Uptown Boys - Fletcher/Jones, Poynter/Judd - Chapter 7
Title: Uptown Boys
Author: russsel
Part: 7/?
Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual situations
Pairing: Fletcher/Jones, Poynter/Judd
Genre: Romance
Summary: An age-old story: the earth reaches for the stars. Will destiny ever permit?
A/N: Alright, I sat down this morning and decided to write this next chapter. I was planning to write it last night, but I got too sleepy. Anyway, I think this one's longer (I can't tell 'cause this computer doesn't have Microsoft Word), if not, it's still a bit lengthy. As always, hope you enjoy~
Disclaimer: I do not own McFly in any way.
One: First Parte A || Two: First Parte B || Three: Second Parte A || Four: Second Parte B || Five: Third Parte A || Six: Third Parte B
Danny
“Imogen?”
The word left my lips in an undertone before I could stop it, and the moment I turned my head to see whoever it was, I was grabbed by my wrist, and pulled into the throng of dancing people. Hard.
It took me a good few seconds to realize what had just happened, the lights and the music making my head fuzzy and disorientated, and when I did, I saw that it was Tom who had been steering me into the center of the club, pushing people angrily out the way despite their protests, some spilling their drinks on his expensive-looking shirt but he didn't seem to care on both cases.
All he wanted to do was get away from something-or someone. And that person was probably Imogen, whoever she was.
“Tom, can we stop a bit?” I asked loudly, a little short of breath after swerving a second time in a row past a group of youngsters dancing dangerously sinfully against each other, but Tom gave no response, either because he didn't hear it or he ignored it, and he kept on pulling me quickly, as though we were being chased by an axe-bearing serial killer.
I'd never seen this side to Tom; in our short time together, he was always smiling, always carefree, as though he didn't care about anything and was just taking life by the horns: he just wanted to have fun. But this Tom, I didn't really know him. He always answered my questions, he always smiled, he was compassionate; everything that this Tom, what with his pushing people indiscriminately to the side and scowl of panic and frustration, had reversed.
Whatever his business was with Imogen was making him act this way, I knew that well enough. I knew something was wrong, and I wanted to know what.
So I pulled my wrists free from his vicegrip and waited for him to realize he wasn't holding me anymore. This didn't take long; he seemed to have contracted severe paranoia along with his new symptoms, and after stopping at once in his tracks, he frantically looked all around him, fear in his eyes, scoping out the faces of people in search of my familiar face. He spotted me a few ways from him, separated by a couple dancing like there was no tomorrow, and he jumped in the gap they made immediately before another pair could take their place.
“What's wrong with you?” I remarked, shooting him an inquiring look and placing my hands deep in my pockets before he could attempt to make another grab. He looked around uneasily before answering, no doubt looking for whoever it was he was running from, and in my head, I went over possible instances to why he could be acting the way he was. Had he done something to Imogen's boyfriend, who was probably all fit and muscular the way he wanted to escape so quickly? Was Imogen a stalker and Tom had finally had enough of her? Before I could get to the third possibility, he finally obliged to answer.
“Come on, dance!” he yelled out, face morphing back to the same Tom, but still keeping the paranoid, scoping look that he tried hard to mask with a smile. Right as I was going to answer to tell him otherwise, he began to dance, and I was left unmoving with my jaw half-opened. And it wasn't because I was cut off before I could say anything; it was on how he was dancing.
How he danced was this: he closed his eyes, inched up closer to me, and began rocking along to the music, shaking his shoulders side to side while attempting to move his feet in sync, locking his elbows so his arms made near-perfect ninety-degree angles and moving them in accordance to his shoulders, and lastly, he shook his hips unashamedly, which was probably the reason why he had his eyes closed in the first place. Whatever fear he had previously vanished without a trace, and it left me with the old Tom, well-equipped with his awkward ways and his dimple, apparently having found its sweet way back after being lost for a few minutes.
Thinking I might as well take advantage of the situation, I let myself get lost in the music, and soon I was dancing along with him-well, trying to, anyway. I didn't really know how to dance, but after seeing Tom just being himself in the middle of all these people (who really should go home soon before they start popping babies everywhere with the way they were dancing), I figured I might as well have fun. I was comfortable with Tom and he with me, and somewhere deep in my mind, something was telling me not to betray his comfort by not dancing along.
And it was then that my feelings blossomed even more: how could I resist someone comfortable enough in his own skin and his own ways to not care if people were staring at him as though he were a lunatic and should possibly admitted to the nearest asylum?
I looked around and eyed them with a stare worthy of Death himself, and after shrinking back and disappearing in the pack behind them, I turned back to Tom, who had finally opened his eyes and was now looking at me with a large grin of delight on his face.
If they thought he was a lunatic, then I'd be right in the mental institution with him.
And we danced and danced and danced. We had a thin line that we didn't cross, so we were never touching; a line parallel to that of the line of friendship.
Being his friend satisfied me in more ways than one, but there was still that part of me who wanted to move past that, move past the simple glances, the rare touches, the sweet smiles. I wanted so much more than that. I didn't want those times to be rare and ephemeral-I wanted them frequently, and I wanted them in large quantities. I wanted to hold him in my arms without worrying what people would think, to kiss him in the middle of the street without looking both ways until the coast was clear. I wanted to-
Tom
“You call that dancing?” I asked loudly, and judging by the way he looked at me, with his eyes a bit widened with his jaw slightly hanging down, it didn't seem to register to him what I had just said, so I repeated myself louder, “You call that dancing?”
His brows perked up and he brought a hand to scratch his head, a barely audible chuckle spilling from his wide grin.
“Sorry!” he said, and inclining his head closer to mine, he added, “I don't really know how to dance!”
“Neither do I!” I yelled out happily, jumping closer to him. He didn't seem too thrilled at our closeness, but I wanted him to have fun, and waving in the middle of the dance floor when everybody else was moving their hearts out to the beat told me flat-out that he wasn't. So I had to think of something to make him at least try, seeing as he was doing well enough seconds after I opened my eyes. Thinking of one, I did the boldest move I could imagine at the moment.
I grabbed his waist and began pushing it side to side.
The action seemed to have taken his breath away; he gave a start and let out a gasp at the touch, and his hands immediately clasped around my wrists.
“What are you doing?” he asked incredulously, looking every which way to see if anybody had seen, but he didn't make a move to wrench them off. To be quite honest, I thought I could feel him pressing my palms further into his side.
“What's it look like I'm doing? I'm trying to teach you how to dance!”
He eyed me with curiosity, a smile quickly appearing on his otherwise surprised face like a quickly blossoming flower, and he loosened his grip slightly.
“I thought you didn't know how to dance?”
“I lied!” I laughed, resuming my shaking motions and attempting to coreograph our bodies together so they moved as one, and at once, it dawned to me that I was touching Danny. As in, actually touching him. Mere moments earlier, I was marvelling at his body, taking in every single detail and incorporating it into a fantastical feel-make-believe representation of how he would feel against my hand, and now, that reverie turned into reality, and I enjoyed how he felt through the thin fabric separating our skins. His side was as firm as it looked from far away, and I could feel his muscles tightening with every swerve of his hips, something I was quite jealous about, but also found attractive at the same time.
We stayed in this position for a while; him holding my wrists hostage and my fingers feeling every bit of his body I could reach without coming off as groping (which I felt was exactly what I was doing, just toned down slightly), eyes locked in entrancement and smiles breaking our faces in two.
“Now you're getting it!” I remarked the moment I felt my face unconsciously gravitating towards his, and he laughed in turn, hands crawling along my skin and stopping at the base of my forearms, right when the elbow bent. The reason for this was a complete riddle to me, and I dropped my eyes to look at them, daring to believe if the touch was real. To stop myself from looking deeply in his eyes after confirming, I smiled and declared, moving his hips more slowly, “You're a natural, Danny!”
But Danny didn't reply like I thought he would, and when I calmed my face enough to look at him properly, I felt my heart beating. Fast.
He was looking at me intensely; his blue eyes burning through mine, swimming in countless emotions, I couldn't tell them apart-not that I tried. I lost myself for a moment, and my heart pumped quicker still when he began to move his head closer to mine.
“What's up?” I asked worriedly, with a hint of hope and apprehension; hope that he was feeling the same way as I did, and apprehension that he might not, and that the reason for his inclining was completely different. “Danny?”
An involuntary intake of breath, and the next moment, I could almost feel his breath brushing on my face, his face too close to mine that his eyes disappeared from my view. Was this real? Was this happening? I didn't know what to think.
“Danny-?”
“Tom! What are you doing?”
Danny pulled back almost instantaneously and rubbed his thumb on my cheek, eyes slightly bewildered for a moment at the suddenness of the remark. I turned my head reluctantly to the sound, not wanting to leave Danny's touch, and I felt my stomach churn, my heart constrict.
Someone with brown hair falling on her tightly-corseted dress that practically spilled her out at the top was rushing toward us, with a group of people closely following behind.
Imogen.
“There, all gone,” said Danny with a smile, sliding the appendage softly on my skin before letting his hand fall to his side.
“Thank you,” I felt compelled to say after looking back at him. The nature of the entire event puzzled me greatly, though I wasn't really given time to dwell on it. I didn't even get the chance to wonder if he had actually been about to kiss me, for Imogen had already appeared on my side.
“Why'd you run off like that?” she asked loudly, but I pretended not to notice, using the music around us as pretense. When no answer came, she opened her mouth again to repeat herself, but before she could speak, Harry swept over to me and took me aside, paying no attention when my arm was forcibly yanked from Danny's grasp.
“Were you two just doing what I thought you were?” he asked sternly when we gained enough distance from the thoroughly confused party. I shook my head.
“No, we weren't!” I admitted genuinely, and I could tell tone was a bit defensive. “He was just getting something off my face! Really!”
He looked at me seriously, and I felt myself shrinking back at his gaze; he'd never looked at me in this way, and it was quite frightening to know that this look-the same murderous one he gave those who'd done him wrong-was directed to me.
“Tom, you need to be careful,” he said, dipping his head close to my ear. “If Imogen sees anything, she'll tell someone, no doubt. You know how she's mental like that.”
“But there's nothing going on between us!” I remarked incredulously, retracting my head and looking at him with creased brows.
“Tom, I'm not fucking stupid,” he said, quite unnerved by my action, as he closed back in on my ear. “I just don't want you getting hurt, okay?”
“But-”
“Just,” he hissed, and he laid a hand on my shoulder, gripping it tight. “Be careful. Keep your eyes out for anything. Imogen tells your dad, you'll be disowned, and it's out of my hands to help you.”
Lifting his hand up, he secured it around my wrist and led me back to the group.
“What's up?” Dougie asked, visibly worried, but Harry shook his head and waved his hand.
“Nothing,” he assured everyone, not needing to heighten his voice since everyone was close in proximity. “Tom's all better now. Let's just all have fun, yeah?”
I smiled and wandered my eyes all around the area, trying to look for Danny. A second later, I spotted him standing behind an irked-looking Imogen, conversing with the living porcelain doll named Devon animatedly. I tilted my head to wonder what they were talking about, and before I knew it, I felt something wrapping around my waist, pulling me close.
Horrified, I turned woodenly at who the arms belonged to, and I very near fainted when I saw it to be Imogen.
“I've missed you Tom!” she yelled, and I gripped her wrists to wrench myself loose.
“What are you doing?” I remarked after success, and I took a step back before continuing, “We're broken up, Imogen! We're broken up!”
“Now, don't be silly, Tom,” she said with a grin, and I felt my face contorting in uneasiness, “Everyone knows we're just taking a little break.”
My eyes shot wide open, and I swallowed thickly.
“What?” I said, and I was about to say something else when I felt a hand grip my shoulder.
“Erm, Tom?” said Danny, and I twisted my head quickly to face him. “Do you reckon you can teach me more? I think I'm getting it now.”
He was smiling, and I felt my own starting to break out despite Imogen's unbelievability.
“Sure,” I said with a grin, but before I could leave with him, Imogen decided to cut in the conversation.
“Tom, we were talking,” she hissed angrily, jolly face morphing into something killer-like, like a shark, and tossing her head to Danny, she added, “Who the hell are you”
Danny's smile disappeared in a flash, and he looked at Imogen with apprehension-almost fear.
“I'm... I'm his friend,” he replied meekly, and in normal circumstances, nobody would have heard him, but when Imogen narrowed her eyes like a carnivorous feline, I knew she heard perfectly well.
“Well, I'm his girlfriend!” she bellowed loudly, and Danny's face adopted shock intermixed with something else-something like disappointment, and I mirrored his expression as I looked at Imogen.
“Girlfriend?” I saw Danny mouth, and I shook my head, almost to the point of grabbing his arm to make him see. But he seemed much too preoccupied with his thoughts, and I could do nothing else but to watch him stare blankly into space.
In the silence, Imogen once again decided to take the reins, and she did it without the slightest bit of hesitation.
Lifting her hand in the air, and watching Danny like a lion on the hunt, she slammed her palm in the center of her cheek so harshly I heard the sickening sound clearly amidst the loud music. I watched her with fear-lined curiosity, because I knew she was up to no good. She continued to drive her palm on her cheek, each accompanied by the loud slapping noise, and after her cheeks had turned dangerously red almost to the point of bleeding, she disappeared in the crowd behind her.
Danny and I exchanged glances.
“So, you have a girlfriend,” he said with a smile-something that wasn't like his in any aspect whatsoever, and it told me clearly that he had been affected by the false knowledge. “Why didn't you tell me?”
I shook my head and in my mind tried to search for the words to reply with, but none came. I was dumbstruck under his clouded gaze, and I could feel my heart thumping quicker than ever.
“Danny, I dont-She's not-”
“There he is!” came a cry from our left, and we both turned our heads just in time to see Imogen emerging behind a couple dancing accompanied by a tall, burly man wearing a tight-fitting black shirt, neanderthal-like features inspecting me and Danny.
“Which one?” he asked with a deep voice, and at once I felt intimidated. What had Imogen just done?
“The one-the one with the green shirt!” she yelled, wiping the tears off her cheeks. “He's the one that done it!”
The man looked at Danny with the same murderous look Harry had, and he reached a strong arm to grab Danny by the collar. Danny was confused and so was I. What was he taking him for?
“You're out of the club!” said the bouncer, and he dragged Danny across the dance floor, pushing people out of the way to make a path.
I looked at Imogen, who had her hand pressed on her cheeks pretending she had been assaulted, and I grimaced at the feat she had just accomplished.
Scared and confused, I pushed past her and tried to look for Harry or Dougie or anyone that could help me. Spotting Harry dancing with Dougie in the crowd (with Aleks begrudgingly dancing behind him), smiles imprinted on their faces as they looked at each other, I pushed people aside and grabbed his hand.
“Harry, they're taking Danny away!” I yelled frantically, pointing a finger to the heads of Danny and the man moving along the crowd. “Harry, you've got to help him!”
Harry wasted no time and yanked his hand from my grasp, and very soon followed the two quickly. Dougie and I went after him.
We came upon the mouth of the club and saw the man throw Danny into the streets, landing sharply on his side.
Horrified, Dougie and I ran to him, moving past Harry saying angrily, “What did he do?”
“Danny, are you alright?” asked Dougie concernedly, hooking his eyes around his waist to hoist him up.
Danny gave a groan of pain and held his side where he had fallen, wincing as his hand made contact with the tender skin.
“Yeah, 'm alright,” Danny said under his breath, labor evident in his voice, and I was much too appalled to say anything. I didn't even know if I should try to help him up. “Dougie, can you take me home?”
My eyes widened.
“Sure, of course,” Dougie assured him, heaving him to his feet and helping Danny wrap his arms around his shoulders. “Come on.”
I stood up and watched them walk along the sidewalk to their car, uttering a soft “Danny” right before Dougie slipped Danny inside.
“Dougie,” I said desperately, but he only looked at me with sympathy, and without even a wave of goodbye, he clambered in the driver's seat and drove off.
I didn't mind that the spectators were watching the show; I couldn't care less. What worried me the most was Danny, and if we would stay friends after all this.
Turning around, I saw Harry and Aleks standing under the awning, Harry's eyes trying to steer my gaze to him, Aleks utterly confused. Devon was right behind them, shaken by the event but not saying anything. And Imogen was right next to her, a smirk marking her face with malice.
All of a sudden, I grew furious at the sight of her.
I stomped my way to them and confronted Imogen violently, not caring that everyone was watching.
“What the fuck did you just do that for?” I yelled, and Imogen's smile was wiped clean off. She shrank back at the sound, and she looked at me with fear. But I didn't care. This was it-this was the last straw, and I didn't want anything to do with her anymore.
“Harry, let's go home,” I snapped, keeping my eyes to her after receiving no reply. Harry moved at once and grabbed me by the shoulders, whispering, “Come on, leave her” in my ear.
Before I turned to leave, I looked at her in disdain and loathing, and the words I said next left my lips without my conscience, manifestation of what I felt that that moment.
“You just stay the fuck away from me.”
Letting Harry lead me to the car, I saw Aleks striding over to us and stopping beside him.
“Are you sure they are rich? Their car is so ugly,” she said, and Harry turned to her with a grimace.
“Not now, Aleks!” he snapped, and he threw the door open to permit me inside. “Chester, we're going home.”
“What just happened out there?” he asked, ignoring Harry's remark.
“Nevermind!” Harry hissed, “Just go!”
“Alright, then,” said Chester with a shrug, and laying a hand on my thigh, Harry comforted me all through out the ride.
Danny
“Do you need to go to the hospital?” asked Dougie, trying his hardest to keep his eyes on the road and not to me. I shook my head.
We had just discussed everything that had happened; how Imogen twisted her tale and how she was Tom's girlfriend.
“Nah, I'll be fine,” I assured him. It was only a bruise, I reckoned, and it would be gone by the week's end. And I didn't want to go through all the hassle of paying for something I could manage perfectly well in my own house; we were already behind on some of our payments. We didn't need more reasons to spend money on useless things.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Don't worry about me,” I smiled when he turned to me. I didn't want him to worry; the day had pretty much been too much, and I wanted him to get a good night's rest tomorrow since we're to be going back to work.
“You can't blame Tom, you know,” he said as we rounded a corner. “It wasn't his fault. It was hers.”
“I know,” I said, though I wasn't sure if I really did. I wasn't feeling bitter toward Tom because of the incident; I was past that. I was feeling that way about him because I knew now that I couldn't get him. He was taken, and I couldn't do anything about that. What could I do? I wasn't rich like he was, I don't dress as properly as he does, and for all I knew, his friends would look down on me should they ever meet me-worse, look down on him for spending time with the likes of me. I didn't want him to suffer that humiliation, so I reckoned everything would be better this way.
I could live with my emotions. It'd be hard, but I knew I could do it. I had to.
“Then why are you acting this way?”
I didn't answer. Was it really fair for me to treat him like this?
“Whatever, then. I'll just leave you to your thoughts.”
I looked out the window at the newly acquired silence, and I thought about Tom.
I didn't know what tomorrow held, but I knew I shouldn't worry about it just yet. I still had to get through the night, and I hoped that I could come up with something to get my mind off him.
Author: russsel
Part: 7/?
Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual situations
Pairing: Fletcher/Jones, Poynter/Judd
Genre: Romance
Summary: An age-old story: the earth reaches for the stars. Will destiny ever permit?
A/N: Alright, I sat down this morning and decided to write this next chapter. I was planning to write it last night, but I got too sleepy. Anyway, I think this one's longer (I can't tell 'cause this computer doesn't have Microsoft Word), if not, it's still a bit lengthy. As always, hope you enjoy~
Disclaimer: I do not own McFly in any way.
One: First Parte A || Two: First Parte B || Three: Second Parte A || Four: Second Parte B || Five: Third Parte A || Six: Third Parte B
Danny
“Imogen?”
The word left my lips in an undertone before I could stop it, and the moment I turned my head to see whoever it was, I was grabbed by my wrist, and pulled into the throng of dancing people. Hard.
It took me a good few seconds to realize what had just happened, the lights and the music making my head fuzzy and disorientated, and when I did, I saw that it was Tom who had been steering me into the center of the club, pushing people angrily out the way despite their protests, some spilling their drinks on his expensive-looking shirt but he didn't seem to care on both cases.
All he wanted to do was get away from something-or someone. And that person was probably Imogen, whoever she was.
“Tom, can we stop a bit?” I asked loudly, a little short of breath after swerving a second time in a row past a group of youngsters dancing dangerously sinfully against each other, but Tom gave no response, either because he didn't hear it or he ignored it, and he kept on pulling me quickly, as though we were being chased by an axe-bearing serial killer.
I'd never seen this side to Tom; in our short time together, he was always smiling, always carefree, as though he didn't care about anything and was just taking life by the horns: he just wanted to have fun. But this Tom, I didn't really know him. He always answered my questions, he always smiled, he was compassionate; everything that this Tom, what with his pushing people indiscriminately to the side and scowl of panic and frustration, had reversed.
Whatever his business was with Imogen was making him act this way, I knew that well enough. I knew something was wrong, and I wanted to know what.
So I pulled my wrists free from his vicegrip and waited for him to realize he wasn't holding me anymore. This didn't take long; he seemed to have contracted severe paranoia along with his new symptoms, and after stopping at once in his tracks, he frantically looked all around him, fear in his eyes, scoping out the faces of people in search of my familiar face. He spotted me a few ways from him, separated by a couple dancing like there was no tomorrow, and he jumped in the gap they made immediately before another pair could take their place.
“What's wrong with you?” I remarked, shooting him an inquiring look and placing my hands deep in my pockets before he could attempt to make another grab. He looked around uneasily before answering, no doubt looking for whoever it was he was running from, and in my head, I went over possible instances to why he could be acting the way he was. Had he done something to Imogen's boyfriend, who was probably all fit and muscular the way he wanted to escape so quickly? Was Imogen a stalker and Tom had finally had enough of her? Before I could get to the third possibility, he finally obliged to answer.
“Come on, dance!” he yelled out, face morphing back to the same Tom, but still keeping the paranoid, scoping look that he tried hard to mask with a smile. Right as I was going to answer to tell him otherwise, he began to dance, and I was left unmoving with my jaw half-opened. And it wasn't because I was cut off before I could say anything; it was on how he was dancing.
How he danced was this: he closed his eyes, inched up closer to me, and began rocking along to the music, shaking his shoulders side to side while attempting to move his feet in sync, locking his elbows so his arms made near-perfect ninety-degree angles and moving them in accordance to his shoulders, and lastly, he shook his hips unashamedly, which was probably the reason why he had his eyes closed in the first place. Whatever fear he had previously vanished without a trace, and it left me with the old Tom, well-equipped with his awkward ways and his dimple, apparently having found its sweet way back after being lost for a few minutes.
Thinking I might as well take advantage of the situation, I let myself get lost in the music, and soon I was dancing along with him-well, trying to, anyway. I didn't really know how to dance, but after seeing Tom just being himself in the middle of all these people (who really should go home soon before they start popping babies everywhere with the way they were dancing), I figured I might as well have fun. I was comfortable with Tom and he with me, and somewhere deep in my mind, something was telling me not to betray his comfort by not dancing along.
And it was then that my feelings blossomed even more: how could I resist someone comfortable enough in his own skin and his own ways to not care if people were staring at him as though he were a lunatic and should possibly admitted to the nearest asylum?
I looked around and eyed them with a stare worthy of Death himself, and after shrinking back and disappearing in the pack behind them, I turned back to Tom, who had finally opened his eyes and was now looking at me with a large grin of delight on his face.
If they thought he was a lunatic, then I'd be right in the mental institution with him.
And we danced and danced and danced. We had a thin line that we didn't cross, so we were never touching; a line parallel to that of the line of friendship.
Being his friend satisfied me in more ways than one, but there was still that part of me who wanted to move past that, move past the simple glances, the rare touches, the sweet smiles. I wanted so much more than that. I didn't want those times to be rare and ephemeral-I wanted them frequently, and I wanted them in large quantities. I wanted to hold him in my arms without worrying what people would think, to kiss him in the middle of the street without looking both ways until the coast was clear. I wanted to-
Tom
“You call that dancing?” I asked loudly, and judging by the way he looked at me, with his eyes a bit widened with his jaw slightly hanging down, it didn't seem to register to him what I had just said, so I repeated myself louder, “You call that dancing?”
His brows perked up and he brought a hand to scratch his head, a barely audible chuckle spilling from his wide grin.
“Sorry!” he said, and inclining his head closer to mine, he added, “I don't really know how to dance!”
“Neither do I!” I yelled out happily, jumping closer to him. He didn't seem too thrilled at our closeness, but I wanted him to have fun, and waving in the middle of the dance floor when everybody else was moving their hearts out to the beat told me flat-out that he wasn't. So I had to think of something to make him at least try, seeing as he was doing well enough seconds after I opened my eyes. Thinking of one, I did the boldest move I could imagine at the moment.
I grabbed his waist and began pushing it side to side.
The action seemed to have taken his breath away; he gave a start and let out a gasp at the touch, and his hands immediately clasped around my wrists.
“What are you doing?” he asked incredulously, looking every which way to see if anybody had seen, but he didn't make a move to wrench them off. To be quite honest, I thought I could feel him pressing my palms further into his side.
“What's it look like I'm doing? I'm trying to teach you how to dance!”
He eyed me with curiosity, a smile quickly appearing on his otherwise surprised face like a quickly blossoming flower, and he loosened his grip slightly.
“I thought you didn't know how to dance?”
“I lied!” I laughed, resuming my shaking motions and attempting to coreograph our bodies together so they moved as one, and at once, it dawned to me that I was touching Danny. As in, actually touching him. Mere moments earlier, I was marvelling at his body, taking in every single detail and incorporating it into a fantastical feel-make-believe representation of how he would feel against my hand, and now, that reverie turned into reality, and I enjoyed how he felt through the thin fabric separating our skins. His side was as firm as it looked from far away, and I could feel his muscles tightening with every swerve of his hips, something I was quite jealous about, but also found attractive at the same time.
We stayed in this position for a while; him holding my wrists hostage and my fingers feeling every bit of his body I could reach without coming off as groping (which I felt was exactly what I was doing, just toned down slightly), eyes locked in entrancement and smiles breaking our faces in two.
“Now you're getting it!” I remarked the moment I felt my face unconsciously gravitating towards his, and he laughed in turn, hands crawling along my skin and stopping at the base of my forearms, right when the elbow bent. The reason for this was a complete riddle to me, and I dropped my eyes to look at them, daring to believe if the touch was real. To stop myself from looking deeply in his eyes after confirming, I smiled and declared, moving his hips more slowly, “You're a natural, Danny!”
But Danny didn't reply like I thought he would, and when I calmed my face enough to look at him properly, I felt my heart beating. Fast.
He was looking at me intensely; his blue eyes burning through mine, swimming in countless emotions, I couldn't tell them apart-not that I tried. I lost myself for a moment, and my heart pumped quicker still when he began to move his head closer to mine.
“What's up?” I asked worriedly, with a hint of hope and apprehension; hope that he was feeling the same way as I did, and apprehension that he might not, and that the reason for his inclining was completely different. “Danny?”
An involuntary intake of breath, and the next moment, I could almost feel his breath brushing on my face, his face too close to mine that his eyes disappeared from my view. Was this real? Was this happening? I didn't know what to think.
“Danny-?”
“Tom! What are you doing?”
Danny pulled back almost instantaneously and rubbed his thumb on my cheek, eyes slightly bewildered for a moment at the suddenness of the remark. I turned my head reluctantly to the sound, not wanting to leave Danny's touch, and I felt my stomach churn, my heart constrict.
Someone with brown hair falling on her tightly-corseted dress that practically spilled her out at the top was rushing toward us, with a group of people closely following behind.
Imogen.
“There, all gone,” said Danny with a smile, sliding the appendage softly on my skin before letting his hand fall to his side.
“Thank you,” I felt compelled to say after looking back at him. The nature of the entire event puzzled me greatly, though I wasn't really given time to dwell on it. I didn't even get the chance to wonder if he had actually been about to kiss me, for Imogen had already appeared on my side.
“Why'd you run off like that?” she asked loudly, but I pretended not to notice, using the music around us as pretense. When no answer came, she opened her mouth again to repeat herself, but before she could speak, Harry swept over to me and took me aside, paying no attention when my arm was forcibly yanked from Danny's grasp.
“Were you two just doing what I thought you were?” he asked sternly when we gained enough distance from the thoroughly confused party. I shook my head.
“No, we weren't!” I admitted genuinely, and I could tell tone was a bit defensive. “He was just getting something off my face! Really!”
He looked at me seriously, and I felt myself shrinking back at his gaze; he'd never looked at me in this way, and it was quite frightening to know that this look-the same murderous one he gave those who'd done him wrong-was directed to me.
“Tom, you need to be careful,” he said, dipping his head close to my ear. “If Imogen sees anything, she'll tell someone, no doubt. You know how she's mental like that.”
“But there's nothing going on between us!” I remarked incredulously, retracting my head and looking at him with creased brows.
“Tom, I'm not fucking stupid,” he said, quite unnerved by my action, as he closed back in on my ear. “I just don't want you getting hurt, okay?”
“But-”
“Just,” he hissed, and he laid a hand on my shoulder, gripping it tight. “Be careful. Keep your eyes out for anything. Imogen tells your dad, you'll be disowned, and it's out of my hands to help you.”
Lifting his hand up, he secured it around my wrist and led me back to the group.
“What's up?” Dougie asked, visibly worried, but Harry shook his head and waved his hand.
“Nothing,” he assured everyone, not needing to heighten his voice since everyone was close in proximity. “Tom's all better now. Let's just all have fun, yeah?”
I smiled and wandered my eyes all around the area, trying to look for Danny. A second later, I spotted him standing behind an irked-looking Imogen, conversing with the living porcelain doll named Devon animatedly. I tilted my head to wonder what they were talking about, and before I knew it, I felt something wrapping around my waist, pulling me close.
Horrified, I turned woodenly at who the arms belonged to, and I very near fainted when I saw it to be Imogen.
“I've missed you Tom!” she yelled, and I gripped her wrists to wrench myself loose.
“What are you doing?” I remarked after success, and I took a step back before continuing, “We're broken up, Imogen! We're broken up!”
“Now, don't be silly, Tom,” she said with a grin, and I felt my face contorting in uneasiness, “Everyone knows we're just taking a little break.”
My eyes shot wide open, and I swallowed thickly.
“What?” I said, and I was about to say something else when I felt a hand grip my shoulder.
“Erm, Tom?” said Danny, and I twisted my head quickly to face him. “Do you reckon you can teach me more? I think I'm getting it now.”
He was smiling, and I felt my own starting to break out despite Imogen's unbelievability.
“Sure,” I said with a grin, but before I could leave with him, Imogen decided to cut in the conversation.
“Tom, we were talking,” she hissed angrily, jolly face morphing into something killer-like, like a shark, and tossing her head to Danny, she added, “Who the hell are you”
Danny's smile disappeared in a flash, and he looked at Imogen with apprehension-almost fear.
“I'm... I'm his friend,” he replied meekly, and in normal circumstances, nobody would have heard him, but when Imogen narrowed her eyes like a carnivorous feline, I knew she heard perfectly well.
“Well, I'm his girlfriend!” she bellowed loudly, and Danny's face adopted shock intermixed with something else-something like disappointment, and I mirrored his expression as I looked at Imogen.
“Girlfriend?” I saw Danny mouth, and I shook my head, almost to the point of grabbing his arm to make him see. But he seemed much too preoccupied with his thoughts, and I could do nothing else but to watch him stare blankly into space.
In the silence, Imogen once again decided to take the reins, and she did it without the slightest bit of hesitation.
Lifting her hand in the air, and watching Danny like a lion on the hunt, she slammed her palm in the center of her cheek so harshly I heard the sickening sound clearly amidst the loud music. I watched her with fear-lined curiosity, because I knew she was up to no good. She continued to drive her palm on her cheek, each accompanied by the loud slapping noise, and after her cheeks had turned dangerously red almost to the point of bleeding, she disappeared in the crowd behind her.
Danny and I exchanged glances.
“So, you have a girlfriend,” he said with a smile-something that wasn't like his in any aspect whatsoever, and it told me clearly that he had been affected by the false knowledge. “Why didn't you tell me?”
I shook my head and in my mind tried to search for the words to reply with, but none came. I was dumbstruck under his clouded gaze, and I could feel my heart thumping quicker than ever.
“Danny, I dont-She's not-”
“There he is!” came a cry from our left, and we both turned our heads just in time to see Imogen emerging behind a couple dancing accompanied by a tall, burly man wearing a tight-fitting black shirt, neanderthal-like features inspecting me and Danny.
“Which one?” he asked with a deep voice, and at once I felt intimidated. What had Imogen just done?
“The one-the one with the green shirt!” she yelled, wiping the tears off her cheeks. “He's the one that done it!”
The man looked at Danny with the same murderous look Harry had, and he reached a strong arm to grab Danny by the collar. Danny was confused and so was I. What was he taking him for?
“You're out of the club!” said the bouncer, and he dragged Danny across the dance floor, pushing people out of the way to make a path.
I looked at Imogen, who had her hand pressed on her cheeks pretending she had been assaulted, and I grimaced at the feat she had just accomplished.
Scared and confused, I pushed past her and tried to look for Harry or Dougie or anyone that could help me. Spotting Harry dancing with Dougie in the crowd (with Aleks begrudgingly dancing behind him), smiles imprinted on their faces as they looked at each other, I pushed people aside and grabbed his hand.
“Harry, they're taking Danny away!” I yelled frantically, pointing a finger to the heads of Danny and the man moving along the crowd. “Harry, you've got to help him!”
Harry wasted no time and yanked his hand from my grasp, and very soon followed the two quickly. Dougie and I went after him.
We came upon the mouth of the club and saw the man throw Danny into the streets, landing sharply on his side.
Horrified, Dougie and I ran to him, moving past Harry saying angrily, “What did he do?”
“Danny, are you alright?” asked Dougie concernedly, hooking his eyes around his waist to hoist him up.
Danny gave a groan of pain and held his side where he had fallen, wincing as his hand made contact with the tender skin.
“Yeah, 'm alright,” Danny said under his breath, labor evident in his voice, and I was much too appalled to say anything. I didn't even know if I should try to help him up. “Dougie, can you take me home?”
My eyes widened.
“Sure, of course,” Dougie assured him, heaving him to his feet and helping Danny wrap his arms around his shoulders. “Come on.”
I stood up and watched them walk along the sidewalk to their car, uttering a soft “Danny” right before Dougie slipped Danny inside.
“Dougie,” I said desperately, but he only looked at me with sympathy, and without even a wave of goodbye, he clambered in the driver's seat and drove off.
I didn't mind that the spectators were watching the show; I couldn't care less. What worried me the most was Danny, and if we would stay friends after all this.
Turning around, I saw Harry and Aleks standing under the awning, Harry's eyes trying to steer my gaze to him, Aleks utterly confused. Devon was right behind them, shaken by the event but not saying anything. And Imogen was right next to her, a smirk marking her face with malice.
All of a sudden, I grew furious at the sight of her.
I stomped my way to them and confronted Imogen violently, not caring that everyone was watching.
“What the fuck did you just do that for?” I yelled, and Imogen's smile was wiped clean off. She shrank back at the sound, and she looked at me with fear. But I didn't care. This was it-this was the last straw, and I didn't want anything to do with her anymore.
“Harry, let's go home,” I snapped, keeping my eyes to her after receiving no reply. Harry moved at once and grabbed me by the shoulders, whispering, “Come on, leave her” in my ear.
Before I turned to leave, I looked at her in disdain and loathing, and the words I said next left my lips without my conscience, manifestation of what I felt that that moment.
“You just stay the fuck away from me.”
Letting Harry lead me to the car, I saw Aleks striding over to us and stopping beside him.
“Are you sure they are rich? Their car is so ugly,” she said, and Harry turned to her with a grimace.
“Not now, Aleks!” he snapped, and he threw the door open to permit me inside. “Chester, we're going home.”
“What just happened out there?” he asked, ignoring Harry's remark.
“Nevermind!” Harry hissed, “Just go!”
“Alright, then,” said Chester with a shrug, and laying a hand on my thigh, Harry comforted me all through out the ride.
Danny
“Do you need to go to the hospital?” asked Dougie, trying his hardest to keep his eyes on the road and not to me. I shook my head.
We had just discussed everything that had happened; how Imogen twisted her tale and how she was Tom's girlfriend.
“Nah, I'll be fine,” I assured him. It was only a bruise, I reckoned, and it would be gone by the week's end. And I didn't want to go through all the hassle of paying for something I could manage perfectly well in my own house; we were already behind on some of our payments. We didn't need more reasons to spend money on useless things.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Don't worry about me,” I smiled when he turned to me. I didn't want him to worry; the day had pretty much been too much, and I wanted him to get a good night's rest tomorrow since we're to be going back to work.
“You can't blame Tom, you know,” he said as we rounded a corner. “It wasn't his fault. It was hers.”
“I know,” I said, though I wasn't sure if I really did. I wasn't feeling bitter toward Tom because of the incident; I was past that. I was feeling that way about him because I knew now that I couldn't get him. He was taken, and I couldn't do anything about that. What could I do? I wasn't rich like he was, I don't dress as properly as he does, and for all I knew, his friends would look down on me should they ever meet me-worse, look down on him for spending time with the likes of me. I didn't want him to suffer that humiliation, so I reckoned everything would be better this way.
I could live with my emotions. It'd be hard, but I knew I could do it. I had to.
“Then why are you acting this way?”
I didn't answer. Was it really fair for me to treat him like this?
“Whatever, then. I'll just leave you to your thoughts.”
I looked out the window at the newly acquired silence, and I thought about Tom.
I didn't know what tomorrow held, but I knew I shouldn't worry about it just yet. I still had to get through the night, and I hoped that I could come up with something to get my mind off him.