Adult-FanFiction.org : Celebrity

Declarations	By : luna65 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
- 1-Declarations
- 1
Roger opened the door to June’s office so quietly he startled her, as she was engrossed in the latest issue of Cashbox.

“Hello Roger –“

He silenced her with a finger upon his lips, then approached with a hushed tread. Unbeknownst to her visitor she tapped a buzzer installed in the floor under her desk, just once. It was the code June had devised to inform Steve whenever one of the lads came by but didn’t want him to know. Roger’s ident was only one press of the button.

“June, can you give me the number for Super Bear, please?” he asked in a whisper.

She gave her normal response with exacting efficiency - a cool neutrality - but Roger could tell she was curious.

“If you need me to ring David for you –“ she replied, equally quiet.

“The number, please,” he said with firm insistence.

She consulted her Filofax. “Here’s the direct number for the studio he’s booked.” She wrote it down for him on an index card.

“Thank you.” He gave her a thin smile. “If Steve wants to talk to me next week tell him to fuck off.”

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

“You may quote me,” he called out as he left her office, raising his hand behind him in farewell.

Moments later Steve emerged from his own office and looked around. “Did I miss him?”

“He just left. He only wanted David’s number.”

“Which one did you give him?” Steve asked, with a sudden look of panic.

“The studio. But that’s all he asked for.”

“Hmm, seems even he knows better than to call His Nibs at home.”

“Quite. But I do wonder why he’s calling at all. I’d thought he couldn’t wait to be rid of the others for a while.”

“One can never question Roger’s motives, only because it tends to lead to great unpleasantness.” Steve pontificated. It was characteristic of their long relationship that June merely raised her eyebrows in reply.

“’Allo, celui-ci est Studio Trois.”

Roger tried to remember whatever phrases he had absorbed directly from listening to David speak the lingua franca whenever they were in the environs. “Je voudrais parle a Monsieur Gilmour.”

“Qui telephonez?”

“Tell him it’s his manager.”

“D’accord, Monsieur. Un instant, s’il vous plait.”

Roger was then surprised to find, even over the buzz and faint static of the line, the sound of David’s voice filled him with an overwhelming ache.

“Bloody hell, Steve, I can’t even have a fucking tea break without you badgering me ‘bout some –“

“It’s me,” Roger cut in.

There was a pause, but Roger could hear David breathing. “Me who?”

“Sod off.”

A sigh. “So, how’s tricks Georgie?”

“I’m here.”

“What, in the studio?” A faint breath of mockery.

“No,” Roger replied, vaguely annoyed at his teasing. “I’m in Nice.”

“What for?”

“To see you.”

“Why?”

Roger let out an exasperated sound. “Look, can I come up there?”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Dunno if you’d heard, but I’m rather busy at the moment.”

“Yes, I’m aware. But I thought we might have dinner.”

“You’re staying the night?”

“At least. Maybe longer.”

“S’just you?”

“Of course. So can I come then?”

“Your timing is impeccable as always,” David groused.

“I need to see you.” Only David was capable of hearing the sliver of raw avarice Roger inserted into the sentence.

“Don’t come here,” David said suddenly. “I’ll drive down there, meet you at La Petite Maison at eight, alright?”

“Right. Eight o’clock then.”

“And you’d better be there. Because if you’re having it on with me –“

“Trust me David, I’m not in the mood for pranks.”

At the sound of Roger’s termination of the call David scowled at the receiver. He then pushed down the switchhook and cleared the line just as Willie stuck his head in the doorway of the tape room.

“Ready to get back to it, then?” he asked.

David gave him a faint smile. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

He dialed the number for the villa and after a few rings a positively adorable voice answered.

“Hallo?”

“Is this Miss Alice?” David asked, breaking into a indulgent smile.

“Who’s this?” the speaker demanded, the words largely unformed but David possessed an instinctual understanding.

“S’your dad.”

“Daddy!” she exclaimed.

“Sweetheart, give the phone to Mummy, alright? There’s a good girl.”

“Okay.”

He heard his daughter set the phone down upon the console table and begin to call for her mother. After a moment he could hear Ginger’s voice in answer, distantly. Then, a click and the dial tone.

“Oh Alice,” he chided softly, and dialed the number again. This time an exhausted-sounding Ginger answered.

“Hello? David?”

“I thought you said you were going to put the phone where she couldn’t get to it.”

Ginger sighed. “I did. But then my mother called and I guess I forgot to put it back where I had it. Sorry.”

“Well I wanted to tell you, I won’t be home for supper.”

“Another late night?” David could hear the frustration under layers of spousal indulgence and her exotic (to his ears) inflection.

“I have to drive to Nice, to see Roger.”

“Why?”

“Dunno, he asked to see me. Band business, I’m sure.”

“Oh, well give my best to him and Carolyne.”

“He’s alone. But I’ll tell him. And don’t wait up for me, I won’t be back till late.”

“Be careful driving.”

“It’s not me you have to worry about, love, it’s the frogs. Kiss my darling for me.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“You too.”

David placed the receiver in the cradle and felt torn between wanting to leave the session immediately and speed straight to L’Hotel Negresco (Roger was a slave to familiarity), wanting to go home and forget the whole thing, and a third option which involved going for a crawl with Rick and Willie and drowning a sudden surge of ambivalent longing in a veritable tide of alcohol.

The air was thick with various accents, smoke, and the almost-overpowering scent of garlic. Roger had arrived at the cafe two hours early to ensure a fairly secluded table, but the place was so popular the noise level was already annoying by early evening. Then again, he thought, as he smoked and sipped at a glass of red wine, it was possible to camouflage a great many things in the midst of a crowd. It was an older group of blue-collar workers, mostly fisherman, which meant that neither of them would be recognized. And the food had to be good, since David had chosen it specifically.

Roger became so entirely distracted with musing and strategizing it wasn’t until he sensed a form looming over him and looked up, blinking, that he realized he had completely lost track of time.

What an attractive man, he thought in a split-second, then realized it was David.

The other slid into the booth with a smirk. “Earth to Rog?” he asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

“You shaved,” was all Roger could think to say.

“Not today,” David noted, rubbing his chin. “But yeah, I got rid of me beard, a certain little girl said I was too scratchy.”

Roger chuckled, stopping himself from saying something too sarcastic. “And your hair, it’s different.”

“Yeah,” David answered, a hand toying with a strand. They stared at one another for a moment, the subtext completely apparent in their mutual gaze of interest. “Yours too.”

“Is it ridiculous?” Roger inquired, reaching for a cigarette.

“No, not at all.”

Roger drank the rest of his wine in a nervous gulp. He hadn’t expected to perceive David to be so very amazing to his eyes. Even the wrinkles which were obviously etched into his face now - around his eyes and across his forehead – added something enticing, a quality of maturity, of command.

He found himself becoming painfully erect within his jeans and wondered how he was going to make it through the meal without visiting the loo merely for the purposes of subduing his now overwhelming lust.

Damn you, Gilmour, bloody overgrown cherub.

“So what’s this then?” Roger asked, attempting to distract himself by reaching for a menu and pointing to an unknown item.

“I’ll order for you, don’t worry,” David chided. He looked around for a waiter and made one of those native gestures which could mean any number of things depending on the context.

“Coq au vin a deux, s’il vous plait,” he instructed the waiter who appeared at their table. “Est-ce que c’est aux legumes?”

“Oui, avec le potage.”

“C’est bien. Aussi chopine du rouge, Chateau Miraval.”

“Eh bien, monsieur.”

David made a slight wave with his hand to indicate he was finished and the waiter hurried away toward the kitchen. Roger pretended to be unimpressed by the exchange but he couldn’t help but muse that Le Cote d’Azur just wasn’t as stimulating unless he was in the company of his effortlessly fluent bandmate.

“So what did you order?” he asked.

“The chicken. And a bottle of wine.”

“The French do have a way with chicken, don’t they?”

“Yes.” David took a sip of the previously untouched water glass on the table. “So have you made any headway on your grand concept?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

The waiter brought a basket of petite pain, which David took right out of the man’s hand with a muttered merci.

“Starving as usual, hmm?” Roger gibed.

“I didn’t have my tea thanks to you.”

“I’m sure this will make up for it, since I’m picking up the check.”

“Oh you bet yer arse you’re paying.” And the way in which David looked at him indicated the comment was not merely a retort.

Roger picked at his meal, reflexively downing wine and eventually surrendering in the face of Gallic abundance by pushing his plate away. David raised an eyebrow even as he tucked in like a trencherman; Roger was mystified as to how he continued to find that quality attractive.

“Not to your taste?” David asked when his mouth was empty once more.

“Not particularly hungry,” Roger answered, then lit a cigarette and poured himself more wine.

“I lie to my wife, brave the bloody frogs by driving down here during the evening commute, pick one of the best places in Nice and you –“

“You don’t think I’ve lied as well? To not one, but two wives now? We’ve been lying to everyone for a very long time, Dave,” Roger retorted, giving him an arch look.

“Including ourselves,” David shot back, but he continued to eat.

“What does that mean?”

David paused, setting down his knife and fork. “I think I’ve come to my senses about a great many things. Namely you.”

Roger felt his stomach lurch, he put an elbow on the table and rested his forehead against his hand. “I know I was at my wit’s end back then, I just. . .well, I’m in a better frame of mind now. Clearer, any road.”

“Well that’s two of us then, because I’m rather clear about things as well.”

“Look, I know you told Steve you wanted out.”

David’s eyes went wide, and if he hadn’t paused in his consumption he might well have choked.

“And how did you come by that piece of information, exactly?”

Roger snorted. “Get the man thoroughly shitfaced and he’ll tell you bloody everything.”

David stared at his plate, visibly trembling.

“Don’t blame him –“

“I don’t,” David retorted, with a blazingly angry stare. “You are a manipulative little shit, have been since the day I met you, so why don’t you tell me what the fuck you’re on about then.”

“I rather thought you would say we were through, and I didn’t want that to happen.”

“Of course not, I’m your fatal flaw.”

“We are each to the other, David,” Roger intoned, lifting his glass. David toasted in kind, though his eyes retained an ice which Roger believed might be beyond his abilities to melt.

Roger fidgeted as he watched David eat an entire pots du crème. David smirked at his companion’s anxious demeanor.

“A successful seduction depends on food, Rog.”

“You mean a successful seduction of you.”

But instead of sticking out his tongue like he normally would, David merely licked the spoon in response. Very very slowly. Roger closed his eyes for a moment, his breath hitching in his chest.

“In a hurry, are you?”

Roger glanced around before leaning across the table, his voice lowered to a purr. “To have you fuck me stupid? Yes.”

“So now we come to the precipice,” David said, sitting back. “Is that what this was really all about? Your mourning the absence of a good buggering?”

“You would characterize it like that, but as usual you know fuck-all ‘bout my true motivations.”

“P’raps I wouldn’t be so obtuse if you’d bother to inform me.”

“We can continue to go ‘round the rosies, Mr. Gilmour, or you can deliver me to my hotel and take your pound of flesh for spite. I suggest the latter, naturally.”

“Of course you do,” David answered, rolling his eyes. But he raised a hand in a gesture which indicated to Roger he was calling for the check.

“Did you book the bloody honeymoon suite?” David asked once they had entered Roger’s room at L’Hotel Negresco. It was known as one of the more luxurious destinations on the Promenade des Anglais, but this room was sumptuous by even their standards.

“I’m paying through the bloody nose for it, so you’d better be impressed.”

David was touched but steeled himself to give no sign.

“Look what I found,” Roger said, holding out an object in black. It was a flogger, a smaller version of a cat o’nine tails with a combination of velvet and leather straps.

David looked over at it with teasing disgust. “Where’d you dig out that old thing?”

“I found it my road case, I was in the storage bay the other day looking for strings.”

David sniffed at it pointedly. “Hmm, yes that’s <>eau de 1975 all right.”

“We had some fun with this, didn’t we?”

“I had fun beating yer arse with it, that’s true. But when you tried to sodomize me with the handle I was less than enthusiastic, as I recall.”

“I want to feel it again,” Roger said, his voice taking on a throaty tone. “What it’s like to be subdued.”

“I knew you were a masochist, Rog, but p’raps you’re becoming a tad obsessive now.”

“C’mon Dave, fun and games, right?”

“On the road. But this is another thing entirely.”

“It’s been too long. Nearly six months now and –“

“Eight months, actually.”

“Counting the days, are we? You must miss it too.”

David turned towards the window, moving the curtain aside to watch the glowing tide as it washed the dark sand. “I don’t.”

“You lying bag of shite,” Roger hissed.

“Don’t you fucking presume to tell me I’m lying!” David retorted, equally as angry. “I don’t miss you as a easy fuck, Georgie, but then again you’ve never understood how I truly feel because you’ve never wanted to, never wanted to admit you feel it too.”

“We can’t –“

“Can’t what?”

“Have any kind of normal –“

“Who said anything about normal, Rog? Normal’s nothing to do with us, but you know what we do mean to one another, or what we did, until you chose to shut me out with your existential crisis or whatever the fuck it was.”

“And you’ve got absolutely no empathy for –“

“Oh here it is! David is too uncaring and stupid to appreciate all the nuances of Roger’s eternal pain. That is such a utter load of bollocks I could bloody cosh you till your esteemed brain leaks out your fucking ears.”

Roger grabbed David’s arm and yanked him forward.

“Then make me pay for being such a ruddy shit, eh?” He put the flogger into David’s hand. “Use it.”

“But that would be giving you what you want, and I can’t say I’m particularly inclined to do so.”

“What do you want, then? Want me to do it? Would that turn the crank, hmm? Torture myself just to get your attention?”

“You’ve had my attention, you arsehole. I’d like to remind you that you were the one who wouldn’t let me touch you the last month of the tour and then as soon as we got off the plane it was like fucking radio silence. Not one bloody word. And now, suddenly, here you are again acting as if I’ve thrown you over. You’re a fucking headcase, lad.”

Roger continued to grip David’s arm, then pushed him against the nearest wall. The flogger fell out of David’s hand and onto the carpet.

“What are you gonna do then? You fucking try to walk away and I will kill you.”

David’s eyes went wide again, but he and Roger were panting heavily, their stares locked onto one another, their bodies pressed together as much in desire as in malice.

“You bloody well try it,” David said, his voice low and deadly and it went straight to Roger’s cock. “And I will destroy you.” Then he smiled. It would have been terrifying had it not been so beautiful.

Roger kissed him so hard in response David’s head hit the wall with a thump. The kiss turned into biting as David’s teeth sank into Roger’s lower lip. He responded by grabbing a handful of hair to pull David’s head away but David’s hand grabbed Roger’s hair in turn and then the next thing Roger knew he was being propelled towards the bed by a very angry man who shoved him down and put all his weight on him.

“Why don’t we end it all now, eh?” David gasped as he sat on Roger, putting two broad hands around the other’s neck. Roger squirmed and tried to push him off, but David possessed all the leverage. The grip tightened.

“You’re so fucking ridiculous,” David murmured. “Wanting me to beat you with that stupid toy. You want a beating, I’ll bloody well give you one, but no more empty posturing, dear Rog, though I know that’s your true vocation.”

“Sod off,” Roger croaked.

“Mmm, what did I used to say? Oh yes, Oooh, you know you get me going with your acidic tongue, lover. Any more abuse to heap upon me, or will you shut up and get fucked?”

“Yes,” Roger replied, more breath than speech and not much of either.

David let go of Roger’s throat and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it out of his jeans. He slid over the side and took his pants off. Roger began slowly taking his clothes off as well from his supine position. David got up and walked over to where Roger’s bag sat on the luggage holder. Digging through it, he chuckled as he pulled out a familiar container.

“Typical. And a new jar too. . .just for me, lover?” He came back over to the bed, the hand which held the container waggling back and forth. He pulled the bedclothes down till all that remained was the bottom sheet.

“Fucking skewer me, Dave,” Roger said, putting his hand on David’s wrist as he went to take the top off the jar of Vaseline. “Make it hurt.”

“I’ll hurt you alright, but not at the expense of my own pleasure. Stop being a bossyboots and let me get on with it or you’ll get a smack ‘cross your rutting gob.”

David noticed Roger’s eyes were wide and eager. “I’ll be good,” he whispered.

“Oh you can be bad,” David said, that strange smile returning to his lips. “But you’ll pay for it.”

He knelt between Roger’s open legs, took two greased fingers and slid them right up Roger’s anus, preparing the way. At the immediate touch of the cold lubricant Roger gasped and let out a broken groan as David’s fingers pushed inside.

“Hmm, you’ve gone snug again Georgie, we’ll have to fix that.”

The insistent hot pressure traveled right up Roger’s spine and through the top of his head, nearly causing him to black out, but he released laboring breaths from between clenched teeth and spread his legs as far apart as they would go.

“Yes, hurry, please.” He wanted that moment of consummation more than he could ever articulate.

“Here,” said David, placing the jar on Roger’s chest with his other hand. “Get me ready.”

Roger picked up the jar with a trembling hand and began to apply Vaseline along the length of David’s cock. “You’re a cold chisel already.”

“I’ll use it to carve my name on your insides. Eternally.”

“Yes,” Roger gasped again, his hand sliding along the length over and over.

David withdrew his fingers and wiped them on the sheet. He sat back.

“Turn over,” he commanded.

“But –“

David slapped Roger across the face as hard as he could, the sound cracked in the relative silence of the room like a gunshot, and Roger’s head remained in the terminus of the traveling force.

“You’ll turn over and take it like the mindless slut that you are, or so help me I will beat you senseless. Now which is it to be?!”

Roger turned himself over, and David pulled his hips up level with his own crotch.

“Scream if you must, but if Security comes calling you’ll pay for that too.”

Roger struggled to pull all the pillows toward his head, burying his face into as many as he could. Sure enough, when David rubbed more Vaseline into his anus then unceremoniously pushed his cock inside he let out a scream that would have shamed a Hammer Horror actress.

“Mmm, absence makes the arse grow tighter, it’s like the first time all over again,” David taunted, but his voice was equally thick with lust.

Let him remember what it feels like to humiliate me, Roger thought. Let him remember how much he wants that, wants me.

Roger tried not to scream the entire time, although when David had slid far enough inside to brush his prostate he let out a particularly loud yell and came all over himself. It was hot like shame, thickly coating his belly. David dug his fingers into the skin, his fingertips pressing the hipbones. He couldn’t thrust - Roger’s muscles were far too taunt for such an action – but he pushed forward as forcefully as he could manage.

“You did make this worth my while, you whore, oh Christ I’m going to spunk, you’re so fucking tight, oh Rog –“

David’s orgasm hit him with the force of a punch, he let out a strangled cry and fell against Roger, they both collapsed onto the mattress. Roger was grateful it was over; he felt like he was on fire, but also victorious. Sex was probably the easier way to get David to depend on him again, because they could fight forever, but as long as they could also express their tension in this way then the fights were only just shadows of the veritable chasm of passion which lay beneath.

And that was what held them together and always would: passion for control, passion for the music, passion for each other.

Roger closed his eyes and smiled faintly, comforted by the weight and the ache which were as familiar as breathing.

Two days and a dazed aching drive later, Roger pulled into the border waystation at Calais just before the exit to the ferry and the clerk in the booth held up a form as he braked alongside the window.

“Anything to declare, sir?” she asked. “Any agricultural or luxury items?”

God help me, I still love you. To the very depths of my soul. As utterly and as madly as I have every day of the past eight years.

“No,” he replied.
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Declarations