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I have the touch	By : luna65 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 894 -:- 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-I have the touch.
- 1
Another shower. Roger hated shower stalls.

“Was bathing outlawed in this country?” he asked aloud, looking into yet another motel bathroom. Thank God they were headed back before the end of the month.

“What are you on about?” David inquired from his supine position on the bed.

“There’s never a tub in these places.”

“It’s a motel, that’s how they’re built, I assume. You mean you don’t know why from an architectural standpoint?”

“Do shut up.” Roger came and sat down beside David on the bed, removing his boots, then swung his legs over with a sigh. “So what have I been summoned for now?”

“Not in the mood then? Planning to welch?”

Roger grimaced. “’Course not.” He brought his knees up and rested his elbows upon them, cradling his face in his hands. “Sick to death of this country.”

“Seems rather like home,” David observed, his hands cradling his own head in the reverse of his lover’s pose. “It’s so cold and gloomy this time of year.”

“But it’s not home, and that’s where I want to be.”

“You’re running roughshod on me feelings, lad, I thought you and I were having fun.”

“Christ Dave, I’m not implying we weren’t! I just get weary of everything after a while.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Roger attempted to let go of his tension, grasping his legs and resting his chin atop his knees. He gave David what he hoped was a sweet smile, but he really wasn’t sure if he was aping the appropriate expression.

“All right, see, I’m not pissing and moaning now. What do you ask of me?”

David grinned. “I’d like a massage. My feet, actually.”

“Let me ask you something: have you ever gotten a woman to agree to all this buggering ‘round with your feet that you’re so fond of?”

“I never got ‘no’ for an answer. ‘Bout anything. Not till I met you.”

“There’s your problem then, so used to being king of the castle.”

“And our wager was that you would be my slave for a week.”

“Sexual slave, as you so specifically articulated. Rubbing your filthy feet is not sexual.”

“Doing anything with my feet, which are clean by-the-by, definitely leads to something sexual.”

Roger rolled his eyes. “S’just an odd thing. Isn’t one supposed to fancy women’s feet?”

“Just feet. There was a girl I met in Torremolinos, and she told me Pisceans feel everything in their feet.”

Roger snorted. “Astrological rubbish!”

“P’raps, but all the same it’s true for me.”

Roger sighed and unfolded himself, moving to the end of the bed and clasping a bare foot between slender fingers. He ran his thumbs across the arch and was amused to see his temporary master squirm uncontrollably. He was perversely reminded of the time Dave got himself shocked at a gig.

“Keep doing that,” David breathed, “but harder.”

Roger dug his thumbs in and David let out a very loud moan.

“Christ, Dave, keep it down!”

“No one knows you’re here.”

“If you’re too loud it means someone might find that out.”

“All right, I’ll try to control meself.”

Roger began his task again and all the while David looked smugly into his eyes, his smile just this side of pure bliss.

“I can’t concentrate if you look at me like that.”

David closed his eyes, but his smile remained.

Roger ruminated on the texture of the soles of David’s feet, which were smoother than he imagined, given how often David went about barefoot. He was still moaning, but softly, and Roger began thinking of his cats, and how David reminded him of a cat: he loved pleasure, enjoyed the sheer sensuality of certain experiences like eating, listening to music, lying in a field of grass and looking up at the sky. And so this predilection began to appear more reasonable, given the character of the man who possessed it.

Roger knew his amateurish technique was successful when David summarily tackled him after a time and they nearly fell off the bed. They both laughed like children but what they did next was something a great deal more mature.

And kissing, how he loves to kiss, though with that mouth he was born to the task. And his lips brush my flesh as I’d always dreamed they’d might ever since I began to desire them. One can only look upon someone for so long with mere neutrality.

Roger pinned those broad shoulders down upon the mattress, using the leverage of his height to keep David in place. But his feet stroked Roger’s legs and curved around Roger’s ass. They were slightly cold and Roger let out a shocked gasp. He could feel David’s toes curl like fingers upon his skin. Sex was an especially tactile experience - his reassuring weight, his near-satin skin, the thick silk of his hair – Roger had never truly understood the intensity of actually feeling in the moment of touch, or had dismissed such inklings as adolescent fever dreams. But he reveled to near-hysteria in David’s arms, in the crush and the tangle of his embrace.

“Mmm, yes, rub me like that,” a teasing whisper in his ear.

Roger used his elongated digits to specific advantage, trailing the length of David’s cock, then reaching down to cup his scrotum, squeezing it lightly and using one finger to brush the perineum, eliciting another gasp.

“There’s the spot,” Roger whispered.

“Use your tongue.”

Roger obliged, sliding down to put his dark head between David’s legs, smelling salt and clean warm skin and the slight tang of pheromones which radiated forth in the moment of contact. He paused to run his tongue over a well-developed erection and a firm sac, awarded with soft moans for his trouble. He licked the dew of arousal from the head, then sucked just hard enough to hear a aaaahhhohhhhh from that famous sleepy-voiced larynx. Roger loved the space in David’s voice when he chose to use it, the sort of high breathy tone which could be the aural equivalent of warm milk in the right frame of mind.

He moved further down and tongued the nerve, but with a heavy hand upon one of David’s thighs, to keep him from moving too much. They had ended up on the floor so many times just from the sheer excitement of the simplest of acts, breathless and giddy and grasping each other as if they were drowning.

“Mmm, so fucking good. Come up here.”

Roger looked up, and breathed upon David’s genitals. “Don’t want me to suck you off, master? Or perform some Morse code ‘pon the barse?”

David laughed. “You’re not allowed to make suggestions, cheeky thing.”

Roger moved up and to the side, until face-to-face and immersed again in that seemingly limitless blue gaze. “I was only thinking of you, you know.”

“Oh you know how to bring me off with those skilled hands. But I want your mouth on mine, and on my neck.”

David enjoyed collecting love bites and his reputation was such that no one thought it strange when he always had at least a couple in prominent spots. Roger endured them equally, but requested they be in less conspicuous places.

“You and your kissing.”

“You’ve got a mouth on you, slave. Methinks I’ll have to beat some of that spirit right out of you.”

“Do that and I won’t be nearly as much fun you know.”

“You’ll just have to learn to use your big mouth more constructively, hmm?”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

“You do that,” David suggested, although the subtext of his tone meant Roger thought instead of the specific ways in which he could undertake the command. And then all was warm breath and velvet tongue and bee-stung lips which grew further bruised with the force of their combined passion.
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I have the touch