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Reunion	By : luna65 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 700 -:- 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-Reunion
- 1
They’d fought and it had been one of their knock-down drag-out specials with various insults and threats of violence to one another. The band was due to tour in a week and the rehearsals had been grueling, problems with the cues and the effects seeming to multiply. And it all culminated in Roger losing both his patience and his temper and making David his prime target. David had taken the abuse for a good five minutes until Roger had sniped about his “mangy” appearance and that was the last fucking straw. He handed his guitar to Phil and pulled Roger into the lavatory, wherein they screamed and pushed at one another, but their frustration did not eventually transform as it normally did. Instead, Roger had called him a “fucking albatross” and stormed off.

David was deeply hurt, despite the fact that he believed he had grown quite a thick skin. He saw it as a necessity, the price for Roger’s secret affections. But all of this pressure and responsibility was beginning to weigh on both of them, snapping the struts of their…whatever it was.

Neither of them could admit to what it might be.

David returned to the hall, told the others to knock off, and quickly departed before anyone could begin a conversation. He wasn’t in a position to explain anything. He drove to a certain pub he knew of, one where he might find some particular distraction, and where no one knew him specifically. The bartender only knew he was posh because he tipped well. After a pint and a pasty he felt calmer, though no less morose.

Goddamn you. Why do I put up with your shit? And why do you hurt me?

“You’re not fooling anyone, y’know,” he heard a voice on his right inform him. He swiveled his head and looked right into the face of Glenn Goring, starting at the sight.

“Good Christ, Glenn, y’can’t creep up on a chap like that!”

“I can. But truly, Dave, y’think you can hide your beauty under a beard and greasy hair, disguise yourself as a crone?” He snorted. “Ridiculous!”

David paused to consider the timing of this encounter. Four years to the day? Saints preserve us!

“Y’haven’t come to shanghai me again, have ya?”

Glenn gave a rueful chuckle and sipped at his drink. Underneath the woody tone of the liquor David smelled that familiar sweetness. Sometimes he even dreamed about it.

“Comus taught us all a lesson, ‘tis true. But you can’t blame me for wanting you, even now.”

David cleared his throat, took a deep draught of ale, kept his eyes on the match on the telly. “It’s one thing to want, quite another to enchant. S’not cricket, y’know.”

“You know nothing of magic, save what I let you know. But you can’t tell me it wasn’t glorious.”

“So are you still a wizard –“

“- Magus.”

“- magus, then?”

“Of course. P'haps there is no earthly reward in it, but there rarely is.”

Glenn’s eyes never left his face, and David felt himself warming in the force of his stare, as if he were sitting out in full sunlight.

“You’ve been following me ‘round, I know that.”

“How could I resist the chance to watch you, even from a distance? Though in truth, yes, I’d rather that view be directly under me as I’m pleasuring you.”

David choked on his drink and Glenn chuckled.

“So you do remember.”

“What happened to you? After your grand scheme was thwarted?”

“That I don’t remember. All I recall was being knocked out, and then waking again sometimes later, and everyone had gone, save us. We made our way home, not knowing what had transpired, only to find when we returned that things had not gone the way we’d planned. I rather hoped you could tell me.”

“It didn’t work, I’d say that’s all you need to know.”

He doesn’t recall being possessed, and that’s likely just as well. Such a thing could drive a person mad.

Every time he saw Glenn's face, staring up at him in the crowd, it was like a ghost: pale and pitiless and angry. David supposed not all ghosts were vengeful, but why else would they haunt the drab environs of the material world unless they carried a specific stone, tethering them to petty torments?

Glenn’s eyes were a different sort of blue, he was a classic English beauty.

“But you, you’ve succeeded beyond anyone’s dreams, haven’t you? Beyond your own, most assuredly.”

David smirked, drained his glass. “Yes, I s’pose so. Though the only thing that matters is whether one is happy.”

“Are you? Happy?”

“Don’t I look it?”

“Y’look like a man who’s trying to disguise himself. As if he’s ashamed of something.”

David tilted his empty glass towards the bartender, then snorted in derision. “Rubbish!”

“I don’t know who cursed you, it certainly wasn’t me. But even I can see you’ll never be faithful, to anything or anyone.”

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

“Do y’have another charm there, in your bag of tricks?”

“I do. But it’s only temporary, and as much as I’d like to avail you of it, p’haps you might fare better with this.”

Glenn placed a finger on the rim of David’s glass. As he dragged it along the edge it made a ringing sound. David chuckled.

“We spent an entire week trying to get tones out of glass, and here you just bloody appear to me and do it straight off.”

“Minor magic.”

“You’re still a pretty thing, Glenn Goring, and I’m not too drunk to take you up on it, disgraced or not.”

“You’re not afraid I won’t try for your soul again?”

“S’too late for that, it’s already been tendered for good and all.”

Their eyes met, and Glenn gave David a sad smile. “Yes, I see that it has. D’ya believe in fate, Dave?”

“Dunno. I don’t really believe in anything save my own decisions.”

“I do, because I fashion it every day.” Glenn nodded towards the door and they departed, but not before David had left his customary 20 pound note upon the bar. Hush money.

Glenn instructed David to drive to Fulham, and he wondered if Glenn had always lived there, not too far from where he used to reside in the house of Mad Morag. Wondered just how long the other had coveted him, planned the seduction then acted upon it. Miraculously (one might say, unless one were in the company of a Magus) a car was pulling away from the kerb just as David approached. Once he negotiated the spot he turned to Glenn with a smirk.

“Minor magic?”

Glenn shrugged by way of reply.

Once inside the shabby building, in the equally shabby foyer, Glenn gestured to the stairs. “The lift is typically capricious.”

“One must climb the mountain to reach the master, mmm? Can’t just wave your magic wand?”

Glenn turned to face David upon the stair. “If I waved my wand –“

He grabbed at his crotch to demonstrate.

“ – I’d likely be arrested. And minor magic has no effect on such evil machinery.”

Glenn turned around and began trudging upwards once more.

“Uh, I meant, y’know…some kind of stick.”

“The wand has always referred to the wand, dear boy. Accept no substitutes.”

David began to snicker and it was all rather surreal, but the alcohol in his bloodstream helped soften the cognitive dissonance, that he was about to have sex – again – with someone who was obsessed enough to attempt to use magic to ensnare him. But magic or no, Glenn Goring really was amazing concerning matters of the flesh, worship of the wand. His playful interior monologue made David snicker once again. They reached a door on the third floor painted with sigils.

“Did you magic the landlord to get away with that?”

“I merely used another tool. . .the disc, also known as the coin.”

More snickering as Glenn unlocked the door and as it swung open, David was back in a certain place, warm and sweet and full of light and of. . .magic.

David plowed that familiar furrow, so sweet and snug and watched the golden angel beneath him cry out with adoration of the ritual, the wand within the cup: when Will meets Imagination, when the sun and moon share the sky and alight the heavens.

The magic of all Magick. As above, so below.

It wasn’t exactly the same, he had refused the honey even as the scent made him so very hungry. But Glenn drank it down and David could taste it in his kiss, feel it upon his cock as he plunged into the molten core of the Magus.

He lost track of how long they pushed and pulled at one another, a perpetual motion machine of bliss, but David was past caring if it was – again – yet another illusion, because pleasure had never been so easy to obtain. . .now, or then.

They each spurted like fountains, moaned like strumpets, shrieked like beasts and kissed as if the other were all sustenance: food, drink, oxygen, shelter.

The taste and scent and feel of Glenn’s flesh, it was the answer to all desire. . .now and then.

But David fell away, onto the mattress, upon a grimy floor in a shabby flat. The magic shimmered at the edges of everything, but could not fully disguise the circumstances. It reminded him, in fact, of Syd’s flat: haven for a madman. Glenn favored him with a smug smile, stretching like a cat.

“That was a little more than minor magic,” he quipped.

“S’like you’re made of honey,” David breathed, looking at him with slight incredulity.

“Indeed. It was Comus’ gift to me, I s’pose. I didn’t lose the knowledge of how to create the charm, and now I piss honey, I spit honey, and –“

David completed the sentence. “You spurt honey.” He lifted his fingers to his nose and knew it to be true.

“Yes, I’m the charm, I s’pose. And I can have whomever I want. Except you.”

David got up from the bed, grabbing at his clothes. “You never had me, Glenn. You merely misdirected me. S’what a magician does, I’ve heard.”

“I’m rather surprised you haven’t asked me to apologize.”

David let out a breath of faint derision. “I s’pose I don’t quite believe it actually happened.”

“You know, even if you won’t admit it to your own mind.”

David looked up, startled yet again. The timbre of Glenn’s voice had changed, to something ancient and echoing. The man lying on the bed with his hands behind his head bore Glenn’s slender pale body, his pleasingly-proportioned cock, long limbs and golden hair. But the eyes which looked out from that foxy face were now midnight blue: deep and all-discerning.

“Christ!” David exclaimed with a whisper, as his trousers slid out of his grasp and he sagged against the wall in shock.

“Do not invoke that one, if you please,” said the god Comus, winking at David Gilmour.
- 1
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Reunion