128
curse the hours we have to keep
McFly (GSF)
1,327 words, pg, third person. This is my last charity fic, and it's for oh_mumble, who asked me to write about the boys helping Harry train for the marathon. It turned out very silly, I have to say, but I hope that you like it, Lisa! Thanks to kawaii_tenshi27 for the betaing!
At 6:10 AM, before he’s even sure if the sun is up yet, Harry is rudely awakened when Dougie flying tackles him.
At 6:10 AM, before he’s even sure if the sun is up yet, Harry is rudely awakened when Dougie flying tackles him. At least, he assumes it’s a flying tackle from the force with which he slams into Harry’s sleeping body. Harry, for his part, jolts awake, sputtering, and tries to sit up. This turns out to be impossible, as Dougie is lying sprawled across his chest, pointy knees digging into Harry’s kidneys, liver, and possibly his spleen. He’s also momentarily distracted by Dougie licking his face from ear to jaw like some kind of demented dog. While he might normally appreciate it, it doesn’t dull the pain radiating from under Dougie’s freakishly sharp knees. Also, Dougie apparently hasn’t cleaned his teeth anytime recently.
“Ow and also ew,” he manages to say. “What the bloody fuck, Dougs!”
“You told us to make sure that you start your training today! For the marathon! So here we are!” Dougie looks absurdly proud of himself, and he’s still wearing that dumb bandana on his head, even though his hair is short enough that he doesn’t need it.
“We?” Harry asks, and Dougie shifts, looking over his shoulder, simultaneously sinking his knees farther into Harry’s organs. Which he really does need.
“Yep!” Dougie says, and doesn’t bother to elaborate. That’s when Harry hears the wheezing coming from the hall.
“Tom, I can hear you laughing like an arsehole,” he says. “Shut the fuck up!”
Tom, rather than shutting up, just starts to laugh harder, which Harry can tell from the odd hiccupping noises he’s making. It’s like he’s not getting enough air - he sounds like a dying cow, and Harry wonders if he’s crying. He would not be surprised.
“Fuck you both,” Harry says, and tries to turn onto his side. He wants to fucking go back to sleep, but Dougie’s heavy arse isn’t really letting him. Harry sighs heavily and closes his eyes; he hates his life, sometimes.
“Harry, Harry,” Tom says, stumbling in from the hallway. His voice is probably an octave and a half higher than usual, and he trails off into snorting, which is really not attractive. At all. Also, his hair is sticking up on one side of his head. Harry suspects that they haven’t been awake that long, either. “We’re just doing what you told us to!” He leans against the wall for support. It’s really not that funny. Nothing is that funny.
“It’s still fucking dark outside!” Harry looks out the window. “Also, it’s raining.” Dougie bounces up and down, pushing his feet against the mattress for support. He’s probably already bored and wants to further destroy the inner workings of Harry’s digestive system. Seriously, Harry needs his spleen, he thinks. He’s not sure what it does, exactly, but he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have one if he didn’t need it. He pushes Dougie off of him and sits up, grabbing his wrists and pushing them against the mattress. “Stop that!”
“Ooh,” Dougie says, grinning. “Kinky. I think it’s a little early for this, though, Harry. Wouldn’t want to tire you out before you even leave the house.” Tom is kind of sobbing with his face against the wall. Harry is going to kill him.
“I am going to kill you, Thomas Fletcher,” he says, gravely. He’s ignoring the way Dougie is wriggling - to get away, probably, although with Dougie, who knows?
“You wouldn’t kill me, Harry, I’m far too awesome for that,” Tom says, and his voice is not only too high, but it’s kind of watery. He giggles a little at the end, and if Harry wasn’t going to maim him forever, he’d think it was kind of cute. Unfortunately, he is going to main Tom forever.
“No sex for you then,” he says, instead. “None at all.”
“Mate, your plan backfires. I still have Dougie and Danny.” Tom turns around, finally, and, yep, he’s wiping his eyes. Harry grits his teeth. Fucking fine, so he didn’t really think the plan through. His only solution is to tie Tom up and leave him in the closet.
He says as much to Tom, and Tom just flops down on the bed face first and starts laughing again. Harry thwacks him on the back of the head, and then something horrible occurs to him.
“Where is Danny?” he asks, fear in his voice. Tom snorts, the sound muffled against the bedspread, and Dougie giggles, and Harry hates all of them.
“He said he wanted to cook you breakfast,” Tom says, turning his head to the side. He’s biting his lip to keep from laughing again. “Also, he bought a juicer and a bag of oranges and brought them here. You do the math.”
“Oh, god,” Harry says. “Why? Why would you do this to me?”
“You asked us to!” Dougie insists, flat on his back on the bed. Harry covers his mouth with one hand, but Dougie licks his palm, so that doesn’t last very long. Yuck.
Then there’s a huge crash from, presumably, the kitchen, and Danny’s voice, accent stretched flat and broad, says,
“Whoops! Sorry! Uh. Harry, where’s your broom? And um, dustpan?”
Harry sinks his head into his hands. At least he seems apologetic.
“Leave it,” he yells, finally. “I hate you all.”
“What did I do?” Danny asks, and he sounds genuinely confused. Tom grins, propping his head up on one hand. Then, he waggles his eyebrows. Harry tries really hard not to be charmed, but then Dougie rolls onto his side and pillows his head on Harry’s thigh, and he fails.
“Ugh,” he says. Then he yells back to Danny. “Never mind. Just get your fucking arse up here, Jones. You all are making this morning up to me. With your bodies.”
There’s another crash in the kitchen, and Harry winces. “Cool!” he hears, and then Danny’s heavy footsteps in the hallway.
“But what about training?” Dougie says, and Harry resists a strong urge to make a really horrible pun about stamina. He’s not going to say it.
“It’s fucking raining. I am not starting my training in the rain, arseholes.”
“Plus,” Dougie adds, thoughtfully, “sex is more fun.”
“Indeed,” Tom says. “Wouldn’t want Harry to catch cold in the rain.” He appears to have actually managed to stop laughing. Harry doesn’t know whether to feel pride or scorn. He settles on both.
“What did I miss?” Danny asks, standing in the doorway. He smells like oranges, even from across the room. Harry never wants to see what his kitchen must look like at the moment.
“Harry being a bitch, the usual,” Tom says. He’s still grinning. Harry should probably resent this more than he does.
“Damn,” Danny says. “I like it when Harry’s a bitch.” He grins that wide grin of his, and Harry rolls his eyes.
“Fuck off and get over here,” he says. Danny laughs.
“Make room, make room!” Danny says, and launches himself into the fray. There really isn’t that much room to make, honestly. It’s a queen-sized bed, and there are four of them.
They manage, however. Danny ends up sort of squished behind Harry, his stomach pressed to the small of Harry’s back - Harry leans back against him and pays no heed to Danny’s noise of protest. Tom’s sort of curled up on Harry’s left, and luckily he’s staying quiet. Harry’s had quite enough of Tom laughing at him for one day, seriously. Dougie seems content with his head pillowed on Harry’s right thigh, although Harry can see Danny prodding Dougie in the side with his toes, and it’s making Dougie twitch - Harry wonders how much time he has until Dougie launches a full scale retaliation and he gets, inevitably, caught in the crossfire. It’s kind of hilarious and kind of annoying, but that’s pretty much how Harry’s life seems to go. Besides, he’s successfully managed to wiggle out of running this morning, and if that doesn’t count as a success, nothing does.
McFly (GSF)
1,327 words, pg, third person. This is my last charity fic, and it's for oh_mumble, who asked me to write about the boys helping Harry train for the marathon. It turned out very silly, I have to say, but I hope that you like it, Lisa! Thanks to kawaii_tenshi27 for the betaing!
At 6:10 AM, before he’s even sure if the sun is up yet, Harry is rudely awakened when Dougie flying tackles him.
At 6:10 AM, before he’s even sure if the sun is up yet, Harry is rudely awakened when Dougie flying tackles him. At least, he assumes it’s a flying tackle from the force with which he slams into Harry’s sleeping body. Harry, for his part, jolts awake, sputtering, and tries to sit up. This turns out to be impossible, as Dougie is lying sprawled across his chest, pointy knees digging into Harry’s kidneys, liver, and possibly his spleen. He’s also momentarily distracted by Dougie licking his face from ear to jaw like some kind of demented dog. While he might normally appreciate it, it doesn’t dull the pain radiating from under Dougie’s freakishly sharp knees. Also, Dougie apparently hasn’t cleaned his teeth anytime recently.
“Ow and also ew,” he manages to say. “What the bloody fuck, Dougs!”
“You told us to make sure that you start your training today! For the marathon! So here we are!” Dougie looks absurdly proud of himself, and he’s still wearing that dumb bandana on his head, even though his hair is short enough that he doesn’t need it.
“We?” Harry asks, and Dougie shifts, looking over his shoulder, simultaneously sinking his knees farther into Harry’s organs. Which he really does need.
“Yep!” Dougie says, and doesn’t bother to elaborate. That’s when Harry hears the wheezing coming from the hall.
“Tom, I can hear you laughing like an arsehole,” he says. “Shut the fuck up!”
Tom, rather than shutting up, just starts to laugh harder, which Harry can tell from the odd hiccupping noises he’s making. It’s like he’s not getting enough air - he sounds like a dying cow, and Harry wonders if he’s crying. He would not be surprised.
“Fuck you both,” Harry says, and tries to turn onto his side. He wants to fucking go back to sleep, but Dougie’s heavy arse isn’t really letting him. Harry sighs heavily and closes his eyes; he hates his life, sometimes.
“Harry, Harry,” Tom says, stumbling in from the hallway. His voice is probably an octave and a half higher than usual, and he trails off into snorting, which is really not attractive. At all. Also, his hair is sticking up on one side of his head. Harry suspects that they haven’t been awake that long, either. “We’re just doing what you told us to!” He leans against the wall for support. It’s really not that funny. Nothing is that funny.
“It’s still fucking dark outside!” Harry looks out the window. “Also, it’s raining.” Dougie bounces up and down, pushing his feet against the mattress for support. He’s probably already bored and wants to further destroy the inner workings of Harry’s digestive system. Seriously, Harry needs his spleen, he thinks. He’s not sure what it does, exactly, but he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have one if he didn’t need it. He pushes Dougie off of him and sits up, grabbing his wrists and pushing them against the mattress. “Stop that!”
“Ooh,” Dougie says, grinning. “Kinky. I think it’s a little early for this, though, Harry. Wouldn’t want to tire you out before you even leave the house.” Tom is kind of sobbing with his face against the wall. Harry is going to kill him.
“I am going to kill you, Thomas Fletcher,” he says, gravely. He’s ignoring the way Dougie is wriggling - to get away, probably, although with Dougie, who knows?
“You wouldn’t kill me, Harry, I’m far too awesome for that,” Tom says, and his voice is not only too high, but it’s kind of watery. He giggles a little at the end, and if Harry wasn’t going to maim him forever, he’d think it was kind of cute. Unfortunately, he is going to main Tom forever.
“No sex for you then,” he says, instead. “None at all.”
“Mate, your plan backfires. I still have Dougie and Danny.” Tom turns around, finally, and, yep, he’s wiping his eyes. Harry grits his teeth. Fucking fine, so he didn’t really think the plan through. His only solution is to tie Tom up and leave him in the closet.
He says as much to Tom, and Tom just flops down on the bed face first and starts laughing again. Harry thwacks him on the back of the head, and then something horrible occurs to him.
“Where is Danny?” he asks, fear in his voice. Tom snorts, the sound muffled against the bedspread, and Dougie giggles, and Harry hates all of them.
“He said he wanted to cook you breakfast,” Tom says, turning his head to the side. He’s biting his lip to keep from laughing again. “Also, he bought a juicer and a bag of oranges and brought them here. You do the math.”
“Oh, god,” Harry says. “Why? Why would you do this to me?”
“You asked us to!” Dougie insists, flat on his back on the bed. Harry covers his mouth with one hand, but Dougie licks his palm, so that doesn’t last very long. Yuck.
Then there’s a huge crash from, presumably, the kitchen, and Danny’s voice, accent stretched flat and broad, says,
“Whoops! Sorry! Uh. Harry, where’s your broom? And um, dustpan?”
Harry sinks his head into his hands. At least he seems apologetic.
“Leave it,” he yells, finally. “I hate you all.”
“What did I do?” Danny asks, and he sounds genuinely confused. Tom grins, propping his head up on one hand. Then, he waggles his eyebrows. Harry tries really hard not to be charmed, but then Dougie rolls onto his side and pillows his head on Harry’s thigh, and he fails.
“Ugh,” he says. Then he yells back to Danny. “Never mind. Just get your fucking arse up here, Jones. You all are making this morning up to me. With your bodies.”
There’s another crash in the kitchen, and Harry winces. “Cool!” he hears, and then Danny’s heavy footsteps in the hallway.
“But what about training?” Dougie says, and Harry resists a strong urge to make a really horrible pun about stamina. He’s not going to say it.
“It’s fucking raining. I am not starting my training in the rain, arseholes.”
“Plus,” Dougie adds, thoughtfully, “sex is more fun.”
“Indeed,” Tom says. “Wouldn’t want Harry to catch cold in the rain.” He appears to have actually managed to stop laughing. Harry doesn’t know whether to feel pride or scorn. He settles on both.
“What did I miss?” Danny asks, standing in the doorway. He smells like oranges, even from across the room. Harry never wants to see what his kitchen must look like at the moment.
“Harry being a bitch, the usual,” Tom says. He’s still grinning. Harry should probably resent this more than he does.
“Damn,” Danny says. “I like it when Harry’s a bitch.” He grins that wide grin of his, and Harry rolls his eyes.
“Fuck off and get over here,” he says. Danny laughs.
“Make room, make room!” Danny says, and launches himself into the fray. There really isn’t that much room to make, honestly. It’s a queen-sized bed, and there are four of them.
They manage, however. Danny ends up sort of squished behind Harry, his stomach pressed to the small of Harry’s back - Harry leans back against him and pays no heed to Danny’s noise of protest. Tom’s sort of curled up on Harry’s left, and luckily he’s staying quiet. Harry’s had quite enough of Tom laughing at him for one day, seriously. Dougie seems content with his head pillowed on Harry’s right thigh, although Harry can see Danny prodding Dougie in the side with his toes, and it’s making Dougie twitch - Harry wonders how much time he has until Dougie launches a full scale retaliation and he gets, inevitably, caught in the crossfire. It’s kind of hilarious and kind of annoying, but that’s pretty much how Harry’s life seems to go. Besides, he’s successfully managed to wiggle out of running this morning, and if that doesn’t count as a success, nothing does.