School = Procrastination = Productive in Fanfics
Title: Souvenirs and Lost Luggage
Author: asphyxiate_muse aka. ryukoishida
Genre: Fluff / Romance / Angst / Humor / AU
Rating: G - PG 13
Warning: Slash, swearing, sexual references
Pairing: Pudd (Dougie/Harry)
Summary: He yearned for his comfort, his words, his touch and just - him. Somehow, he had the power to renew him, and he embraced it, craved it.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the McFly boys (unfortunately). But I do own the plot bunny. Title inspired by Patrick Wolf’s ‘Souvenirs’.
A/N: Using the key words from Patrick Wolf’s album “The Bachelor” tracklist as themes, I’m trying a new writing style of doing ficlets… As in really, really short ones. Let’s see how the experiment goes.
***
01. Kriegspiel
A war was raging restlessly inside Harry’s mind. It was becoming even more vicious in the last few months, and it was especially intense (the conflicting emotions dying to break out of his seemingly indifferent demeanor) when the younger boy was in the same room.
‘This is all wrong!’ He raged in his head, brows furrowing without his own knowledge but Dougie, who was sitting across from the troubling man and plucking the strings of his bass idly, took note of the subtle expression and began to get up, placing his instrument on the stand next to him.
‘For fuck’s sakes, he’s your friend - practically your brother! You can’t have these feelings about your brother! That’s just fucked up!’ His brain just wouldn’t let him get a rest, as the same arguments kept piling up and running around his frenzied mind in an endless cycle.
“Harry?” He didn’t realize the smaller boy was suddenly that close to him in proximity (not that he minded - oh no, far from it). “What’s wrong?” One glance at his clear, blue eyes swirling with a warm mixture of worry, curiosity, and concern was all it took for Harry to break down and surrender.
*
02. Hard
“Mmm…” he cooed with delight, letting his fingers slide across delicately. “Go on, Dougs, feel it.”
“Uh… I’d rather not.”
“Come on! It’s incredible - all smooth, and strong, and so hard. Just try it.”
“Harry,” he took a tentative step away from his boyfriend warily. “How the hell did you manage to make car-shopping sound so dirty?”
“Oi, you’re the one who’s having the perverted thoughts here,” he winked and chuckled when a soft heat rose from Dougie’s usually porcelain cheeks.
*
03. Times
So many times he had yelled at him till his voice became coarse, and for nights afterwards (so damn cold without him), he would cry himself to sleep. So many times he had pushed him away (physically, in his mind), or tried to. So many times he had failed.
He called, he begged till he would take him back again.
And hence, so many times, Dougie willingly welcomed him back with open arms.
He knew he would hurt him again, but he was willing to risk it. He meant too much to him to let him go.
*
04. Oblivion
“You oblivious git!” Danny smacked the back of his head - rather unjustifiably, Harry reasoned in his own mind.
“Oww! What the fuck, Dan?”
“What are you waiting for?” The curly-haired brunet rolled his eyes, and pushed Harry forcefully through the threshold of the door. Fierce raindrops immediately kissed his skin with slick passion. “Go get him back!” Harry turned his eyes to the darkness of the storm - a retreating male with his signature golden locks glistening was slowly fading into the distance.
Danny was right (for once); how could he not know his feelings? It was so painfully obvious: the way his heart always stuttered at the slightest touch, the way his voice, his laughter, even his simple presence was enough to elicit some foreign tingly sensations all over his body. What the hell was he thinking?
Without waiting for another violent prompt from the guitarist, Harry rushed out into the storm, to him.
*
05. Bachelor
“When I grow up, I’m not going to get marry to any girl!” Little six year-old Dougie confessed to his best friend indignantly, dirty blond hair blowing into his bright azure eyes in the soft summer breeze. Harry, a year his senior, chuckled, wondering what kind of outrageous reason he would give out this time around.
“How come?” Harry turned to face him.
“They’re so strange,” Dougie’s small fingers were turning a scented, lavender purple envelop around and around absentmindedly, the opened flap crinkled under the pressure. Harry was positive that it was the work of one of their bolder fellow classmates. He grinned at the thought, but Dougie either chose to ignore it, or he didn’t catch the teasing expression at all.
“I just don’t understand them,” he sighs dramatically, waving the poor envelop around to make his point.
*
06. Thickets
He feels - no, he knows - that there’s a wall between them slowly growing. It’s subtle at first - like a thin veil of silvery smog, barely visible, barely sensible. Then it becomes denser: every time they find a reason to fight, every curse thrown back and forth carelessly, every blooming bruise formed afterwards, every cut - raw and bloody on skin or deeper still, though invisible to the naked eye. They are foundations for building up a defensive wall around him, solid and true, until he can no longer see him, feel him - care for him.
He doesn’t want to break down. Not for him. Not in front of him.
But it’s so fucking difficult, when he’s looking at him the way he is right now - deep blue irises shining with tears of remorse, large calloused hands grasping relentlessly (shaking) on to his paler ones.
He feels the impenetrable thickets slowly waste away. It’s useless, isn’t it?
*
07. Count
“What the hell are you doing outside? It’s freezing!”
“Harry!”
“What?”
“You just made me lost count, damn it!”
“Can’t sleep again, huh?”
“Yeah…”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“…”
“You know you can’t really count out all the stars even using your entire life time?”
“Hey, I can always try.”
“You’re silly, you know that, right?”
-
“Harry?”
“Hmm?”
“Stay here with me?”
“Of course.”
*
08. Casualty
He knew he was doing the right thing.
“Casualty is inevitable. You understand this, Haz, don’t you?” His slim fingers touch the smooth, cold metal of the dagger, as droplets of liquid ruby smeared on his nimble fingertips. It was still warm - his blood. He crouched down beside the frozen figure on the ground, and with the other hand that wasn’t tainted by red, he pushed his lover’s auburn locks that had fallen haphazardly across his forehead away; a pair of glassy ice-blue orbs stared back at him.
Dougie could see so many things painted in those lifeless eyes - surprise, betrayal, lingering love (does he still deserve this?) and pain (physical and something beyond that as well).
“I can’t let you go back to her,” Dougie told him genuinely, and leaned down to kiss his temple gently. “Don’t you see? That’s why I’m doing this. You’re mine.”
*
09. Who
To the majority of the world, he was Dougie Poynter - the shy, quiet member of the pop-rock band McFly who could play a hell of riffs on the bass and create musical noises that more than made up for his vocal silence.
To his band-mates, he was Dougie Poynter - the eccentric little brother they loved to tease, the giggly boy who couldn’t shut up when pissed drunk, and the one who would surprise them all by writing some inspiring, brilliant material even after getting pissed drunk the previous night.
To Harry, he was Dougie Poynter - he was all of those things, and then there was him. Just him. And he was madly in love with every little bits and pieces of Dougie that made him who he was.
*
10. Will
Dougie felt his will slowly slipping away as his boyfriend skillfully kissed and licked his way down his neck, and taking his sweet, sweet time to linger on the skin at the hollow of his throat. He suppressed a moan while attempting to hold his acoustic bass guitar steady with his shuddering fingers.
“Dougie, I’m bored,” Harry whined, the deep voice sending delicious vibrations along his neck and further into other body parts. “Entertain me?” The young boy knew the difference: a bitchy whiny Harry was one thing, but a bored Harry was entirely another matter. Well, he wouldn’t go down without a fight.
“Come on, Haz,” Dougie tried to lean away from the other male’s heated touch (but damn, that boy could be so tenacious and so, so persuasive when he wanted to). “Hmm… I need to practice this - damn it!” He gasped slightly as he felt Harry’s cool fingers dipping into his t-shirt and dancing slyly along the warm skin there. “S-stop it, Harry! Danny will have my head tomorrow if I don’t get this song right.”
“Is it necessary for us to be talking about our obnoxious guitarist when there’s something else important that we should be doing instead?” He mumbled against the back of Dougie’s neck. “And do you really want me to stop? There’ll be plenty of time to practice later after I’m done with you.” Dougie wasn’t even sure why he was trying; he was fighting a losing battle right from the very beginning anyway.
“Damn you, Haz,” he hastily placed the bass on the carpeted ground and finally turned around, practically tackling the taller man so that the both of them crashed rather ungracefully onto the bed.
“Love you, too, Dougs,” Harry smirked into the kiss.
*
11. Vulture
The squealing chords of the guitars, clangs of the drums and rumbling notes of the bass combined with the loud cheering and enthusiastic screaming of the crowds created an intoxicated mixture that constantly gave him a shot of euphoric high. It usually lasted for an hour after the concert ended; then, a sense of death took over his body, as if the energy was being sucked out suddenly from his system.
His band-mates knew when to avoid him during this ‘down’ time; after all, they wouldn’t want to become another victim of his eccentric mood-swing when they forgot and let an innocent question slipped past their lips. Only one person braved through these situations, and he, in a way, was like a vulture (swooping down fearlessly).
He yearned for his comfort, his words, his touch and just - him. Somehow, he had the power to renew him, and he embraced it, craved it.
*
12. Blackdown
Summer came, and Blackdown hill was an endless sea of rippling, emerald green. Breeze would waltz with a tang of sultriness and embrace with each blade of grass, tickling the leaves on moist branches to make them laugh with sparkling delight. Late afternoon sun sifted through the singing leaves, casting (ever moving) shadows on your face. You smiled at me, and your fingers laced lazily with mine.
It was a picturesque scene - too perfect, unreal.
Summer went, and so did we. It was now the midst of autumn. We returned (so much had changed). It was supposed to be a prelude to death and extinction - bloody and golden and (‘How is it possible that it’s still so damn perfect?’ I found myself asking no one.).
I was about to shatter this perfection.
I was about to break your heart.
*
13. Sun
“Do you prefer the sun, or the moon?” He suddenly asked, back straightening slightly on the leather sofa as if this was of utmost importance.
Trust Dougie to ask the most random question out of nowhere and expect somebody to take him seriously.
“What?” Harry shifted so that his head could lie on the blonde’s shoulder as he stifled a yawn.
“Sun or moon?” Dougie insisted, looking down to see a mass of dark brown hair with a small frown. Harry tilted his head up, molten sapphire met clueless sky; his lips twitched into a small smirk.
“I’m greedy,” he told him softly (semi-seriously) as he moved to straddle the startled bassist, their eyes never losing contact. “I want the sun and the moon.” He leaned in dangerously close to his lips, breath mingling together (and this was all he ever wanted). “And you.”
*
14. Often
These days, Harry Judd found it often (way too often for it to be healthy, if truth be told) that his thoughts would stray on the lean, blonde bassist in the most inappropriate of times and situations for far too long duration of time.
So often, in fact, that he thought he was going mad if this didn’t stop soon.
And he figured, ‘Oh, hell with it!’ There was nothing to lose after all. ‘It wouldn’t become weird or anything, would it?’ He stopped mid-stride in his head, suddenly unwilling to proceed. But he couldn’t do anything else (and he couldn’t just stand and do nothing either) if he wanted to keep his sanity.
If this was the only way, he mused, set with determination, then so be it.
*
15. Out
“Get out,” his voice was low, barely audible, but the other male knew him well enough to know that, in his case, shouting and yelling would have been a better sign. His dirty blonde bangs hovered over his eyes, veiling the brilliant blue from his view. He needed to be sure.
“Dougie, I…”
“Get out!” (‘Please, don’t listen to me.’) They were so cold, his eyes - ice blue, merciless.
He almost wished he wasn’t so good at all this lying and acting. Why was he walking away already?
“Don’t ever come back,” Dougie whispered. (‘Don’t go. Stay. I need you.’)
*
17. Battle
“Haz, could you please go get the lyric sheets for me? It’s on the kitchen table.” His request had been simple and his tone was polite enough, Dougie gathered as he continued to concentrate on twisting the knobs of his bass, attempting to get the strings into the correct tones.
“Get it yourself,” was the answer he received. His eyes followed the taller man’s figure as he sat behind his drum kit, hitting a few half-hearted beats.
“Harry,” his voice meant business, and Harry looked up to meet the bassist’s challenging eyes.
Oh, this was so on.
“Yes, Dougie?” He mimicked his serious manner, a hint of amusement lighting up his too blue orbs and fingers busy twirling the helpless wooden drumstick.
“If you don’t get those damn papers right now,” Dougie threatened, but a sly smirk was breaking through the surface. “I’ll…”
“You’ll…?” Harry raised his brow, daring him to continue.
“I’ll refrain from having sex with you tonight,” Dougie announced, then stopped. “Wait. Correction: make that the rest of the month.” Harry’s eyes widened. This had definitely caught his attention now.
*
18. Messenger
He moaned groggily, feeling something wet and slick tickled his abdomen; he attempted futilely to bat away whatever the nuisance was, but it kept coming back. It wasn’t uncomfortable, per se, but…
“Harry?” His voice was still hoarse, dripping with lingering sleep.
“What is it, lover?” The elder male’s voice was even lower, softer. The way he pronounced the last word made Dougie shivered with want (it was the casual yet intense way Harry could make it sounded).
“What are you doing?” He let his fingers dug lightly into the messy, brown locks, and Harry leaned into the tender touch, getting slightly distracted by those skillful digits for the moment while he lowered his head just that little to lick a small trail of pale, unmarred skin on his chest.
“Declaring my love for you,” Harry mumbled against the other man’s bare shoulder, then moved down along his wiry arm until he reached his wrist (where he could almost feel his fervent pulse). “And marking you as mine.” He shifted away again to continue his work.
“By painting on me?” Dougie, though breathless, still managed to raise a delicate brow, his elbow supporting his upper torso so that he could look down and see what his boyfriend had done. In the dimmed room only illuminated by a weak, yellow bulb on the desk a few feet away from the pair, the blonde could barely make out the words painted in black, block but still elegant letters (he wondered how Harry could see in the almost-darkness at all). The scripts rippled - and some smudged - as his muscles tensed. “I hope you’re not expecting me to parade around naked and act as your messenger,” he continued, smirking.
“Not a fucking chance.” Harry tossed the paintbrush carelessly away, satisfied at last.
***
Another A/N: Yeah… I guess some of them are not as short as they should have been. I got carried away again. I know I’ve skipped ‘Damaris’ and ‘Theseus’ from the track list, but I honestly don’t know what to write about them. And I’m having a headache. I don’t know if anyone have caught it, but with ‘Messenger’ when Harry calling Dougie his ‘lover’, it was from Charlaine Harris’ ‘Southern Vampire’ series (HBO’s ‘True Blood’, basically) - the 4th book, me thinks. Anyway, hope you guys have enjoyed it.