130
but you stole my breath
McFly (Dougie/Harry)
866 words, pg, third person. Having never written pudd before, I figured I would take a crack at it. Just to see if I could. Thanks to kawaii_tenshi27 for looking this over for me!
“Have you decided that lung cancer is cool, or something?” Dougie asks, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
Harry’s outside, smoking, when Dougie finds him. The air is chillier than Dougie expected, and he shivers a little, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands. Judging by the butts near his feet, Harry’s on his fourth cigarette, which is kind of a lot, even for him.
“Have you decided that lung cancer is cool, or something?” Dougie asks, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Because it’s probably not.”
“Fuck off, Dougie,” Harry says, his voice harsh in that way that’s purposefully harmful. Dougie’s pretty used to it, at this point. “I’m not in the mood.”
“I couldn’t tell, what with the standing outside in the dark, smoking. No mood indicators there whatsoever.” Dougie’s not purposefully provoking Harry, necessarily, but he figures he’s allowed to be annoyed when Harry gets up while Dougie’s in the middle of talking and storms outside. Even Tom had looked surprised, and he’s the one usually on the receiving end of Harry’s moodiness.
“Seriously, Dougs. You’re not helping.” Harry takes a long drag on his cigarette, staring angrily off down the street. Dougie can see his breath when he exhales - it’s hard to tell what is air and what is smoke. He bounces on the balls of his feet, half nervous energy, half to keep warm.
“Sorry,” Dougie says, shrugging. He doesn’t actually want to fuck Harry off - he hates it when they’re angry with him, any of them, and it almost goes double for Harry. “Can you at least tell me what’s up?” He wants to perch his chin on Harry’s shoulder, but he won’t risk being pushed away. Normally the contact helps, but not when Harry’s mad at him. And even if Dougie’s not certain that he is, it’s better to be cautious.
“None of your business,” Harry snaps, and Dougie blinks. Huh. Harry sighs mostly to himself. “Sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean that.” He had, Dougie knows, but only for as long as it took him to feel guilty.
“Sure,” Dougie says, and rocks back on his heels. He keeps his hands firmly in his pockets, mostly as a reminder. He’s not a patient person, not really, but he’s long since learned that no one can hurry Harry, not even him. “So what did I do?”
“What - oh. You didn’t do anything,” Harry says. He lights another cigarette, dropping the butt of his last on the ground by his feet.
“You’re acting like I did.” Dougie can’t even remember what he’d been saying at the time - he just remembers how the words caught in his mouth when Harry had stormed out.
“Can we just - not talk about it?” Harry asks, glancing over at Dougie, who’s still bouncing on his toes. Dougie is cold, but he’s not going to say anything about it. He shrugs.
“Okay,” he says. “As long as you’re not mad at me.” Harry comes closer, then, dropping his cigarette on the ground and wrapping his arms around Dougie’s shoulders. Dougie can feel Harry’s body heat through his hoodie, and he leans in without shame.
“I promise I’m not, Pugs.” He props his chin on the top of Dougie’s head, and Dougie lets out a breath. He winds his arms around Harry’s waist, fisting his hands in the hem of Harry’s t-shirt, against the small of his back.
“Okay,” Dougie says, again, and it is. He doesn’t want to fight about it, not really. He lets himself lean against Harry’s chest and close his eyes.
“I hate talking shop,” Harry says, eventually. Dougie’s not sure how long it takes him to say it - he’s not sure how long they’ve been standing like this. Tom and Danny are still inside, but Dougie knows that they almost always continue the conversation without either Dougie or Harry there at all. Which is maybe part of the problem.
“Oh,” he says. “What did they say?” He can feel the breath Harry draws in, and wonders if, maybe, he should’ve just let things be.
“I don’t know,” Harry says. He presses his cheek to Dougie’s forehead, then, and Dougie pushes his nose against Harry’s neck. “The same shit they always say. I just wish they’d let me make up my own fucking drum parts.”
Dougie hums indistinctly - he doesn’t want Harry to think he’s being ignored, but he refuses to be a go-between. He’d rather stay the hell out of the conflict.
“I know, I know,” Harry says, sighing. “Take it up with Tom.”
“Pretty much,” Dougie says, leaning back a little so that he can look Harry in the face. He’s not furrowing his brow anymore, which is a good sign. Dougie goes up on his tiptoes, and presses a kiss against Harry’s mouth. “And you say I’m dumb.”
Harry rolls his eyes, pulling away. He wraps his hands around Dougie’s wrists, thumbs pressing against Dougie’s palms.
“What, no ‘thank you’?” Dougie asks, grinning. Harry leans over, brushing his mouth against Dougie’s left cheekbone.
“Thanks, Pugs,” he says. His voice is sarcastic, but Dougie can tell that he means it anyway. “What’s say we get this over with so that we can go home?”
Dougie nods, then, and lets Harry tug him inside.
McFly (Dougie/Harry)
866 words, pg, third person. Having never written pudd before, I figured I would take a crack at it. Just to see if I could. Thanks to kawaii_tenshi27 for looking this over for me!
“Have you decided that lung cancer is cool, or something?” Dougie asks, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
Harry’s outside, smoking, when Dougie finds him. The air is chillier than Dougie expected, and he shivers a little, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands. Judging by the butts near his feet, Harry’s on his fourth cigarette, which is kind of a lot, even for him.
“Have you decided that lung cancer is cool, or something?” Dougie asks, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Because it’s probably not.”
“Fuck off, Dougie,” Harry says, his voice harsh in that way that’s purposefully harmful. Dougie’s pretty used to it, at this point. “I’m not in the mood.”
“I couldn’t tell, what with the standing outside in the dark, smoking. No mood indicators there whatsoever.” Dougie’s not purposefully provoking Harry, necessarily, but he figures he’s allowed to be annoyed when Harry gets up while Dougie’s in the middle of talking and storms outside. Even Tom had looked surprised, and he’s the one usually on the receiving end of Harry’s moodiness.
“Seriously, Dougs. You’re not helping.” Harry takes a long drag on his cigarette, staring angrily off down the street. Dougie can see his breath when he exhales - it’s hard to tell what is air and what is smoke. He bounces on the balls of his feet, half nervous energy, half to keep warm.
“Sorry,” Dougie says, shrugging. He doesn’t actually want to fuck Harry off - he hates it when they’re angry with him, any of them, and it almost goes double for Harry. “Can you at least tell me what’s up?” He wants to perch his chin on Harry’s shoulder, but he won’t risk being pushed away. Normally the contact helps, but not when Harry’s mad at him. And even if Dougie’s not certain that he is, it’s better to be cautious.
“None of your business,” Harry snaps, and Dougie blinks. Huh. Harry sighs mostly to himself. “Sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean that.” He had, Dougie knows, but only for as long as it took him to feel guilty.
“Sure,” Dougie says, and rocks back on his heels. He keeps his hands firmly in his pockets, mostly as a reminder. He’s not a patient person, not really, but he’s long since learned that no one can hurry Harry, not even him. “So what did I do?”
“What - oh. You didn’t do anything,” Harry says. He lights another cigarette, dropping the butt of his last on the ground by his feet.
“You’re acting like I did.” Dougie can’t even remember what he’d been saying at the time - he just remembers how the words caught in his mouth when Harry had stormed out.
“Can we just - not talk about it?” Harry asks, glancing over at Dougie, who’s still bouncing on his toes. Dougie is cold, but he’s not going to say anything about it. He shrugs.
“Okay,” he says. “As long as you’re not mad at me.” Harry comes closer, then, dropping his cigarette on the ground and wrapping his arms around Dougie’s shoulders. Dougie can feel Harry’s body heat through his hoodie, and he leans in without shame.
“I promise I’m not, Pugs.” He props his chin on the top of Dougie’s head, and Dougie lets out a breath. He winds his arms around Harry’s waist, fisting his hands in the hem of Harry’s t-shirt, against the small of his back.
“Okay,” Dougie says, again, and it is. He doesn’t want to fight about it, not really. He lets himself lean against Harry’s chest and close his eyes.
“I hate talking shop,” Harry says, eventually. Dougie’s not sure how long it takes him to say it - he’s not sure how long they’ve been standing like this. Tom and Danny are still inside, but Dougie knows that they almost always continue the conversation without either Dougie or Harry there at all. Which is maybe part of the problem.
“Oh,” he says. “What did they say?” He can feel the breath Harry draws in, and wonders if, maybe, he should’ve just let things be.
“I don’t know,” Harry says. He presses his cheek to Dougie’s forehead, then, and Dougie pushes his nose against Harry’s neck. “The same shit they always say. I just wish they’d let me make up my own fucking drum parts.”
Dougie hums indistinctly - he doesn’t want Harry to think he’s being ignored, but he refuses to be a go-between. He’d rather stay the hell out of the conflict.
“I know, I know,” Harry says, sighing. “Take it up with Tom.”
“Pretty much,” Dougie says, leaning back a little so that he can look Harry in the face. He’s not furrowing his brow anymore, which is a good sign. Dougie goes up on his tiptoes, and presses a kiss against Harry’s mouth. “And you say I’m dumb.”
Harry rolls his eyes, pulling away. He wraps his hands around Dougie’s wrists, thumbs pressing against Dougie’s palms.
“What, no ‘thank you’?” Dougie asks, grinning. Harry leans over, brushing his mouth against Dougie’s left cheekbone.
“Thanks, Pugs,” he says. His voice is sarcastic, but Dougie can tell that he means it anyway. “What’s say we get this over with so that we can go home?”
Dougie nods, then, and lets Harry tug him inside.