#david gilmour fanfic

[cassiana-on-dark-side]

Chapter 16 is finally here! 🎸

I know, I missed a Monday (mea culpa!), but the new chapter is ready, and I can’t wait for you to read it!

📀 In this episode:

An exclusive listening session that promises sparks (and a bit of tension).

Roger being, well, Roger.

And Doris in all her glory ... fair warning, she’s quickly becoming my favorite character too! 😆

Feel free to comment if you’d like, I love hearing your thoughts! ❤️

✨ Have fun! ✨

TO BREATH AGAIN

Chapters: 16/?

Fandom: Pink Floyd, Rock Music RPF, David Gilmour fandom

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: David Gilmour/Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Pink Floyd (Ensemble), David Gilmour, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags: ficmour, Romance, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, 1970s Pink Floyd Era, London, Era Typical Mentality, 70s london, What-If, British Slang, Teasing, Flirting, Awkward Flirting

Summary: Connie is a young administrative employee with some literary aspirations in Pink Floyd's new recording studio, Britannia Rows. Meanwhile, David's creative restlessness is on the rise and he feels the need to explore new artistic directions. What neither of them expects is the sweet feeling that will arise between them and all the turmoil that this will bring. In the background, the events of Pink Floyd engaged in the recording of the album Animals and in the following troubled tour in which they perceive the cracks in their artistic partnership widen more and more.

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list just let me know and I will be happy to do so 🥰

tag list: @sonofattacomeunapigna​ @letsdeinen​ @drathatha​ @snowcherrie​ @gilmourchilmour​ @nature-and-music​ @tangerine-page​ @whyamistillfangirling​ @multidimensionallove​ @jonesyjonesyjonesy​ @barrettavenue​ @urawizardkari​ @lsd-astronaut​​ @raiseyourgoblet-of-rock

[starstruckfangirlsposts]

David Gilmour

He's an Adonis ❤️

[daisyfloyd]

I'm back baby, and I'm posting this quickly, before I start overthinking it and end up not posting anything at all! Summary

The moonlight allowed him to see his unmistakeable silhouette, long and graceful, standing with his back to him. Roger was watching the city sleep, in an old satiny robe, and holding a cigarette between slender fingers. David admired the sight for a second before calling out his name, but Roger didn’t turn to see him. Clearly, something was bothering him, and it showed in the way he rested his hands on the railing, a posture that looked like defeat. ‘I had that dream again,’ he simply said. ‘The one about the murder?’

Info

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Pink Floyd Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: David Gilmour/Roger Waters Characters: David Gilmour, Roger Waters Additional Tags: One Shot, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, past trauma, Late Night Conversations, Love, Short & Sweet, Insecurity, I remembered Roger talking about his father's motivations to go to war and this happened, Yes David is so loving, 1970s, 1976, first fic I'm posting after a long while Series: Part 19 of Pink Floyd Collection

[lynchianightmare]

In 2022 I made a Pink Floyd parody fanfic. It was more than that, a piece of shit, to be precise.

BUT, I had laughed so hard while making it, that my delusions fooled me into thinking it was hilarious. Anyways, today after some years I decided to revisit it, unfortunately, and fixed some major typos. Anyways:

This is one of the UNEDITED PARTS. CAN SOMEONE TELL ME WHY?? WHAT WAS THE REASON?

???????

Thanks to the only person who commented though….

[thef1nalcut]

Homies making out

[the-honeydripper]

Pompeii Fire

A (belated) birthday present for my wonderful friend, beta, soundingboard and fellow Gilmour girl, @firethatgrewsolow. I love you, lady! ❤❤❤

Inspired by this performance:

***************************************

Standing backstage at the large amphitheatre in Pompeii, she can feel the magic permeating the air.

As the keyboards fold out a gossamer blanket of music over the audience, the anticipation builds, builds, builds to the moment when he will take centre stage.

And then...

There.

That first note. Crystal clear. It pierces the darkness and sends a chill up and down her spine.

He's magical; the way he makes his guitar sing and speak, straight from his soul to hers.

She relaxes and tenses up all at once as he plays. His playing always calms her, but the promise of what's to come brings with it a delicious tension.

There they are; those iconic four notes, reverberating all around the ancient walls again and again. Seeing him hold the crowd enthralled like this, not by ostentatious bravado, not by strutting around the stage like a peacock, but with sheer, unadorned talent, is incredibly erotic.

Her whole body tingles. From the magnitude of the performance, yes, but also the anticipation of what the night will bring.

She gets lost in the music, lets it envelop her, and before she knows it he has taken his last bow, his last note of the evening faded into the night, and he's walking straight towards her. Her stomach fills with butterflies as his large hands cup her cheeks, their eyes meet for a brief moment before his lips find hers and the world disappears around them.

Floating through the night, they somehow find their way into a waiting car, into their hotel and to their room.

When the door closes behind them, they briefly break apart. Lightheaded she leans against the door, trying to catch her breath. He smiles at her, the laughter lines around his blue eyes deepening, making him even more beautiful. There's a playfulness in those eyes, a look that creates a visceral need within her to be back in his arms.

She reaches out and grasps the hem of his black T-shirt, pulling him closer. Sliding it up and off him. His beautiful, tanned skin – warm and inviting – calls to her. Leaning in, she takes a playful nip at his left nipple, feeling, more than hearing, the resulting groan that rumbles deep in his chest.

His hand slides up her back before he pulls one of the straps that hold her dress together; the feeling as the soft fabric slides over her sensitive skin makes her shiver.

He chuckles as he lifts her up in his arms.

His lips once more on hers, he carries her to the large waiting bed.

It's one of the most erotic feelings in the world, being laid out like this for him; seeing what her nearly naked body does to him. His eyes are almost black with lust as he bends over her and takes one of her nipples between his full lips. The slight pull combined with the tickling from his scruffy three-day beard makes her whimper. The feeling shoots straight to her core and her hips move of their own volition, trying to find something, anything, to bring her some relief. Another whimper escapes her as he brings a hand up to her other peak, pinching and kneading it.

She mewls softly, the feeling almost too much; she's already teetering on the edge of that delicious precipice when his mouth begins to move further south.

It feels like her whole body's on fire; his sightly rasping kisses only fanning the flame. He takes his time, worshipping every inch of her body. When he finally pulls down her soaked knickers, he looks like a starving man presented with a most delicious five-course meal.

She reaches out to him, and, eyes wide with desire, he bends down and takes his first taste. Her hips buck off the bed; his soft, firm tongue plays her with the same skill and devotion he plays his guitar.

He laps at her, tickling her sensitive nub with he tip of his tongue, drinking her flowing nectar, relishing her like a fine wine.

"Aaahhhhhh!"

His lips fasten around her oversensitive pearl, sucking it, massaging it, his scruffy beard adding a sensory dimension that makes her see stars. She feels him smile around her, but he doesn't let up. He knows her body by heart, knows exactly where to lick, swipe, tickle to make her feel at once taut like a bow string and completely boneless.

He briefly eases off as she comes down from her first climax but soon his tongue and lips are massaging her with the same intensity once more. She barely registers it when he slides in first one finger, then another, stretching her insides, preparing her for what will soon come. The feeling is almost too much, her toes curl up tightly as she falls over the edge, and only when she pushes firmly on his shoulders does he let up.

Her vision's blurry, but as he slowly comes back into focus, she can see his eyes are filled with raw desire.

"Please, I need you now," she pleads, and it's just what he needs to hear.

The last barriers of clothing between them removed, he climbs back into bed, her legs open to him, welcoming him in. Their eyes focus solely on each other, a silent question asked and answered before he finally sinks home. And that's exactly how it feels: "Home". They belong together. He sinks into her, and it feels like a temporarily missing piece of her is restored.

He fills her perfectly, stretches her, opens her up. His strong forearms framing her head as he slowly pumps in and out. She loves this, the slow build, their own dance, perfectly in sync.

She clenches around him playfully. He moans and begins to speed up. A small shift to his angle, a movement that seems designed to render her speechless, and her deep moan lets him know he's hitting that spot within her.

His thrusts have more force behind them now, and the gentle itch that's been spreading through her body turns into a raging wildfire as the pleasure overtakes her. He feels it, too, and their eyes meet once more before his lips crash down to hers. With a final, deep thrust she falls into oblivion and he follows close behind, buried deep inside her.

Sated and exhausted, they stay like that for a long time; listening to the other's heart slow down to a regular beat, before he brings his lips to her ear and whispers: "Happy birthday, my love."

[steelyliz]

fic masterlist!

hey there! you must be new here! i’m izzy, and i write in my spare time when i have ideas that i havent found anywhere else. my brain runs 15 miles a minute which results in many, many things.

i also take fic requests, so dont be afraid to hit up my ask box! the only thing i wont do as a request is X Readers, but i might write some in my own time - but thats a big maybe.

watermour is my specialty and favourite, but i have a strange affinity for crack ships, rarepairs, and crossovers. so if theres a fic that you’re dying to read that no one has written yet, i might be your person!

anyways, without further ado, heres an easy-access list of all of my fics so far, in order from first to most recent :)

*green text is the ship, blue text is the summary

*all fics are on AO3, where i go by the same username

Take This Rock n’ Roll Refugee [E]

David Gilmour / Roger Waters, smut

“You think you’re so sleazy?” David growled, and Roger chuckled breathlessly.

“I don’t think, I know,” Roger replied, an annoying smirk tugging at his lips. “If I wasn’t, we wouldn’t be here right now, with you giving me exactly what I want.”

“You’re mine, Roger. I don’t care if I’m giving you what you fucking want right now – I’m fucking furious with you.”

Fall Apart (From The Inside Out) [M]

David Gilmour / Roger Waters, with mentioned Syd Barrett / Roger Waters, angst

trigger warning: this is a vent fic. mention of S/A and s*icide attempt in a flashback. please read at your own risk.

“Roger, what the fuck are you doing?” David asked with more clarity, worry immediately creasing lines into his forehead.

“I had trouble sleeping, so—”

“Please don’t be trying to kill yourself.”

Whole Lotta Love [E]

Robert Plant / Roger Waters, smut

“Hey, wait, aren’t you the bassist of Pink Floyd?”

Would It Break My Panic? [M]

David Gilmour / Roger Waters, with mentioned Syd Barrett / Roger Waters, angst

trigger warning: this is a vent fic. vague description of S/A in a flashback. please read at your own risk.

“You know that I was with Syd, right? Back in ‘67 and ‘68?” Roger asked to start off, and David nodded. “Towards the end, he progressively became more detached and nutty, which you obviously know, but that’s crucial to keep in mind while I try my best to talk about this.”

Roger watched David frown slightly, and he took a deep breath as he continued on. “Most of the time, whether he was on acid or not, he didn’t understand that what he wanted wasn’t always what everyone else wanted.”

To Love Him Is To Need Him Everywhere [G]

David Gilmour / Roger Waters, fluff

"You’re the sun, and the moon, and the stars. Happy birthday.”

[morwennawrites]

THE LOVERS: CHAPTER 4

Eleanor Corbyn enters the world of the music industry. Meeting Pink Floyd was a coincidence. Falling in love with Nick Mason... that was a choice. What started as a friendship can soon change completely with just one kiss. Fools fall in love, wise make it work.

(English isn't my first language, if there was a mistake let me know, please.)

CHAPTER 4

Please leave your comments

[cassiana-on-dark-side]

🎉 As promised, here’s the new chapter of this (exciting?) story! 🎉

I had so much fun (and maybe a tiny bit of despair) writing it, and I hope you’ll enjoy diving into this scene with Connie and David as much as I loved crafting it. 💕

✨ Have fun! ✨

And as always, every comment or reblog is a precious gift. 💌

TO BREATH AGAIN

Chapters: 13/?

Fandom: Pink Floyd, Rock Music RPF, David Gilmour fandom

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: David Gilmour/Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Pink Floyd (Ensemble), David Gilmour, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags: ficmour, Romance, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, 1970s Pink Floyd Era, London, Era Typical Mentality, 70s london, What-If, British Slang, Teasing, Flirting, Awkward Flirting

Summary: Connie is a young administrative employee with some literary aspirations in Pink Floyd's new recording studio, Britannia Rows. Meanwhile, David's creative restlessness is on the rise and he feels the need to explore new artistic directions. What neither of them expects is the sweet feeling that will arise between them and all the turmoil that this will bring. In the background, the events of Pink Floyd engaged in the recording of the album Animals and in the following troubled tour in which they perceive the cracks in their artistic partnership widen more and more.

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list just let me know and I will be happy to do so 🥰

tag list: @sonofattacomeunapigna​ @letsdeinen​ @drathatha​ @snowcherrie​ @gilmourchilmour​ @nature-and-music​ @tangerine-page​ @whyamistillfangirling​ @multidimensionallove​ @jonesyjonesyjonesy​ @barrettavenue​ @urawizardkari​ @lsd-astronaut​​ @raiseyourgoblet-of-rock

[progfessor-dyke]

Final PRSC update:

Hey guys, as you know my best friend and beloved co-writer left tumblr about two weeks ago, and as part of our deal for leaving, I asked him if after he left if I could spoil the rest of the PRSC. He agreed to it, because we both know now we're never getting back to it lmao. Well, tonight, during our conversation, I asked him explicit permission to upload the 44 page document of lore and unreleased entries we had created, and he agreed.

There are a few things that we came up with that are canon, but we didn't get the chance to write down, like everything after Day 22. However, I'll spoil the end for you now: the final battle is between Fripp and Ian, and Ian wins. He is then congratulated by Roger Waters, who reveals he set up the PRSC in order to promote The Wall and kill off prog competition. Ian promptly knocks him out. The last entry was planned to be David Gilmour apologizing on Pink Floyd's behalf, claiming that the PRSC was entirely Roger's doing, and that the rest of Pink Floyd had nothing to do with it. So, yeah.

Anyway, as for specifics after Day 22: - The Conglomerate disintegrates, Carl sacrifices himself - Rick and Keith have a final encounter, and we killed them both off - That drives Ian to find Fripp and Muir and take them out - The end :D Here's the link

Some other fun facts: We also originally had Tony Kaye in the PRSC, and he was gonna be killed off via mysterious STD

I wrote all the even days, including Day 0, and my friend wrote all the odd days, which is why it switches back and forth from American English and British English Pink Floyd were originally gonna be contenders as well, but we were having a hard time killing that many people off, so my friend came up with the twist ending. We were also going to include the scene where Fripp poisons Broof in a special update that we never got around to writing. We were also going to make Fripp x Broof fanfic and pose as one of our readers sending that on anon to the account.

The Two Dumb Blonds skit was written by us roleplaying as Alex and Rick, and then copying that conversation. Hope you enjoy cause you're not getting any more (unless you ask nicely in my asks)!!!

[daisyfloyd]

Of course, I had to write this. Takes the pressure off. (Oh and happy belated birthday to David! ❤️

Summary

After a particularly stressful gig, David fears he may not be good enough to take Syd's place in Pink Floyd, and in Roger's life. Roger, however, shows him that he is by no means a mere replacement for their former bandmate.

[simply-calidreamer]

Yes I agree. More is needed

We need more Pink Floyd x y/n fanfictions

[verrbena-in-the-air]

The retrofuturistic love for David Gilmour (II)

This is the first poem from an attempt of fanfic-poetry. The imagery seats in early 70's East Coast nightlife. As you will notice, the tittle is an intertext with the Green Is The Colour lyrics and is just tentative for now, but I'm kinda liking the concept.

sapphire is the colour of his kind

from the high place of a non-corner building 59th street hot rest and luminaire in front of you he seats and relish the most erotic gestures in human music curls up and fondle your melting figure you both may be the chosen ones like any deity or the Fender Black Strat NYC 1970 / he realises that faith and death are two very difficult things to explain you / eyelashes opened his eyes cinched in yours through the looking glass and despite the fact that he sometimes is color blind you suspect downright the shade of his hair is sapphire / the touch of his voice yes / the air vibrant deep zesty blue may the elixir of yesteryear flow through torrential temples this metropolis in your spill of moisturiser mascara and eyeliner decades whispers / dancing across a boiling country afar upswings the sea of albatross come as rust gale on the Queensboro Bridge the verge of breaking through some oldest glacial ground asphalt ignites in the raw embraces of our times / in 35 mm it is not possible even if you try to capture the sapphire hue gushing from David / his zeal all that you no longer lack howls your passion like praise in your scent and his words just no words but fully tongue is not memory in drips and drabs slipping within blood and shivering vowels he on his knees with beseeching lust stirs up a tropic rain / the tempest your fiery deluge grabs up on his shoulder blades and the sapphire glows it is all it is everything you both grow dim and burn on rapid tears of fever

[torithealienblog]

*being down bad for my professor intensifies*

nah fr hes such a great guy. an asshole but i love him. like... a likeable asshole. idk he bullies me and its funny like ok damn 😂 anyway he wants me so bad (the delulu is real 😭) he basically asked for my hand in marriage (put two of my self portraits on display bc they were THAT good 😌) and then i ask him for advice on a piece im working on, and then says to remind him to help me on the next class day first thing, and when next class day rolls around , he was already waiting for me 😌uwu i live in his brain rent free🫶🏽 not to mention whenever a cool concert rolls around im the first person he comes to and tells me about how hes gonna go see Pearl Jam (he offered to sell me his really good seats for $200) (i didnt take it bc im broke and id take momma franco with me anyways if i did, so id need two tickets), he also told me hes gonna go see David Gilmour like ok 😭😭😭 rub it in my face why dont you 😭😭😭 anyway he wants me so bad its obvious 🙄

(this is all /ns /j , i dont actually think my professor who is happily married and has a daughter who he loves sm (like he doesn't stop talking about his daughter hes such a good dad) actually has a thing for me, if anything he probably sees me as another one of his kids or like a mentee. or more likely just another student he teaches. i just like letting myself be delusional bc i like to fantasize about unlikely scenarios to pass time and to help cope with this sad depressing world we live in. it spices up my life a bit. like im living in a fanfic/ movie.)

[firethatgrewsolow]

Swiss Time - Chapter Nineteen

**Warning: fluffy fluff fluff - because I love that shit. Also, while I don’t particularly condone the descriptions used for women in the second part, it’s true to the time and to the participants. Hope you understand. PS - It’s not completely polished bc I’m getting lazy in my old (fic) age. :-) Thanks for hanging with me, and I hope you like it. <3**

Natalie shielded her eyes as the sun dropped, partially obscuring her view of the band. She peered across the pit, considering a relocation, but opted to stay put so as not to disturb the eerie groove that the boys had captured. Watching them perform in an empty venue was an odd experience. She’d witnessed sound checks before, but this was different. This was a full blown show given to a handful of techs and camera people in what amounted to historical ruins. Heat engulfed her, the ancient rock of the amphitheater seizing the energy of the sun and steadfastly clinging to it. She grazed the palm of her hand across the expanse beside her, lost in the secrets it held. How many people had been seated right there, until that fateful day when Vesuvius decided she’d had enough.

Touring Pompeii had been a sobering affair. So many heartbreaking stories, tales of love, loss, and fear littered the site, translated beautifully by David from their Italian guidebook. She smiled to herself. Of course he spoke Italian. What couldn’t he do? Infuriate you to the point of no return, only to have you doubled over with laughter a moment later. She clenched her fists. Stop. Enough. He’s not Robert, and he’s not meant to be. In truth, David was a lot of things Robert wasn’t. He was earnest and deliberate in conversation, never flippant or superficial. He was honest and kept his promises. She could believe him and believe in him. She sat back, propping her elbows on the tier behind her as she closed her eyes, basking in the last of the late afternoon warmth.

“Hey.”

A shadow glided over her, and her lids lifted as a slightly sunburned David reclined next to her. She snuck a peek at the lines of his chest as he’d discarded his t-shirt hours earlier. “Hey back.”

“Daydreaming again, huh? What are you thinking about?”

“Just how nice it feels in the sun.”

“We’re going to take a break for a bite. Are you hungry?”

Just like him. Always asking how she was, what she needed, what she was thinking about. “Kind of. What do you have in mind?”

“I may have arranged a little al fresco dining.”

She grinned as he did the same. “A picnic?”

“Of sorts.” David stood, holding out his hand. “Come on.”

Nat clasped it, following him through the network of equipment and roadies. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” David slowed as they passed his mic stand, grabbing his t-shirt from the top of a rusty metal folding chair. “It’s going to get cooler after the sun goes down. Are you going to be alright? Do I need to have someone fetch a-”

“No, I’ll be fine.” Natalie squeezed his hand. “Besides, you can keep me warm.” His respondent smile gave her chills.

“It would be my pleasure to do just that.”

They ambled to the entrance of the theater, circling around back to a cluster of tall pine trees flanking it. Natalie’s jaw dropped as they approached. A large Merino wool blanket lay nestled under the canopy, complete with a vase nearly overflowing with sunflowers. At its side was a glistening ice bucket housing what looked to be Champagne. Plates and bowls filled the spaces in between, offering olives and figs, various cheeses and cured meats. A loaf of fresh, crusty bread completed the tableau. “Oh, my God, this is … when did you do this?”

David stole a peck on her cheek. “I had someone set it up. Thought you might like it.”

Natalie plucked one of the sunflowers, fingering its petals. “How did you find these?”

“I’ll admit it wasn’t the easiest task,” he replied with a chuckle. “But I have my ways. Does it remind you of home?”

“Yes.” Nat clutched his shoulders, pushing up on her toes to give him a kiss. “You are so incredibly thoughtful.” He opened his mouth as if to respond, but closed it, rolling his lips together. Typical David, cautious with words, preferring other methods of communication, namely his eyes and his trusty Strat. She’d gotten used to his quiet demeanor and even temperament. Being with him was relaxing, never taxing, never anxious. And never hysterical, ridiculous fun. She gritted her teeth, pushing the thought away. “Thank you for all of it.”

“You’re quite welcome.” He gestured for her to recline, settling next to her. “Shall I open the Champagne?”

“Please.” As David filled their flutes, Natalie’s mind wandered to the last time she’d had Champagne. Quite a different affair it had been, passing a bottle back and forth under the cover of night. Eons away from the proper meal David had arranged. “Are you satisfied with how the filming is going? You don’t think it’s a little … stark?”

David rolled onto his side, drumming his fingers on the blanket as he considered the question. “By stark, do you mean the lack of an audience? If so, that was by design. We specifically wanted it this way.”

“As a contrast to, say, something like Gimme Shelter?”

“Exactly.” He sipped his wine, his voice quietening. “Syd would have loved it.”

“Syd? Oh, of course,” Natalie hastily added. “Do you still keep in touch with him?”

“No, not really.” David expelled a long breath. “We were friends in school, you know. From childhood.”

“I didn’t know that. How many gigs did you do together?”

“Not many. Four or five. Then one day we just … didn’t pick him up.”

Nat pressed her hand against his cheek. “It’s not your fault, David. He couldn’t handle it.”

“I know. I mean the logical part of me knows. But ...” He shrugged, sighing again. “It doesn’t matter. Sorry I brought it up.”

“Don’t ever be sorry to talk to me. I want you to.”

David skimmed his thumb along her jaw. “I’ll remember that.” He cleared his throat. “So, the acoustics are interesting here, don’t you think?”

Nat nodded. “It’s sort of spooky, really. Eerie … echoey. Kind of like When The Lev-” she broke off, nibbling her lip. “Anyway, it’s a cool sound.”

David cocked his head. “Kind of like when the what?”

“Just a song. You’ve never heard it.”

He snickered. “Maybe I have. Try me. I am a little familiar with music.”

“Well, you haven’t heard this, because it’s not out yet.”

“Dare I ask the artist?”

Nat scrunched up her nose. “No, as a matter of fact, you may not.” Her heart skipped as a megawatt grin lit up his face.

“I like it when you do that.”

“When I do what?”

David leaned over her, tapping the tip of her nose. “That thing with your nose.” His brow lifted. “When you’re feeling surly.”

“I’m not surly,” Natalie replied with a pout.

“Oh, but you are.” His dimple deepened as he inched closer. “And I quite like it, too.” He pursed his lips, studying hers. “You do realize this whole thing was just a ruse to get you alone and perhaps … have my way with you.”

Nat swallowed, a tentative tingle coursing through her. “And just what exactly would that entail?”

David narrowed his eyes. “I think I’ll start here.”

The immediacy of his kiss took her breath away. It was soft, yet urgent, commandeering in the gentlest way possible. He smelled like the sun and sweat, with the faintest hint of lavender from her shampoo that he’d borrowed the night before. She smiled into the kiss, recalling the intimacy of the gesture, and David broke the embrace, his mouth curving.

“Not exactly the reaction I was looking for. What are you smiling about?”

“How happy I am right now.”

He cupped her cheek. “I am, too, Natalie. I really, really am.”

*          *          *

The mystical language flowed like music around him as they threaded through the throng filling the sidewalks, destined for the next brothel. Robert couldn’t understand the words, but he could understand the tone, the inflections, the random cackle between friends. Strange scents and textures enveloped him as he lit a cigarette, absorbing the experience. Bangkok was a beguiling town of extremes, extreme wealth, extreme poverty … and certainly extreme vice. The singer’s lips turned up. That he could wrap his head around.

“Billy Boy! Billy Boy!”

He glanced behind him, amused by the two little children who were taunting them. “I don’t suppose they like our long hair, yeah?”

“Apparently not,” Jimmy replied with a shrug.

Robert blew out a thin stream of smoke, rejecting his annoyance at the lads. They likely had never seen people who looked like him. Add to that the absolutely delectable experience the previous three hours had been, and it was hard to feel vexed about anything. “Christ, that place was bloody incredible.”

“I wonder if it’s where the term fucking your brains out was invented,” Jimmy purred with a smirk.

Robert laughed at his friend’s aside, uncharacteristically uncouth. “I’d say number 36 was superb. She did this little thing with her-”

“I had her, too,” Cole chimed in with a lascivious grin. “I don’t know how the fucking hell she did it.”

Robert grimaced. “Well, I bloody well hope you went after me. The carnal flu doesn’t sound particularly appealing.”

“Fuck you, mate.”

Robert took another drag. “I believe I already have been.”

“Those girls are clean. No need for worry.”

The singer’s gaze flickered to their driver, Joe, who was offering his semi-permanent crooked smile. His English was remarkably good, and Robert was pretty sure Joe wasn’t his real name, but they’d been lucky to find him. “What about the next place?”

“Yes, Joe.” Jimmy wiped the sheen of sweat from his brow. “I’d rather avoid a visit to the penicillin dispensary if possible.”

“They’re clean, too,” the driver replied. “And even better than what you just had,” he added, his smile extending to the point that Robert could see he was missing two of his molars.

“I like the sound of that. Don’t you, Pagey?”

“Indeed. It’s a most delightful way to experience the local culture.”

“And not a bad way to get fucked, either!” Richard blustered with a cackle.

Robert snickered as Jimmy raised a brow, Cole’s ribald nature clearly grating on him. The guitarist may have been very happy to partake in various tawdry exploits, but he didn’t necessarily enjoy the public declaration of that fact. Robert, himself, could take it either way, as long as he was getting it. On the road and in travels, he deserved all the spoils. No guilt and no shame. Most of the time, anyway.

He caught a flash of bright yellow out of the corner of his eye and slowed, taking in the cart of fresh sunflowers. He drifted toward it, the clips of conversations and street noise receding. The blooms were pristine, such a contrast to the ramshackle vehicle that contained them. No longer fresh and new, it was held together with errant nails and cloth bands, its paint peeling. A long road it had traveled. He fingered one of the soft golden petals, the parallel not lost on him, and a rare wave of regret rippled through him. Those girls were probably no older than Natalie, and their lives were already determined. Their youth was to be spent pleasuring men like himself, then likely forced to marry and care for a different type of man, or become a concubine. Either way, a life of servitude. Robert wasn’t prone to introspection, and one certainly didn’t look to Bangkok for lessons in morality, but for that moment, in the recesses of his mind, there was an inkling of ...

“They came early this year.”

Robert glanced to their driver, who was flanked by Jimmy and Richard. “What?”

“The flowers. If you like, I will buy them for you. They come from Saraburi, north of here.”

Robert shook his head as the man reached for them. “No, no, it’s okay. They just reminded me of something.”

Jimmy’s eyes glided to his. “Or someone, perhaps?”

Robert shared a look with the guitarist. He was falling back into old patterns, and he knew it. Promising to write and not following through. Assuring her that he’d call and not doing it. I’ll ring her tomorrow. Or when we get to Bombay. Or maybe back home. Won’t be too long. Flicking his cigarette into the street, the singer tossed his hair. “Let’s go.”

[simply-calidreamer]

For science

*pls rb for wider sample*