behold a dream .｡.:*☆ pink floyd imagines

roger #3

{ mail for roger, who i find terrifyingly attractive }

eyes heavy, breath heavy, you watched him approach the microphone like a hermit slinking from his cave. his slender body curved into the stand, his pelvis brushed, and his hand floated up to press against his ear.

you sat on the dusty floor with your hands in fists, a bitter flavor still coating your tongue from the pills you were passed at the front door.

his whispers wavered: ocean water. your tongue slipped across your lip. you imagined the mouth on yours, pulling, gasping, ship-wrecked. you imagined the hands on your arms — something stable, those wiry muscles holding you still, claiming you. your eyes focused as much as they could.

his moving frame filled your head with its aching, pulsing form. taking a mallet, he hit the gong, and your teeth pulled at the insides of your cheeks, desperate to have him draw some sort of noise from you instead.

like ink in water, an image swirled to you: his body under your own and your jeans abrasive against his. you hold onto his shoulder and your hips tease, breath comes leaky as a warm storm starts in your stomach. warm storm started by his erection pushing from the denim right where you need to feel it most. his voice interrupts in small gasps. his heart beats in tandem. he curses and catches in the action. for the moment he's all yours: muscles strained, body alight, long fingers curving the slope of your jaw.

your eyes opened. you were still trapped in the middle of the room and in the middle of "set the controls for the heart of the sun."

he pulled from the microphone for a breath. and there you were in his gaze, in a psychedelic dark crowd with asking hands and parted lips.