promised even if they only delivered once and one spent years chasing that flash of brilliance down a dangerous road.

Suddenly, it all made sense.

Chemicals. . .exactly. Your brain can experience anything with just the right chemicals.

David’s resolve returned even as he felt Glenn relax, no doubt entrenched in a fantasy of Happily Ever After.

David reached up to one of the nearby candles inside of a brass holder. With one swift motion he took the candle out and bashed his seducer on the side of the head with the metal implement. Glenn was cut off in mid-sigh and slumped upon the body of the other: unconscious, if not dead, weight. David pushed him off and dressed hurriedly, praying that the others were not on their way back to their HQ. Almost as an afterthought he grabbed the bear-shaped bottle, a vague feeling of importance in the action.

Outside the cold air was like a slap in the face, as was the scene before him: utter hysteria as those which had been acting strangely earlier in the evening were now wholly possessed; chasing after others in a determined but plodding way, those people in turn screaming and trampling over others too slow. Those who had changed had gone absolutely bloodless, their eyes shining and distant. David watched as a girl grabbed another female too distraught to get away and bite her shoulder, hard enough to draw blood, then lapped it up in a gesture which sickeningly reminded him of something else.

What in holy hell –

One of the males came up to David and grabbed his hair. As he made to turn around and punch him in the face, the other sniffed at him and suddenly moved away, his features contorted with fear, grunting and throwing up his hands in front of his face. His skin was sickly, a sort of yellowish shade, there was blood on his hands and around his mouth, the copper tang of it hanging in the air, the scent of the abattoir.

Not us, Bobbie had said.

Another girl ran towards him, utterly terrified.

“Help me!” she cried, “Everyone’s gone crazy!”

She grabbed at his coat, he gripped her arms, trying to get her to calm down, as they were approached by a man dressed in a vampire costume. Even under the greasepaint and fake blood of his disguise, it was obvious he was in thrall. When he opened his mouth David could see one of his fake fangs had something hanging from it, something pink and stringy.

“Ah God, get him away from me!” she screamed, burying her face in David’s chest. He made to put her behind him, but even as the ersatz Dracula pulled back, looking confused, there was a glimmer in his bloodshot eyes which was undeniably haunted, an imperative to pursue above and beyond all reason. He stared David down, a stream of drool running from the side of his mouth, smudging the paint, and made a growling sound.

“Stay back,” David warned, “I know you can’t touch me.”

The girl panicked and let go of him.

“No!” David exclaimed, grabbing at her but she eluded his attempt. The guy sidestepped David and pulled the girl to him by the neck. She screamed, and he put a hand over her mouth. David could only watch – repulsed and horrified and wondering if he was losing his mind along with everyone else – as the other sunk his pretend fangs into her neck, and they seemed to work well enough, deep red blood arcing out into the air.

David fell to his knees, his stomach cramping as a torrent of vomit hit the ground and it was dark and thick and it smelled like -

What the hell was in the honey?!

Running through the crowd, on the lookout for anyone affiliated with Comus, David found an equipment shed at the far end of the field and quickly ducked inside once he ascertained it was empty. He locked himself in, heart pounding, and desperately tried to think of a way to find the others and get the hell away from this madness. He hoped he hadn’t been followed as far as this. But almost in answer the door rattled from the force of someone pounding upon it.

“Who’s in there?” a nasal voice demanded and David had never been so relieved to hear it.

“Roger, thank Christ you’re alright!” David exclaimed once he opened the door. Roger pushed his way in and David locked the door behind him once again.

“What the ruddy fuck is going on out there?!” Roger exclaimed. “Do you know I was set upon by a group of kids, and it was as if, well, as if they tried to –“

“Eat you?”

“Yeah, exactly! Fuckin’ hell!”

“Are you hurt?” David asked, immediately concerned. He began running his hands over Roger’s arms, looking for signs of injury. Roger stepped back, looking annoyed.

“I’m fine, stop pawing me! But are they all having a bad trip or something?”

“I dunno. I suspect something, but you’d never believe me.”

“Did you not hear me, Dave, someone tried to eat me just now.”

“Comus. It’s them, they started this.”

Roger frowned, then his saucer eyes went wide with confusion. “Some kind of mass hysteria, then?”

“You might say. They really do believe in all that pagan stuff, and they’ve found a way to make it work somehow.”

“Did you see the lads? Anywhere?”

David sighed. “No.”

“And where the hell were you?!”

“I could likely say the same, except I know, of course!”

“Oh fuck off! The question is, how are we going to get out of here?”

“We’ve only to fear Wootton and the others. They’re out for blood, literally.”

“What?!”

“Here,” David gestured, removing the honey bottle from his coat pocket. “You need to have some of this.”

“This is no time to get wrecked, you idiot!”

“Look, I was out there, same as you, but no one tried to attack me. It’s something to do with this stuff, I’m telling you. If you don’t have some too then you will be in trouble.”

“And what about Nick and Rick?”

“They already did, they won’t be harmed, unless Wootton finds them. C’mon Rog, stop being so bloody stubborn for once and do as I say!”

Roger grabbed the bottle out of his hand and began sucking it noisily. David was suddenly seized with an urge to laugh: a combination of remembering where the tip had been earlier, relief at finding him unharmed, and the greater panic of the situation.

“Gah, that’s not like any honey I’ve ever had!”

“I agree. But now they won’t touch you. Did Bobbie try to do anything strange to you?”

“What d’ya mean?”

“I mean anything other than what you were after.”

“No. At least, I don’t think so.” He furrowed his forehead in thought. “How do you know what they’re up to?”

“Because Goring tried to shanghai me, sacrifice me to their god, or whatever it is.”

“What?!”

“Look, instead of continuing to sputter in disbelief, help me figure out how the hell we’re gonna get out of here!”

Roger seemed to freeze, staring at David, his eyes widening again but this time with a decidedly predatory glitter.

“It’s so warm in here. Nice and warm. So cold outside.”

What the bloody hell is this?

“Feel my skin, Dave. It’s like it’s on fire.”

Oh Comus don’t do this now. I don’t want him like this.

“Roger, I imagine you’re feeling. . .uh. . .rather strange right now, but –“

“You’ve the most amazing eyes, don’t you? Remind me of an unclouded sky.”

“Rog, please. Try to focus. We’ve got to find Rick and Nick.”

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are? Because. . .I always wanted to.”

Roger had moved closer and closer till David was up against the wall of the shed, and his bandmate was now stroking his hair, and David could smell the honey on his breath and suddenly he wanted –

Kiss him, and he’s yours. Like you’ve always wanted. That exquisite mouth, those long fingers, show him how much you’ve longed for him ever since you first saw him, that day Syd looked through you like you were a stranger.

. . .he firmly but calmly pushed at Roger until the other was at arm’s length.

“Rog, someone’s going to get killed if we don’t get out of here.”

The saucer eyes blinked rapidly, and Roger gave a sudden toss of his shining dark head.

So bloody beautiful.

“What do they want? Wootton and the others?”

“I told you, they’re determined to make a sacrifice out of one of us, or all, if they can.”

“Why us?”

“I’m wondering the very same thing.”

David tried very hard not to vomit again when they made their way across the field once more. There were limp bodies everywhere, and blood: on the ground, smeared across skin, and he could seemingly taste it the closer they came to the center of the chaos. But the shambling stumbling figures gave them a wide berth, fighting amongst each other for victims of those possessed by the bloodlust. People were bent at unnatural angles and some were being raped by the ones under the sway of Comus, blindly thrusting at any orifice they could find while gnawing upon flesh and eagerly lapping at the blood which flowed forth from the wounds.

Rick was hiding under the stage, he reached out and grabbed Roger’s ankle as they ran by. Roger screamed, falling towards the ground. David caught him and made to kick at the hand till he recognized the coat clothing the arm.

“Rick!” he exclaimed. “Get out of there, c’mon!”

“Oh no! D’ya see what’s going on out there?!” But David pulled at him until he climbed out from under the platform, visibly trembling.

“You won’t be hurt, I swear. But we’ve got to get out of here! Where’s Nick?”

Rick started to cry. “I dunno. We were running through the crowd at one point, trying to find you, and when I turned around he was gone. I went back the other direction, but he had completely vanished!”

Roger’s face was grim. “They’ve got him, don’t they?”

David sighed. “Probably.”

“Who’s got him? What the bloody hell is going on here?!”

“You were right, something is peculiar. But Comus is to blame.”

“They’re responsible for this, you mean?” Rick swept out an arm in reference to the near-slaughter which lay all around them. “How is that possible?”

“Magic.”

“Oh now you’ve lost the plot as well, haven’t you?”

“Look,” Roger countered, as they continued to walk along, “I don’t want to believe it either, but what choice do we have?”

“We’ve no choice but to call the authorities!”

“Nick will be dead by the time they get here!” David shouted.

Rick turned almost as pale as those possessed by the bloodlust. “They want to kill him?”

“All of us. I don’t know how we’re going to stop it, but if we don’t we’ll all be goners. So metaphysical debates will have to wait till another time.”

David set off at a run across the field, with Roger and Rick following close behind.

As they crept alongside the tent they spied Nod standing guard at the entrance. Ducking back behind the corner they heard one of the band come out and demand he go look for the very same people lying in wait for a chance to enter. Once the other had moved away they nodded at one another and hurried inside.

They were greeted by a welter of candlelight, which illuminated the members of Comus all gathered around a table David had failed to notice earlier. It appeared to have the same kinds of symbols carved upon it which had been painted on the banner as well as some totemic items, such as a chalice and bowls holding various offerings all clustered at the head. Nick sat on the other end, his hands bound. They were surrounded by a circle drawn upon the ground, with the same symbols within. From the smell David knew it had been drawn with the honey. He could sense a shifting between the atmosphere within and without the circle, a shimmering in the air. As they all turned to view the intruders Wootton snatched up Nick by his shirtfront and held a dagger at his throat. David noticed it was the same one he wielded before, when threatening to spill his blood instead.

“Comus is chaos, and when the veil is thin he slips between the worlds, his dominion to establish within this one. The bloodlust, it is in everyone here, and it is his undoing of what came before.”

“Let him go.” David said, attempting rationality.

“We only need one, for blood to spill. Then we will have everything we’ve ever wanted.”

“LET HIM GO!” Roger thundered.

Glenn walked up to David, weaving a hand into his hair, pulling him close.

“Think of it, all the passion you’ve ever wanted, because you will never have it again if you interfere. Say you didn’t feel it.”

“I did,” David hissed as Glenn pulled his hair tight. “But it’s just an illusion.”

“No, it’s magic and when you’re in it then it’s everything. The honey is a charm and it works, will you deny that?”

“No. But one shudders to think what’s in it to make it work so well.”

“Charged with virgin blood by the ripening moon. With the sacred seed of the magus. Mixed into the gold of the secret alchemist, the simple and common bee. To create a nectar which none can resist, and which will remake the world.”

“Why? Why do this?”

“Well you’re asking the right person,” Bobbie gibed.

David’s eyes widened. “If I had given you a lock of my hair last year –“

“Then perhaps it needn’t have come to this,” Glenn replied, as if finishing the sentence.

“What?!” Roger exclaimed.

“I won’t do this. Kill me if you must,” David proclaimed.

“DAVID!” his bandmates all shouted in unison.

“Let them go, take me. You can’t have me,” he said to Glenn, praying that this gambit might also work.

Glenn’s eyes grew dark and his voice deep, as if it wasn’t him who was speaking.

You will know nothing but sorrow, despite all your desires.

“I am not your disciple,” David declared. “Kill me now.”

“NO!” Glenn screamed, dropping his hold and seeming to speak to no one, to the air. “Don’t you do it! You promised!”

If the bloodlust is not appeased, someone will pay.

This time the voice seemed to come from everywhere at once.

“We have your sacrifice!” Wootton proclaimed, throwing Nick onto his back. The others gathered round to pin him down as their leader raised the dagger. Glenn looked at David.

“It’s better this way,” he said, “you’ll see.”

“Nick!” came a cry. Rick has approached the edge of the circle and the coven glared at him with weapons raised.

“It’s too late!” Bobbie said, pointing her knife at the group. “We will succeed because it is His time!”

“Hail to Saturn Comus is coming!” the coven intoned by rote.

“We can break the circle,” David whispered to Roger.

“How d’ya know?”

“Because we’ve drank the honey. We’re part of the magic.”

“But it’s six against three!”

“So because the odds aren’t in your favor you’re willing to let him be gutted?”

David grabbed Rick by the shoulder and hauled him back.

“Just wait, we’ll go together.”

“I’m ready,” Rick whispered.

“Are you in?” David asked.

Roger sighed. He looked genuinely frightened, David thought.

“Yes.”

A sudden shriek split the air and the three took the distraction as their opportunity, rushing the group. There were gasps of surprise as they passed through the circle, then David began pummeling whomever he could find, including Glenn, as Rick dragged Nick off the makeshift altar and Roger grabbed Bobbie by the hair and wrenched the knife from her hand, then trapped her in the same hold Wootton had previously used on Nick. Wootton froze in shock and David grabbed the dagger from his hand then picked up Glenn’s groggy form and slammed him upon the table.

“So Comus, what say you take the blood of this pretty thing, eh?”

That same trick of light and sound played again.

He could be yours, eternally subservient. He had much the same plan for you.

“Everybody wants me,” David quipped. “Is it a life you require, or just a little blood?”

BLOOD

The summons so loud it shook the ground. The air seemed to thicken, like mist, all around them within the circle.

BLOOD NOW

“Well let’s give you what you want, eh?” David slashed Glenn’s arm with the dagger, blood immediately hitting the wood in flying dark drops. Glenn screamed and began writhing. David then gasped in horror at what he saw oozing out of the cut: it was thick and golden-colored.

“What the ruddy fuck –“ Roger began, then Glenn screamed again.

“HE’S IN ME MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP IT HURTS”

No one moved a muscle as Glenn squirmed in agony, his features contorted with pain and terror.

“What –“ Bobbie whispered.

“The honey,” Wootton said, “What did it do to –“

A noise - like the loudest and longest of echoes - suddenly filled the air, deafening everyone, as they all doubled over clutching at their heads and not even Glenn’s tortured screams could drown it out. It was as if all the sound were being sucked out of the world, leaving only a blur of light and dark, a fractured rendition of reality.

Then all was dark.

In the half-light of the coming dawn, their ears still ringing, the members of Pink Floyd carefully made their way through the field at Gallows Hill in the town of Salem. Bodies littered the ground, and all of them looked normal again, as if everyone had merely fallen asleep en masse.

“S’not right,” Rick muttered. “Some of these people were hurt, even dying.”

“I think Comus didn’t get what he wanted.” David said.

“But wouldn’t that make everything worse?” Roger asked.

“Maybe it did, but not in the way his followers thought it would.”

. . .or we’ll all pay the price.

Their minds simultaneously flashed upon the unconscious forms of the coven, not deceased but unable to answer the summons of the others.

“Are they dead, do you think?” Rick wondered.

“They were breathing, weren’t they?” David insisted. They came to the edge of the field. “Need to find a telephone so we can ring that cabbie fellow.”

“Yes, I’ve had quite enough of Witch City, thanks ever so,” Roger sniped.

“Y’okay then, Nicky?” Rick asked, putting an arm around his bandmate.

“I believe I can say with total surety that I am no longer a fan of Comus.”

They all chuckled as they approached a nearby phone booth and waited for the cab to show up after David placed the call, smoking and wondering why no one had come to investigate the commotion.

“Perhaps this is a place where these sorts of things happen frequently,” Roger opined.

Nick made sounds of disbelief but the other three stared him down till he shut up.

Walking along the tarmac as the Floyd boarded their return flight, David looked over at the Bay and the Boston skyline beyond then removed a plastic bottle from his inner coat pocket.

“You still have that?” Roger asked, shocked.

David cocked back his arm and let it fly. The bottle splashed into the water then sank (which shouldn’t have been possible, given its’ composition) within seconds.

“Not anymore.”

“Thank God.”

“Hmm,” David pondered, as they climbed the stairs to the cabin door. “I wonder who we should be thanking in this case.”

Comus released their record the following year, and although many in the press had declared it a work of progressive genius - with a weird yet wonderful ambience - they never did catch on with the general public, and sank into obscurity within a few years; as the original lineup disbanded not long after First Utterance debuted.

Once Pink Floyd returned to England and their normal routine, vowing never to speak of that night, David thought he saw Goring in the crowd, sometimes: a pale pretty face framed by blond hair staring up at him with thwarted lust. And whenever it happened - accompanied by the type of chill one feels when reminded of something frightening – he had only to look over at the one person he desired above all, even with all the frustration their relationship entailed, to know that it had only been a bad dream. . .the kind of nightmare perhaps only the Sabbat can provide.
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bloodlust (something's in the honey)