And Love, Just Like Blood, Will Always Stain Part 2a
Title: And Love, Just Like Blood, Will Always Stain
Author: Me, coloured_dream
Part: 2a/2
Pairing: Judd/Jones
Genre: AU/Angst/Romance
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All untrue, just a work of fiction.
A/N: Sorry for the delay I had to make a few minor alterations. Big, big thank you to kellykins11 for the beta job ♥. Comments are appreciated. The first part can be found here.
Three weeks into their break and the wings go through another growth stage pulling at skin, sharp and uncomfortable. When the sill scabbed and heeling skin tears and starts to bleed Danny can’t help but feel a little disheartened, thought he was through all of this, through the pain and the bleeding.
It’s Harry’s hands again on his shoulders, cold and soothing against his skin, moving like a shadow through the night that proves a main source of comfort, and he can’t help but feel relaxed with him, like nothing has happened between them.
He almost wants to ask him where they stand now, what that night meant, but always bites into his lip to silence himself, thinks he knows the answer already, every time his eyes accidently meet Harry’s, every time he flinches away.
They’ve been here before, like this, with awkward stances and looks they catch out of the corner of their eyes. They were young then but now it’s different, now they should know better. But Danny doesn’t think he regrets this, regrets what has happened with Harry.
He tilts his head back, feels the full force of the water jets on his face and let out a sudden breath of air, the wings hanging wet and limp, even heavier than usual. He can see the blood mix with the water gurgling away down the plug hole by his feet. The blood still makes his stomach turn and the fear of why this is happening to him hang heavily over his heart.
When he stops the water and steps out of the shower he catches a glimpse of the wings in the steamed over mirror can see the change, see how they’ve grown, knows they’re at least four foot in width now and changing colour all the time. The ugly gunmetal grey is now lighter and speckled with turquoise, blending better with the slightly sand coloured down feathers, but it still doesn’t stop the burn of revulsion below his skin, the roll of nausea for all they stand for. He hates how they make him feel weak and afraid, but most of all pity for himself, pity for the fragile being he’s become.
::
The sound of the ocean fills Danny’s ears, soft and soothing, creating a lull in his senses, white noise. The moonlight shines off the dark blue waves and across his figure as he sits feet dangling over the edge of an old and decrepit wooden pier situated on the southern side of the beach.
He’s not too far from the house, can see the glow even if slightly faint further up and over the sandy dunes. He just fancied a walk, seemed to be doing a lot of that lately wandering around, trying to clear his mind, needing space and time to think despite the fact his thoughts are too hazy, unable to gather, and nothing more than static buzz.
He really wishes he could work it all out, un-jumble his mind. He wants to be able to speak to Harry, talk him through what’s happening inside his mind, after all he’s being open about everything else. But there’s some kind of twisted irony that Harry’s the sole cause of this lack of speech, feels like he can’t form the words he needs, doesn’t want to push the lines that have already blurred and darken horizons that were once bright and storm free.
Lifting the cigarette between his fingers to his lips, he pats down the pocket of the light grey hoody he’s wearing for the lighter, once finding it immediately sparking up; letting the smoke drift across him, dulling emotions and deadening the constant whoosh of thoughts. He needs the nicotine hit, something else to become dependent on, an easier habit to kick.
“Got one for me?”
He jumps and almost curses; hates to be crept up on. His head tilts, turns to face Harry feeling his eyes on him, feeling like Harry can hear his thoughts and know when he’s thinking about him, just knows. He hadn’t even heard him approach, hadn’t heard his feet against the boardwalk, and swallowed thickly, unsure of how the drummer can always seem so strong and smart, like he has an answer for everything.
“Always on the bum, Harry.” He smiles good naturedly and feels Harry sit beside him, in the same pose feet dangling over the edge. Their fingers brush when he passes him the box of cigarette, careful not to allow his eyes to meet Harry’s, feels the spark, and can’t help but wonder if Harry feels it too?
“Oh. You know me so well.” Harry’s smile is blinding and Danny can’t help smiling back, sinking into the comfortable atmosphere that Harry just oozes, the serenity, the balance. He can’t see any change in Harry’s gaze, doesn’t see any sign that would indicate that Harry had felt the spark, just shrugged it off as if he’d imagined it and returned his gaze back to the swirling ocean below, feels the chill on his skin, can almost taste the salt in the air.
“You’re very quiet tonight. They’re not hurting, are they?” he feels Harry’s hand on his spine resting on the small of his back and shudders, knows this would be his opening to speak to Harry, ask him those questions that burn in the back of his mind, but when he looks up, see his tired eyes, deep blue swirled with worry, with confusion, all he can do is shake his head.
“No. Not as bad as they were before.” He stubs out his cigarette and looks up towards Harry watches the pensive look that dances across his features.
“I feel like I’m always asking you if you’re alright.” Harry grins, flicks the ash from his cigarette over the edge, just letting the silence surround him.
“I’m sick of hearing you ask me it,” Danny chuckles before his features twist into a more serious stance. “I feel like I’m always running from those questions.” He says it without really thinking about what words are spilling from between his lips, knows as well as Harry that’s what he’s being doing, running, hiding. But the wings aren’t going and neither are those feelings.
“Then don’t run. Talk to me, properly. Tell me what you feel, stop bottling everything up.” Harry’s voice doesn’t seem angry but his eyes are hard and dark, making it impossible for Danny to read him. The words are so simple, the idea of doing just that so effortless and all Danny seems able to do is tilt his head towards him, fingers curling against the edge of the wooden boardwalk as he sighs into the night.
He can be intimate with Harry, can trust him enough to let him in, to sleep beside him but now it actually comes to something more, to telling the truth, he can’t do it, feels like he can never tell Harry just what he feels. The thought is too daunting, the thought that once the words start falling from between his lips, truths, he might not be able to stop them.
He knows what’s happening, knows what he feels, but the thought of Harry knowing is terrifying. The thought that muttering those words aloud might break apart their friendship is too frightening, too off putting. How can you say I think I’m falling for you, again? When he doesn’t want to, knows he can’t, but doesn’t seem able to stop himself, stop it happening.
::
There’s a storm blowing in, Danny can see the dark clouds on the horizon, bleeding through the sunset that colours the skyline. He sits on the cliff, a little away from the mossy edge, like he did on that very first day, enjoys the cold air on his skin, the peace and quiet. He likes the sound of the waves crashing against the rocky edges below, loud and obtrusive blocking out the buzz of thoughts he has.
“You’re not going to jump are you?” its only when he hears the voice, accompanied by the sounds of footsteps on the gravel path behind him, disturbing his thoughts that he lifts his head and turns his gaze, watching as Dougie stands awkwardly, hands pressed into the pockets of his baggy cut offs, his dirty blond hair blowing in the breeze and shining dully in the sinking sun.
“I’m not suicidal just yet.” His voice is harsh and void of emotion, and somewhere in the back of his mind he’s wondering why Dougie’s here, why he’s talking to him, why he’s looking so afraid. He turns back to the view, the darkening clouds that seem to be getting more and more prominent, hears Dougie take a deep breath.
“I know you’re still mad at me, Dan. You have reason to be.” Dougie’s voice falters, footsteps getting closer until he plops down beside Danny who just scoffs.
“I was a dick!”
“You’re telling me.” Danny’s eyes lift, watching Dougie as he sighs, pulling the cigarettes from his pocket and offering the packet to Danny. The silence returns and Danny just nods, watching the dirty haired blonde from behind his veil of dark curls.
“I want to apologize.” Dougie licks his lips, words seeming so wrong coming from between them. He looks like he could never do wrong, let alone apologize for it. So innocent and baby faced.
“Did Harry send you?” the question is automatic, tumbles from Danny’s lips before he even has chance to think. The whole scene feels too much like a repeat, like he’s being here before, remembers Harry’s words, words that are always on repeat in the back of his mind. ‘Talk to me, properly. Tell me what you feel, stop bottling everything up.’
He wants to tell someone what he feels, doesn’t know why and isn’t sure he can, his feelings all jumbled, thoughts too messy, the anger burning below the skin. He feels anger right at that minute, anger that Dougie has the gall to apologize, anger at himself for wanting to accept his apology and just go back to how things were. He wants to pretend the wings aren’t there, aren’t digging into his shoulders, skin raw and scabbed once more. He wants to pretend the wings aren’t the cause of this, of Dougie’s apologies, the disconcertion he’s felt recently.
“I’m sorry for what I said, how I acted. It was a shock, seeing them. The feathers. The wings.” Dougie’s voice seems so small that Danny strains to hear above the soft crashes of the waves, lifts his cigarette to his lips and lights up watching the tendrils of smoke drift away from him.
“And how do you think that made me feel, rejected by one of my friends, one of my best fucking friends.” He snaps the words and watches as Dougie flinches. He knows Dougie wouldn’t purposely make him feel that way, knows he probably didn’t know how to cope like Tom and Harry had.
“I thought they were going to fuck up the band.”
“There’s still time,” Danny’s words are scoffed, looking up and watching Dougie though heavy lidded eyes, watching the way the blonde worriers his bottom lips between his teeth, and for the first time Danny sees the fright in Dougie’s eyes staring back at him, know now that he was wrong when he thought it was disgust.
“Don’t you think I thought the same thing myself? I need you guys, I don’t want to lose myself because I’ve grown feathers. I don’t want to be treated differently because I have extra parts but that’s what you did. I’m just the same person, Doug’s, no different.” His words fall apart under the anger, spoken in truth with an edge that makes the small blonde flinch.
“I know, I know. God, Dan, I know how what I said, what I’ve done, keeping a distance from you these last few weeks must have hurt. I never wanted it to. I never meant it to. I fucked up!” Danny lifts his head, watches Dougie blink too many time for what would be considered normal and Danny knows he’s blinking back the tears, feels the hurt, and he almost wants to reach out. Almost. He doesn’t, he can’t.
“The band means so much to me. It’s not the fame, the money none of that matters. It’s the making music with my friends; it’s knowing that this is something I can do, something I’m good at. I was terrified the wings would destroy that, Danny. And I know I must seem so selfish...” he trails off, stops suddenly as Danny speaks, and shakes his head.
“No. It doesn’t.” His voice breaks, Adams apple bobbing as he swallows thickly and doesn’t say why, doesn’t let his words go any further, can’t. He watches Dougie with discretion, sees the way he seems so desperate for him to believe, and sees the buoyant look in his teal eyes. He wants to say he does believe him, but doesn’t.
“You know more than anyone just what it’s like to lose your dad, to have them screw up, walk away. I didn’t really have any male role models in my life till I met you, Tom and Harry. You guys are like my family now and I couldn’t bear the thought of you walking away, of the band falling apart.” His words pull at Danny’s heart strings, tearing through every muscle in his body and he chews on his bottom lip as he watches. He knows what happened with Dougie’s dad had listened to Dougie talk about him, only a couple of times, and only when he’d had a few drinks, but he still knows how it had hurt Dougie, remembers what Dougie was like when he’d first met him, how shy and unsure he was.
“I know I shouldn’t have acted how I have; I know my actions could have pushed the band apart. But I just needed time, needed to get use to the idea. To them.” His words are so soft, croaked so gently and with trepidation that Danny’s unsure of just what he should say in reply.
He understands it too well, understands just how young and in need of guidance Dougie was at the beginning. Can understand just how hard they must have been for Dougie to accept, how he saw them as a threat to his band, to the life he’d grasped onto and thieved from and can’t hold that against him any longer, knows it would be wrong to.
“Am I forgiven?” Dougie seems so much like a child in that moment that Danny simply nods, lets his lips curl and feels a surge of relief. It’s like the jigsaw pieces are fitting together, forming a picture instead of an indecipherable haze of colour and shapes.
They don’t speak for a long while, the silence almost comforting, and the feel of the wind whipping by them kind of pleasant. The sky grows darker with every passing second, Danny can see Dougie from the corner of his eyes, see his fingers flexing but doesn’t really focus his attention, doesn’t think until he feels the fingers on his back, slipping under his shirt and across his spine.
He freezes, back shot stiff as he tilts his head in Dougie’s direction, can feel his fingers brush against the feathers, tickling almost. Only Harry’s ever touched the feathers, it feels personal, not all that wrong but he still sighs aloud unable to hide his surprise, eyes wide with worry as he tilts his head, looks up and feels fingers retracting almost as quick as they had settled.
“Was that too much, too fast?” Dougie bites into his bottom lip and all Danny can do is shake his head, letting his lips curl.
“No. Just wasn’t expecting it.” He can feel the first drops of rain on his face, hears the thunder rumbling in the distance but doesn’t really care, eyes still on Dougie. He watches as he laughs quietly, rolls his shoulders and smiles wide and bright.
“They’re so soft!”
And all Danny can do is stare and wonder how Dougie can accept them so quickly, when he still can’t even after all this time.
::
Taking a deep breath, letting the wings unfurl behind him Danny stands in front of the bathroom mirror, arms locked, and lip held between his teeth. He never tried to see what they look like open before, too scared to confront reality, but he just needed to see them, see what they looked like when unfolded, needed to know what it felt like.
There was more weight, a little spark of pain, a slight feeling of unbalance, nothing he couldn’t deal with. His head tilted, could see the colours of the feathers in the mirror, the turquoise, the greys, the browns, see the slightly damaged and healing skin, exhaled deeply and closed his eyes, feeling the churn of his stomach.
He could feel the curiosity curling and burning and with a deep breath he gave an experimental flutter, cringing slightly when they thumped dully against the wall, knocking various bottles of bathroom products to the floor. Quickly, as if being shocked, he curled them back close to his body and swivelled to face the door as there was a dull knock.
“Dan, you okay in there?”
He could feel the relief flood over him in calming waves when he heard Tom’s voice, not Harry’s, doesn’t know why he doesn’t want the drummer to know about this, the wings still held tight to his body, afraid. “‘m fine. Fine, Tom.”
As he turns his back to the mirror he sighs and lets the wings expand once more, with a little more caution this time, head cocked and continuing to watch, watch the shape of the feathers, the array of different colours, fascinated by the way his muscles flex beneath the red and shining, healing skin.
::
Thunder rumbles in clammy night air, the rain bouncing against the glass windows of the French doors that lead out onto the balcony. He sits with his back against the headboard, listens, lyric book laid open by his feet. The first few buttons of his shirt are already open, skin clammy and uncomfortable, the wings fastened down.
When there’s a knock at his door his eyes go to the alarm clock and he knows it’s too early to be Harry, but he still feels his heart leap. Their nightly routine is still the same, always the same, and it doesn’t feel awkward despite the fact it should, despite the way they’d crossed lines.
But when he shouts come in, the door opening he sees its Harry and can’t help but smile, wondering why he’s early. He watches him move towards the bed, rolling his shoulders a little as he goes, head tilted.
“Doug’s and Tom are watching some crap film so I thought I’d come and see you.” Danny’s lips part, it almost feels like Harry’s picking the thoughts from his brain, answering his questions so effortlessly before he’s even asked them.
“What you up to.” He sits on the bottom of the bed and looks towards the lyric book that’s lain open, hand reaching out, fingers curling around the dog-eared pages, a canvas of pure white below, with nothing but scribbled words and ink blobs in perfecting the paper.
Take these chances to turn it around
Take these chances we'll make it somehow
Danny just watches him, tilts his head and chews on the inside of his mouth. They’re not really anything specific, just words scribbled in biro on the paper; words that he knows probably won’t turn into anything more.
“You okay?” Harry’s voice is soft, eyes glancing towards him expectantly, closing the book and placing it on the bedside table as he scrambles across the bed and into the space beside Danny, back against the headboard.
“Hmm.” Danny’s words are just a mumble, head lifting, pushing tangled curls from out of his eyes, he’s sick of the question, sick of saying ‘I’m fine’ sick of lying when he’s not fine at all, not when Harry’s so close, when the scent of his aftershave, the warmth from his skin has his heart beating like a drum. He’s surprised Harry can’t hear it, he’s that close.
“I’m glad you talked to Dougie.” Harry tilts his head towards Danny and the curly haired brunette knows he’s waiting for him to elaborate, go into the details of their conversation, but he won’t, wants to keep it just between himself and Dougie.
Instead, he finds himself meeting Harry’s gaze, drawn into the orbs of blue as he speaks, words that he knows he shouldn’t say, questions that he knows he shouldn’t ask falling from between his lips, the need for answers too great to ignore.
“What’s going on between us? That night, why haven’t we talked about it?” he sees the surprised look that flitters across Harry’s face, the slight pink tint that flushes his cheeks and he knows that wasn’t what he was expecting. He watches his lips part, close, part and waits for some form of an answer.
“Er. I. Er. Danny don’t!” he watches Harry shift uncomfortably on the bed, swallows and tries not to let the hurt he feels be too known. He wants answers, wants to know what it meant to Harry. He wants to hear words, words that will stop the constant and steady stream thoughts he has, the feel of Harry’s finger’s on his cock, his breath on his cheeks, lips on his skin. It’s like a nightmare, repeating itself night after night. It’s a nightmare he doesn’t want to be a nightmare anymore.
“We said after the last time we weren’t going to let this happen again.” Danny’s fingers pick at the bedcover below, feels the tension that lingers in the air and knows this is a conversation they should have had the morning after, all those weeks ago. He’s not really sure how he’s managed to keep his thoughts, his feelings locked up this long.
“You knew we we’re never going to keep our word on that.” Harry’s voice is rough, like he can’t quite catch his breath to form the words, and Danny can’t help but wonder if they would still have gone back on their words if it hadn’t been for the wings.
“You think I’m strong, Danny. You think I can cope with all this, but sometimes I can’t, sometimes I don’t know how to.
“Sometimes I don’t know what’s going on, Dan. I wish I could give you clear answers, I really do. I wish I could tell you what I feel, but I know those words are impossible to find. I wish I could show you.”
And when Harry’s eyes trail away, looking to the floor Danny suddenly feels the need to touch him, press his fingers against his cheek and bring his gaze back level.
“Harry?” Danny’s eyes lock with bright blue orbs when Harry’s head lifts slowly, eyes sparkling in the dim glow. The thunder still rumbles outside, the rain still pounds against the glass and all he can do is wrap a hand around Harry’s, lick his lips, and murmur words that make his stomach knot.
“Try. Please.”
::
continued in part 2
Author: Me, coloured_dream
Part: 2a/2
Pairing: Judd/Jones
Genre: AU/Angst/Romance
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All untrue, just a work of fiction.
A/N: Sorry for the delay I had to make a few minor alterations. Big, big thank you to kellykins11 for the beta job ♥. Comments are appreciated. The first part can be found here.
Three weeks into their break and the wings go through another growth stage pulling at skin, sharp and uncomfortable. When the sill scabbed and heeling skin tears and starts to bleed Danny can’t help but feel a little disheartened, thought he was through all of this, through the pain and the bleeding.
It’s Harry’s hands again on his shoulders, cold and soothing against his skin, moving like a shadow through the night that proves a main source of comfort, and he can’t help but feel relaxed with him, like nothing has happened between them.
He almost wants to ask him where they stand now, what that night meant, but always bites into his lip to silence himself, thinks he knows the answer already, every time his eyes accidently meet Harry’s, every time he flinches away.
They’ve been here before, like this, with awkward stances and looks they catch out of the corner of their eyes. They were young then but now it’s different, now they should know better. But Danny doesn’t think he regrets this, regrets what has happened with Harry.
He tilts his head back, feels the full force of the water jets on his face and let out a sudden breath of air, the wings hanging wet and limp, even heavier than usual. He can see the blood mix with the water gurgling away down the plug hole by his feet. The blood still makes his stomach turn and the fear of why this is happening to him hang heavily over his heart.
When he stops the water and steps out of the shower he catches a glimpse of the wings in the steamed over mirror can see the change, see how they’ve grown, knows they’re at least four foot in width now and changing colour all the time. The ugly gunmetal grey is now lighter and speckled with turquoise, blending better with the slightly sand coloured down feathers, but it still doesn’t stop the burn of revulsion below his skin, the roll of nausea for all they stand for. He hates how they make him feel weak and afraid, but most of all pity for himself, pity for the fragile being he’s become.
::
The sound of the ocean fills Danny’s ears, soft and soothing, creating a lull in his senses, white noise. The moonlight shines off the dark blue waves and across his figure as he sits feet dangling over the edge of an old and decrepit wooden pier situated on the southern side of the beach.
He’s not too far from the house, can see the glow even if slightly faint further up and over the sandy dunes. He just fancied a walk, seemed to be doing a lot of that lately wandering around, trying to clear his mind, needing space and time to think despite the fact his thoughts are too hazy, unable to gather, and nothing more than static buzz.
He really wishes he could work it all out, un-jumble his mind. He wants to be able to speak to Harry, talk him through what’s happening inside his mind, after all he’s being open about everything else. But there’s some kind of twisted irony that Harry’s the sole cause of this lack of speech, feels like he can’t form the words he needs, doesn’t want to push the lines that have already blurred and darken horizons that were once bright and storm free.
Lifting the cigarette between his fingers to his lips, he pats down the pocket of the light grey hoody he’s wearing for the lighter, once finding it immediately sparking up; letting the smoke drift across him, dulling emotions and deadening the constant whoosh of thoughts. He needs the nicotine hit, something else to become dependent on, an easier habit to kick.
“Got one for me?”
He jumps and almost curses; hates to be crept up on. His head tilts, turns to face Harry feeling his eyes on him, feeling like Harry can hear his thoughts and know when he’s thinking about him, just knows. He hadn’t even heard him approach, hadn’t heard his feet against the boardwalk, and swallowed thickly, unsure of how the drummer can always seem so strong and smart, like he has an answer for everything.
“Always on the bum, Harry.” He smiles good naturedly and feels Harry sit beside him, in the same pose feet dangling over the edge. Their fingers brush when he passes him the box of cigarette, careful not to allow his eyes to meet Harry’s, feels the spark, and can’t help but wonder if Harry feels it too?
“Oh. You know me so well.” Harry’s smile is blinding and Danny can’t help smiling back, sinking into the comfortable atmosphere that Harry just oozes, the serenity, the balance. He can’t see any change in Harry’s gaze, doesn’t see any sign that would indicate that Harry had felt the spark, just shrugged it off as if he’d imagined it and returned his gaze back to the swirling ocean below, feels the chill on his skin, can almost taste the salt in the air.
“You’re very quiet tonight. They’re not hurting, are they?” he feels Harry’s hand on his spine resting on the small of his back and shudders, knows this would be his opening to speak to Harry, ask him those questions that burn in the back of his mind, but when he looks up, see his tired eyes, deep blue swirled with worry, with confusion, all he can do is shake his head.
“No. Not as bad as they were before.” He stubs out his cigarette and looks up towards Harry watches the pensive look that dances across his features.
“I feel like I’m always asking you if you’re alright.” Harry grins, flicks the ash from his cigarette over the edge, just letting the silence surround him.
“I’m sick of hearing you ask me it,” Danny chuckles before his features twist into a more serious stance. “I feel like I’m always running from those questions.” He says it without really thinking about what words are spilling from between his lips, knows as well as Harry that’s what he’s being doing, running, hiding. But the wings aren’t going and neither are those feelings.
“Then don’t run. Talk to me, properly. Tell me what you feel, stop bottling everything up.” Harry’s voice doesn’t seem angry but his eyes are hard and dark, making it impossible for Danny to read him. The words are so simple, the idea of doing just that so effortless and all Danny seems able to do is tilt his head towards him, fingers curling against the edge of the wooden boardwalk as he sighs into the night.
He can be intimate with Harry, can trust him enough to let him in, to sleep beside him but now it actually comes to something more, to telling the truth, he can’t do it, feels like he can never tell Harry just what he feels. The thought is too daunting, the thought that once the words start falling from between his lips, truths, he might not be able to stop them.
He knows what’s happening, knows what he feels, but the thought of Harry knowing is terrifying. The thought that muttering those words aloud might break apart their friendship is too frightening, too off putting. How can you say I think I’m falling for you, again? When he doesn’t want to, knows he can’t, but doesn’t seem able to stop himself, stop it happening.
::
There’s a storm blowing in, Danny can see the dark clouds on the horizon, bleeding through the sunset that colours the skyline. He sits on the cliff, a little away from the mossy edge, like he did on that very first day, enjoys the cold air on his skin, the peace and quiet. He likes the sound of the waves crashing against the rocky edges below, loud and obtrusive blocking out the buzz of thoughts he has.
“You’re not going to jump are you?” its only when he hears the voice, accompanied by the sounds of footsteps on the gravel path behind him, disturbing his thoughts that he lifts his head and turns his gaze, watching as Dougie stands awkwardly, hands pressed into the pockets of his baggy cut offs, his dirty blond hair blowing in the breeze and shining dully in the sinking sun.
“I’m not suicidal just yet.” His voice is harsh and void of emotion, and somewhere in the back of his mind he’s wondering why Dougie’s here, why he’s talking to him, why he’s looking so afraid. He turns back to the view, the darkening clouds that seem to be getting more and more prominent, hears Dougie take a deep breath.
“I know you’re still mad at me, Dan. You have reason to be.” Dougie’s voice falters, footsteps getting closer until he plops down beside Danny who just scoffs.
“I was a dick!”
“You’re telling me.” Danny’s eyes lift, watching Dougie as he sighs, pulling the cigarettes from his pocket and offering the packet to Danny. The silence returns and Danny just nods, watching the dirty haired blonde from behind his veil of dark curls.
“I want to apologize.” Dougie licks his lips, words seeming so wrong coming from between them. He looks like he could never do wrong, let alone apologize for it. So innocent and baby faced.
“Did Harry send you?” the question is automatic, tumbles from Danny’s lips before he even has chance to think. The whole scene feels too much like a repeat, like he’s being here before, remembers Harry’s words, words that are always on repeat in the back of his mind. ‘Talk to me, properly. Tell me what you feel, stop bottling everything up.’
He wants to tell someone what he feels, doesn’t know why and isn’t sure he can, his feelings all jumbled, thoughts too messy, the anger burning below the skin. He feels anger right at that minute, anger that Dougie has the gall to apologize, anger at himself for wanting to accept his apology and just go back to how things were. He wants to pretend the wings aren’t there, aren’t digging into his shoulders, skin raw and scabbed once more. He wants to pretend the wings aren’t the cause of this, of Dougie’s apologies, the disconcertion he’s felt recently.
“I’m sorry for what I said, how I acted. It was a shock, seeing them. The feathers. The wings.” Dougie’s voice seems so small that Danny strains to hear above the soft crashes of the waves, lifts his cigarette to his lips and lights up watching the tendrils of smoke drift away from him.
“And how do you think that made me feel, rejected by one of my friends, one of my best fucking friends.” He snaps the words and watches as Dougie flinches. He knows Dougie wouldn’t purposely make him feel that way, knows he probably didn’t know how to cope like Tom and Harry had.
“I thought they were going to fuck up the band.”
“There’s still time,” Danny’s words are scoffed, looking up and watching Dougie though heavy lidded eyes, watching the way the blonde worriers his bottom lips between his teeth, and for the first time Danny sees the fright in Dougie’s eyes staring back at him, know now that he was wrong when he thought it was disgust.
“Don’t you think I thought the same thing myself? I need you guys, I don’t want to lose myself because I’ve grown feathers. I don’t want to be treated differently because I have extra parts but that’s what you did. I’m just the same person, Doug’s, no different.” His words fall apart under the anger, spoken in truth with an edge that makes the small blonde flinch.
“I know, I know. God, Dan, I know how what I said, what I’ve done, keeping a distance from you these last few weeks must have hurt. I never wanted it to. I never meant it to. I fucked up!” Danny lifts his head, watches Dougie blink too many time for what would be considered normal and Danny knows he’s blinking back the tears, feels the hurt, and he almost wants to reach out. Almost. He doesn’t, he can’t.
“The band means so much to me. It’s not the fame, the money none of that matters. It’s the making music with my friends; it’s knowing that this is something I can do, something I’m good at. I was terrified the wings would destroy that, Danny. And I know I must seem so selfish...” he trails off, stops suddenly as Danny speaks, and shakes his head.
“No. It doesn’t.” His voice breaks, Adams apple bobbing as he swallows thickly and doesn’t say why, doesn’t let his words go any further, can’t. He watches Dougie with discretion, sees the way he seems so desperate for him to believe, and sees the buoyant look in his teal eyes. He wants to say he does believe him, but doesn’t.
“You know more than anyone just what it’s like to lose your dad, to have them screw up, walk away. I didn’t really have any male role models in my life till I met you, Tom and Harry. You guys are like my family now and I couldn’t bear the thought of you walking away, of the band falling apart.” His words pull at Danny’s heart strings, tearing through every muscle in his body and he chews on his bottom lip as he watches. He knows what happened with Dougie’s dad had listened to Dougie talk about him, only a couple of times, and only when he’d had a few drinks, but he still knows how it had hurt Dougie, remembers what Dougie was like when he’d first met him, how shy and unsure he was.
“I know I shouldn’t have acted how I have; I know my actions could have pushed the band apart. But I just needed time, needed to get use to the idea. To them.” His words are so soft, croaked so gently and with trepidation that Danny’s unsure of just what he should say in reply.
He understands it too well, understands just how young and in need of guidance Dougie was at the beginning. Can understand just how hard they must have been for Dougie to accept, how he saw them as a threat to his band, to the life he’d grasped onto and thieved from and can’t hold that against him any longer, knows it would be wrong to.
“Am I forgiven?” Dougie seems so much like a child in that moment that Danny simply nods, lets his lips curl and feels a surge of relief. It’s like the jigsaw pieces are fitting together, forming a picture instead of an indecipherable haze of colour and shapes.
They don’t speak for a long while, the silence almost comforting, and the feel of the wind whipping by them kind of pleasant. The sky grows darker with every passing second, Danny can see Dougie from the corner of his eyes, see his fingers flexing but doesn’t really focus his attention, doesn’t think until he feels the fingers on his back, slipping under his shirt and across his spine.
He freezes, back shot stiff as he tilts his head in Dougie’s direction, can feel his fingers brush against the feathers, tickling almost. Only Harry’s ever touched the feathers, it feels personal, not all that wrong but he still sighs aloud unable to hide his surprise, eyes wide with worry as he tilts his head, looks up and feels fingers retracting almost as quick as they had settled.
“Was that too much, too fast?” Dougie bites into his bottom lip and all Danny can do is shake his head, letting his lips curl.
“No. Just wasn’t expecting it.” He can feel the first drops of rain on his face, hears the thunder rumbling in the distance but doesn’t really care, eyes still on Dougie. He watches as he laughs quietly, rolls his shoulders and smiles wide and bright.
“They’re so soft!”
And all Danny can do is stare and wonder how Dougie can accept them so quickly, when he still can’t even after all this time.
::
Taking a deep breath, letting the wings unfurl behind him Danny stands in front of the bathroom mirror, arms locked, and lip held between his teeth. He never tried to see what they look like open before, too scared to confront reality, but he just needed to see them, see what they looked like when unfolded, needed to know what it felt like.
There was more weight, a little spark of pain, a slight feeling of unbalance, nothing he couldn’t deal with. His head tilted, could see the colours of the feathers in the mirror, the turquoise, the greys, the browns, see the slightly damaged and healing skin, exhaled deeply and closed his eyes, feeling the churn of his stomach.
He could feel the curiosity curling and burning and with a deep breath he gave an experimental flutter, cringing slightly when they thumped dully against the wall, knocking various bottles of bathroom products to the floor. Quickly, as if being shocked, he curled them back close to his body and swivelled to face the door as there was a dull knock.
“Dan, you okay in there?”
He could feel the relief flood over him in calming waves when he heard Tom’s voice, not Harry’s, doesn’t know why he doesn’t want the drummer to know about this, the wings still held tight to his body, afraid. “‘m fine. Fine, Tom.”
As he turns his back to the mirror he sighs and lets the wings expand once more, with a little more caution this time, head cocked and continuing to watch, watch the shape of the feathers, the array of different colours, fascinated by the way his muscles flex beneath the red and shining, healing skin.
::
Thunder rumbles in clammy night air, the rain bouncing against the glass windows of the French doors that lead out onto the balcony. He sits with his back against the headboard, listens, lyric book laid open by his feet. The first few buttons of his shirt are already open, skin clammy and uncomfortable, the wings fastened down.
When there’s a knock at his door his eyes go to the alarm clock and he knows it’s too early to be Harry, but he still feels his heart leap. Their nightly routine is still the same, always the same, and it doesn’t feel awkward despite the fact it should, despite the way they’d crossed lines.
But when he shouts come in, the door opening he sees its Harry and can’t help but smile, wondering why he’s early. He watches him move towards the bed, rolling his shoulders a little as he goes, head tilted.
“Doug’s and Tom are watching some crap film so I thought I’d come and see you.” Danny’s lips part, it almost feels like Harry’s picking the thoughts from his brain, answering his questions so effortlessly before he’s even asked them.
“What you up to.” He sits on the bottom of the bed and looks towards the lyric book that’s lain open, hand reaching out, fingers curling around the dog-eared pages, a canvas of pure white below, with nothing but scribbled words and ink blobs in perfecting the paper.
Take these chances to turn it around
Take these chances we'll make it somehow
Danny just watches him, tilts his head and chews on the inside of his mouth. They’re not really anything specific, just words scribbled in biro on the paper; words that he knows probably won’t turn into anything more.
“You okay?” Harry’s voice is soft, eyes glancing towards him expectantly, closing the book and placing it on the bedside table as he scrambles across the bed and into the space beside Danny, back against the headboard.
“Hmm.” Danny’s words are just a mumble, head lifting, pushing tangled curls from out of his eyes, he’s sick of the question, sick of saying ‘I’m fine’ sick of lying when he’s not fine at all, not when Harry’s so close, when the scent of his aftershave, the warmth from his skin has his heart beating like a drum. He’s surprised Harry can’t hear it, he’s that close.
“I’m glad you talked to Dougie.” Harry tilts his head towards Danny and the curly haired brunette knows he’s waiting for him to elaborate, go into the details of their conversation, but he won’t, wants to keep it just between himself and Dougie.
Instead, he finds himself meeting Harry’s gaze, drawn into the orbs of blue as he speaks, words that he knows he shouldn’t say, questions that he knows he shouldn’t ask falling from between his lips, the need for answers too great to ignore.
“What’s going on between us? That night, why haven’t we talked about it?” he sees the surprised look that flitters across Harry’s face, the slight pink tint that flushes his cheeks and he knows that wasn’t what he was expecting. He watches his lips part, close, part and waits for some form of an answer.
“Er. I. Er. Danny don’t!” he watches Harry shift uncomfortably on the bed, swallows and tries not to let the hurt he feels be too known. He wants answers, wants to know what it meant to Harry. He wants to hear words, words that will stop the constant and steady stream thoughts he has, the feel of Harry’s finger’s on his cock, his breath on his cheeks, lips on his skin. It’s like a nightmare, repeating itself night after night. It’s a nightmare he doesn’t want to be a nightmare anymore.
“We said after the last time we weren’t going to let this happen again.” Danny’s fingers pick at the bedcover below, feels the tension that lingers in the air and knows this is a conversation they should have had the morning after, all those weeks ago. He’s not really sure how he’s managed to keep his thoughts, his feelings locked up this long.
“You knew we we’re never going to keep our word on that.” Harry’s voice is rough, like he can’t quite catch his breath to form the words, and Danny can’t help but wonder if they would still have gone back on their words if it hadn’t been for the wings.
“You think I’m strong, Danny. You think I can cope with all this, but sometimes I can’t, sometimes I don’t know how to.
“Sometimes I don’t know what’s going on, Dan. I wish I could give you clear answers, I really do. I wish I could tell you what I feel, but I know those words are impossible to find. I wish I could show you.”
And when Harry’s eyes trail away, looking to the floor Danny suddenly feels the need to touch him, press his fingers against his cheek and bring his gaze back level.
“Harry?” Danny’s eyes lock with bright blue orbs when Harry’s head lifts slowly, eyes sparkling in the dim glow. The thunder still rumbles outside, the rain still pounds against the glass and all he can do is wrap a hand around Harry’s, lick his lips, and murmur words that make his stomach knot.
“Try. Please.”
::
continued in part 2