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welcome intrusion	By : luna65 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 1043 -:- 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-welcome intrusion
- 1
The sky was gunmetal-gray and threatening rain. Not the usual gentle English rain, however - David had already been doused by something heavier than dew but lighter than a drizzle - as he circled the property with his dog, relishing the peace though still feeling vaguely lost. Ginger had gone to America to visit her family but David could not accompany her, as the band had already wasted too much time fumbling around in the studio in search of ideas. It was a Sunday, their agreed day off and beyond catching some footie on the telly, David had no specific plans to do anything, merely whatever came to mind.

Above him the sky rumbled with distant thunder. Jasper raised his head and barked loudly.

“C’mon then, Jaz,” David called, slapping his thigh and whistling. “I feel like a fry-up, how ‘bout you, eh?”

More ominous echoes as they set off towards the house. But another sound revealed itself in the spaces between the basso profundo. A car was making its’ laborious way up the road. David stopped in the garden, head tilted. The sound of the engine was familiar though he couldn’t place it specifically. He has always admired Nick’s ability to not only name a car’s make and model based on the sound of the engine, but also if it was owned by someone he knew. He heard the car slow and turn onto the gravel of the circular driveway, and was seized by an ambivalent curiosity. He moved onto the side path and came through the gate on the right just in time to see the unmistakable form of Roger Waters emerge from his Mini, the car in question.

“Merde!” David hissed between his teeth, but composed his expression into one of guarded inquiry. “Well Rog, I can only shudder to think what brings you out here,” he called out.

“Knew you’d be at loose ends, “ Roger said, removing a guitar case from the boot.

“All the better to exploit me, eh?”

Jasper trotted up and pointedly sniffed at Roger’s pant legs.

“Hullo there, doggie,” Roger greeted him, looking somewhat unsure.

“He smells your cats. You might not be allowed in.”

Roger made a comical grimace and David let out another whistle, leading Jasper to the garden. “C’mon pup, you have a nice romp out here, alright?” He heard the front door open, Roger was already letting himself in.

“See here now,” he teased, “I don’t recall actually inviting you in.”

“I don’t need an invitation,” Roger retorted, “I’ve earned the right to barge in whenever I like.”

David chuckled, closing the door behind him. “Hmm, remind to find a new house.”

He leaned back and Roger was upon him all in an instant, their bodies colliding with sudden force.

“So this is what you drove all the way out to Roydon for,” David murmured teasingly, “a nice Sunday shag?”

“It’s been hell,” Roger replied, his face in David’s hair. “I wanted, I needed to touch you. It’s as if I can’t stop being sad.”

“And here I thought your bitchy mood was the result of me not being able to play anything you liked,” David observed, but kept his arms around his lover, nuzzling his neck.

“Well that’s me, isn’t it? Never satisfied,” Roger quipped.

“There are going to be times we can’t be alone, it’s always been that way.”

“But I need you right now, alright?”

“Alright, Rog,” David relented, giving him a slight push to move them away from the door.

“Besides, I wanted to play something, just for you. I think I’ve got that tune worked out.”

“Which one?”

“The one ‘bout us.”

David looked at the floor, a faint smile teasing his mouth. “The one everyone else thinks is about –“

“Right.”

Another rolling tympani of thunder sounded. Jasper defended the property against whatever he feared was lurking in the sky.

“Sounds as though I got here just in time,” Roger observed, moving to one of the front windows and pulling aside the curtain.

“Yes, your sense of timing is bang on. It’s your tone which completely fails you.”

“Sod off.”

David moved towards the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

“No, of course not, it’s not even close to tea.”

“I haven’t eaten yet.”

“It’s after one o’clock, I find that very difficult to believe.”

“I’d been asleep till about an hour ago.”

Roger sighed. “Well did you put the kettle on, at least?”

“Of course.”

Roger followed him in and sat down at the table.

“It’s incredibly cold out here.”

“Yeah?” David said, retrieving a cast-iron skillet from the drainpan by the sink and placing it upon one of the gas rings. “Doesn’t seem any more cold than anywhere else.”

“It’s all that space, the wind just comes roaring right at you.”

David found a clean cup and poured some tea for Roger. “This isn’t the moors, lad, it’s just Essex.”

“Might as well be the end of the bloody earth, for all the time it takes to drive out here,” Roger muttered, stirring the liquid as he added a touch of milk.

He really does miss me, David thought. He fetched some eggs and sausages from the larder, then turned on the gas. “Are you sure you don’t want some?”

“No, thank you,” Roger answered, then took a small sip of tea. He made a queasy sort of face as David put four sausages into the pan.

“Just because you live in the country doesn’t mean you need to eat like a farmer.”

“Two of them are for the dog, not that it’s any of your concern.”

“Hmm.”

“Besides, this isn’t a proper fry-up, there’s no bacon.”

“I see.” Roger removed his jacket, then extracted a pack of cigarettes. “Planning on watching the match?”

“Is it on now?”

“At two, I think.”

“You did get here just in time.”

Another “hmm” as Roger lit up. Between the rumbles and the barks now came the sounds of grease popping in the pan as David fried the sausages, then two eggs, as well as some tinned tomatoes and slices of bread. Roger watched his progress with indulgent affection, he enjoyed being reminded of their differences in such ways.

David put two sausages onto a plate and opened the back door.

“Jaz me boy, come on then!”

The dog hurried into the room with an eager whine, immediately attacking the food as soon as David set it down on the floor. Roger snickered.

“What?” David asked as he sat down beside him with a steaming plate.

“Methinks someone wouldn’t approve of the dog eating off her fine china.”

“Well she won’t ever know, will she?” David replied, raising his eyebrows and taking a large bite of his meal.

Yet another noise of assent, and David kept his eyes on Roger as he watched the dog eat.

“You can sing it, I know, it’s in your range.”
“But it’s so smarmy, Rog, I’m not good at that character sort of thing like you are. I just sing.”
“But it’s not in my range, I’m having a hard enough time with that as it is on the other tracks.”
“I’m sorry, I just can’t relate to it.” His eyes could not meet the other’s, he felt uncomfortable at having to admit to such a thing. And to refuse the simple request, it seemed as if he were refusing something far greater than a plea for vocal duties.

Roger pursed his lips every time he exhaled smoke, and for all the attention people placed upon his own mouth, David thought Roger’s just as lush especially when contrasted against his flinty cheekbones. His eyes kept darting – from the dog to the floor and back again – as if he were struggling with thoughts, their weight too great for him to bear. In deference to this heavy internal weather, David finished his meal as quickly as he could. Putting his plate in the sink, he filled up a bowl of water for Jasper and led Roger into the parlour, cups of tea in hand.

“So didya want to play for me, then?” he asked, seating himself on the couch.

“Not now,” Roger replied, crossing the room to switch on the television.

“Make yourself at home,” David quipped. “There’s whisky in the cupboard, if you like.”

Roger peered inside the liquor cabinet and extracted a bottle of Southern Comfort. “I do.” He unscrewed the cap and took a healthy swig, coughing just slightly as it went down.

“Give it here,” David said, holding his hand out for the bottle. Roger came over to the sofa and seated himself right next to his bandmate, who snatched the bottle out of his hand.

“Greedy thing,” Roger muttered, lighting another cigarette.

The bouts of thunder came closer, slight static on the television indicated lightning was also nearby.

“D’ya think the current might go out?” David mused after a pull.

“Doesn’t matter,” Roger said, taking back the bottle for a drink.

“You are depressed, aren’t you?”

The power finally failed for good and all just as Arsenal was ready to defend the goal in the last five of the first half. They concurrently yelled at the screen and felt a little odd to be suddenly caught out in the near-dark.

“S’pose I’ll build a fire, then,” David said, pushing himself off the couch.

“You actually know how?”

“Well of course I do!” David exclaimed. “You don’t?”

“It’s not something one is required to know,” Roger replied testily.

“Spoiled prat,” David teased, kneeling before the grate and removing the guard. He placed some small pieces of tinder and shredded newspaper upon the bed of ashes then used a fireplace match to light it, blowing softly to get the flame to catch. He also lit a few candles already in the room, which had the effect of making the shadows larger rather than dispelling them. David added more fuel to the fire and after a few minutes it was burning steadily, its’ warmth flushing his face.

“Well I’ll be,” Roger quipped, “you are a really useful engine.”

David stood up and leaned against the mantle, playfully flipping his hair. “Oh I know you think I am, else you wouldn’t be here.”

An enormous clap of thunder shook the house, sending Jasper scrambling from the kitchen to take refuge under a chair, whining. A great flow of water drowned out every other sound at that moment, seemingly directly from overhead.

“Sod this,” David remarked, going over to the window which looked out upon the garden. “We might have to build an ark.”

“I s’pose you’ll say you’ve a knowledge of carpentry as well, hmm?”

“You should know more about that than I would, lad.”

“I’m a designer, twit, not a labourer.”

David rolled his eyes and returned to the couch, letting himself fall onto Roger. Roger shoved back at the sudden mass.

“Christ you cow! S’not dark enough to make that mistake!”

“Isn’t that what you came here for? And there’s nothing else to do now, after all.”

Roger paused, suddenly, a look of confusion forming. “I could swear I hear a cat.”

David stood up. “Oh it’s probably Topper, poor thing. The barn leaks.”

“Well let him in before he drowns!”

“You let him in, I’ll have to put the dog away.” David pulled a reluctant Jasper out from under the chair and led him away to one of the bedrooms while Roger returned to the kitchen and opened the back door. A dark gray cat darted inside, shaking its’ fur furiously.

“You’re a bit wet, aren’t you?” Roger softly said, then opened all the drawers till he found a tea towel. “Let’s fluff you up again, hmm?” He held out a hand until the cat decided he was worthy enough to associate with, then allowed himself to be dried off. Roger scooped him up and carried him into the parlour where David was placing more wood upon the blaze.

“Why did you banish this poor chap out in the cold?” Roger asked, rubbing his chin on Topper’s head.

“He wants to be outside, as he’s the son-of-a-son-of-a-mouser. The barn is his hunting ground.”

Roger seated himself and Topper splayed across his chest, eyes closed and purring loudly.

“I s’pose there’s no room for me now, is there?” David chided.

“Not at the moment,” Roger replied, raising an eyebrow.

“C’mon then, puss,” David said, gently divesting Roger of his feline bundle, “lie by the fire where it’s nice and warm.” Topper made a faint mew of protest, then David held him up in front of his face, touching noses.

“That’s not your man, cat,” he said, and Topper responded with a purr.

Roger looked down from the scene and smiled, the first time he had done so in more days than he could recall. It was an eminently cozy scene: the fire inside burning brightly in contrast to the torrential downpour in the darkening outside. And David, laying claim to Roger in his own house, even as they’d argued so terribly in the last few months and each accused the other of absence, of frigidity, of apathy. It made Roger ache so badly he wanted to concurrently cry and throw himself at the one person who tormented him even as he drove him to heights of passion he never dreamed he was capable of.

“I don’t understand why we just can’t use the songs we’ve already worked up, why do we have to waste even more time writing new ones?”
“Writing songs is not a ‘waste of time,’ Dave. It’s what we do.”
“I just don’t see the sense in expending energy we don’t have to.”
“Because you’d rather be doing anything else than working with me, isn’t that right?”
They stared at one another, but David could not hold the stare, and Roger knew he was right. He was always right.

“Speaking of Noah,” he said, watching David deposit the cat upon the hearth, “where are your horses, then?”

“Overnight in Loughton, being shod. Which is just as well, considering.”

“Quite.”

“Now then, me boy, where were we?” David reclaimed his seat and pulled Roger to him. “P’raps it was here?” He leaned in and bestowed his guest with a gentle kiss which increased in urgency the longer it went on. But Roger pulled away even as David appeared to be enjoying himself.

“You don’t really want me here, do you?” he asked, his voice low.

“If that was the case do you think I’d have let you stay?”

“You endure things very well, to the point where I no longer know what you can or cannot stand.”

“Now I know you did not come here to fight, so why are we?”

“I can’t stop thinking about him.”

David sighed. “Yes, you’ve been saying that for months now. But you’re acting like it’s my fault.”

“Think about it: we would have never. . .” Roger waved a hand to place their intricacies of relation into an abstraction easier to bear than specifics. “And so he’s between us, forever.”

“He might be the reason, but he’s not the thing itself. As much as we both loved him –“

“You, of course, more specifically than I.”

“Yes, but you’re the one ever-pining for him, I think. You’re just as bad as all those acid casualties who want to deify him to justify their own excesses.”

“He didn’t deserve what we did to him!”

David’s face went blank, his voice dropped into a near-inaudible register.

“You mean, what you did.”

And instead of arguing the point as he normally would have, Roger burst into tears, burying his face in his hands. His sobs sounded so painfully desperate David was close to crying himself. They were both so very tired and yet eternally compelled to move forward, dragging each other along in their particular way. David had wondered, of late, what he would do if he didn’t have Roger to spur and taunt him into accomplishing things, now that the world itself recognized their talents. . .and the subsequent lack of an answer terrified him.

“I need you,” the soft murmur came, in a cocoon of bedclothes and candlelight and warm flesh; of mouths and hands and tongues seeking union. “There, I’ve said it. I need you to be here, with me, now.”

“But I am,” the other voice said, equally hushed and drowsy with satiated desire.

“Not like this, I mean. . .I need your mind, and your heart, to be totally committed to me, to us, as it’s supposed to be. Like it was. I feel you pulling away from me and it’s like I’m dying.”

“But you push me away, you know you do. Sometimes you won’t let me into your heart, it’s as if you’re afraid of me.”

“You do frighten me, sometimes, but I don’t know why.”

David smirked, propping his head upon a raised hand. “Perfection is rather unnerving, isn’t it?” he deadpanned.

Roger’s response was to pull the pillow out from under him and smack his lover full in the face. “Hush, you sodding prat!”

David began giggling and Roger eventually succumbed as well.

“Since you are here, and will likely stay the night,” David said after a time, nodding his head toward the window and the soggy darkness beyond, “why don’t you play me the song, eh? Before we get too randy again.”

Roger got out of bed and went back into the parlour to fetch his guitar. “You play too,” he called out.

“Okay,” David said, and picked up his Martin, which was waiting in its’ stand nearby. He sat crosslegged on the bed and did a quick tuning. Roger walked back in and David stopped, struck dumb by his magnificent example of angularity.

“What are you staring at?” Roger demanded, giving his partner an odd look.

“You’re such a bag o’bones, Rog. But I’ll suck the meat right off.”

“And you’re a bloody pervert! You can’t expect me to do this if you’re going to be leering at me.”

David attempted to look contrite. “Sorry.”

“Not likely, but we’ll let it pass.”

Roger assumed the same position right next to him. David leaned over and tuned his guitar as well.

“You do the intro. How’s the verse?”

“In C.” David demonstrated by strumming.

“Right. Tell me when to come in.”

David began to play a riff he was still amazed he’d even come up with, it was instantly memorable and possessed an interesting character, almost a country feel. He had gone out and bought a Charlie Rich record to play for Rick, to give him an idea of how he thought the piano should sound on the track. After the appropriate amount of measures he nodded to Roger, who doubled him on the verse.

So. So you think you can tell.

He then stopped.

“What?” David asked, looking slightly exasperated.

“This isn’t in my range,” Roger said. “You’ll have to sing it.”

It was as insistent as previous requests, but this one carried more weight. David had read part of the poem, which Roger handed to him silently a day after their most contentious argument, and thought it was one of the saddest and yet most poetic things Roger had ever written.

“Of course.”

They began again.

It was only a four-note sequence: B-flat, F, G minor third, E.
But it made Roger sit up in his chair in the rehearsal room, practically dropping the notepad he’d been doodling upon, half-listening to David’s meanderings during their tea break.
“Stop!” he commanded, looking up at his bandmate. “Go back to that.”
“What?”
“What you just played, the dah-dah-dah-DAH.”
David repeated the sequence.
“Oh you fucking bastard, that’s it!”
“That’s what?”
“That’s Syd’s theme. That’s bloody it, you fucking genius.”
David smiled, that wholly gorgeous smile he could produce whenever he made Roger happy. Because their happiness was more hopelessly entwined than either of them could ever know.
- 1
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welcome intrusion