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secret tidings	By : luna65 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 831 -:- 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-secret tidings
- 1
The torpor was overwhelming, David mused. Now was the perfect opportunity to be pounding Roger into the (somewhat saggy) mattress inside their rented ramshackle lovenest, but his lover was sound asleep on the chaise lounge next to him and David felt too sweaty and dazed to move. He could only squint at the bright hot light of Crete and the colorful crowd on the beach in the middle distance: shapely girls in bikinis and the hoards of men who ogled them and attempted conversation. A few fishermen climbed the slope with their daily catches, strings of silvery fat fish.

Suddenly recalling a good reason to get up, David picked up the Greek dictionary from the floor beside him and quickly attempted to find the proper phraseology for his decided task. He supposed a simple phrasebook would have made a better choice for the trip, but he already owned the other from his days in the Modern Languages program at Cambridge Tech. He had often thought, back then, about studying Greek seriously, but in the end had opted for German in addition to the Romance languages which were his concentration.

After a few moments of studying various verb tenses David imagined he had puzzled it out well enough and roused himself forth, climbing over the low wall of the veranda and following the progress of the fishermen to the marketplace a few streets up from where their modest villa was located. He checked the currency in his pockets, hoping it was enough and the sellers honest. David came up on their collective stall and inspected the day’s catch. He found a pile in a bin which looked and smelled deliciously fresh and briny, labeled barbounia. He thought it the best choice, though he was tempted by the bin of kalamari alongside the other, but Roger already proclaimed he had no love for squid.

“Posa kostizi afto?” he inquired, hoping he was pronouncing it well enough to be understood. He placed a finger upon one of the fish: it felt cool and slippery, its’ scales were shiny and bore a reddish tinge.

The target of David’s inquiry cocked his head and pursed his lips. David had received more than a few appraising stares as soon as he and Roger had arrived in Crete and this one was more brazen than most. The man was attractive, with the round soulful eyes, dark curls and strong nose of the native men, but David wasn’t tempted by anything but the fish. The man made a gesture – shrugging and putting his hands out – then David pulled out a handful of 100 drachma notes and began counting. The other pulled the paper out of his hand once David had counted out five. He wrapped two of the fish in sheets of newspaper and gave them to David with a wink.

“Milas filo?”

“Signómi?”

The man waved him off, smiling.

As he returned to the house David realized he was barefoot, shirtless, and fairly disheveled-looking. He wondered if the tease (as he imagined it was) had something to do with his appearance. He didn’t figure it for a typical come-on merely because the man had not made a sucking sound with his lips as most of them normally did. The taxi driver who had delivered Roger and David to the house from the ferry dock (for more drachma than he was probably legally allowed to charge) informed him it was common custom, it meant they thought he was succulent. Roger had found that detail most amusing.

“Ah, you are universally found to be a dishy twit.”

David rolled his eyes. “Shut it, wanker, or I’ll tell him you’re getting jealous.”

Roger’s laugh was a sharp bark. “Jealous? Don’t be absurd!”

David smiled. “Mmm yes, they haven’t seen you in your bathing costume; have they, my long-legged beauty.”

“Hush prat,” Roger hissed between gritted teeth and David continued to smile smugly.

Once within the dark sanctuary of the tiny house they had shed all pretense to rivalry and tension and sprang on one another, falling onto a rickety sofa, pulling at clothes and hair, roughly kissing and caressing and expressing all their barely-sublimated passion of the past six months.

“So we get a proper holiday after the festival…should we all go in on a house together? In Ibiza maybe, or Lindos?”
David loved Lindos, and the blue Aegean…the heat and the glaring light.
“I thought you wanted to get far away from everyone,” he said, surprised that Roger was even making the suggestion of a communal holiday.
“Well we won’t be working, will we? Much easier to tolerate everyone when one isn’t working. And we can get a nice place if we all pool our funds.”
“Why don’t we – as in you and me – sneak off for a weekend?”
“Where?”
“Crete. No one we know goes there.”
“Rather rough, isn’t it?” At David’s look of surprise Roger shrugged. “Well that’s what I’ve heard.”
“Rather sedate. Nice and hot. Pretty ruins.”
Roger was suddenly fascinated by his fingers, picking at his calluses. “Dunno; how could we manage it?”
“I’ll make the arrangements, you make an excuse. I, on the other hand, am beholden to no one.”
Roger snorted. “No one?”
“No one who would argue my reasoning, in this case.”
“Eh…”
“Rog, do you honestly believe we could make it through a fortnight in a house together along with the rest of the crowd? Not being able to sneak off? After three days I guarantee you I’d spend the rest of it soused so as not to notice. This way, we can ease the tension before it even occurs.”
“Not even with other distractions?”
“There are always distractions, and I don’t want any of them, I want you.”
Roger looked around nervously. They were the only members of their entourage in the pub after rehearsal but he was forever skittish.
“Yes,” David pressed, but lowered his voice, “I want you. Want to spend time with you, doing lots of things I won’t mention in public lest you faint. Don’t be a ninnie, Georgie, carpe diem.”
“That’s Latin, prat. What’s the Greek equivalent?”
“Dunno. Does that mean you accept?”
Roger sighed and flipped his hair. “Give me some time –“
“We don’t have very much of that before we all have to decide.”
Roger looked at his watch. “And it’s getting late. You may harangue me tomorrow, eh?”
“Count on it.”
Roger finished his pint and leaned in to whisper to his bandmate. “Do wish we had the time for mischief tonight, lover.”
“Can’t have everything, Rog,” was David’s wry reply.

…and wasn’t that a pity. One day nearly gone, three remaining. And they would go by much too fast.

Roger was awake, smoking and reading a three-day-old copy of the Evening Standard.

“Where the bloody hell have you been?”

“Shopping,” David answered, placing the fish inside the icebox, which while dilapidated was wholly functional. “The lady at the bar we went to last night said if I brought her some fish she’d cook it for us.”

“Don’t want to give it a go yourself?”

“Thought about it,” David paused and poured himself a glass of bottled water before closing the door, “but there’s not enough utensils for us to even eat off of.”

“What kind of a hovel did you rent for us?”

David walked out onto the veranda and wove his fingers into Roger’s hair. “One for a very specific purpose.”

“And that is?” Roger turned a page and tried to suppress his smile.

“To ravish you in.” He pulled Roger’s head towards him and kissed the upturned face.

“When’s dinner then?”

“Whenever we’re hungry.”

“Don’t even know what time it is.”

David thought of the stopped clock on the mantel, which he had turned to the wall, insisting time was a non-issue though the truth was something far more poignant.

“Don’t need to know. You’ve two choices now: the beach or the bed.”

“Can’t play with you on the beach.”

“We can if we find a private spot.”

“Too much sand. Already can feel sand in places where it shouldn’t be.”

“Well that leads to another option, then. The tub.”

“That tub looks rather dodgy, y’know. As if it might leak.”

“Don’t want to risk it so I can scrub you squeaky clean?”

Roger stubbed out his cigarette and set down the paper. He stood up and turned to face his lover, smiling. He liked to use the advantage of his height to pin David to any available flat vertical surface as he did at that moment, leaning against the other and kissing those succulent lips, threading his own long fingers through David’s thick tresses, noting his hair was already lightening after only a morning of strong Grecian sun.

“On second thought, yes, I’d like a soak. You, me, and that bottle of ouzo we haven’t finished yet.”

David smiled, but pretended to be surprised.

“Aren’t we decisive! Sure you don’t want to waffle some more, deliberate for another hour?”

“The tide is ever turning, Dave, even if you’ve declared it stopped.”

“Then let’s not waste any further tidings on obvious pronouncements.”

Roger chuckled and followed David into the bathroom.
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secret tidings