Press Yourself Into Me - Let Me Feel Your Breathing - (McFly) Fletcher/Jones - Standalone
Title: Press Yourself Into Me - Let Me Feel Your Breathing
Author: coloured_dream
Part: 1/1 (standalone, 1,102 words)
Pairing: Fletcher/Jones
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG-13
Summery: Keep watching and praying that you may not come into temptation; the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak
Disclaimer: All untrue, just a work of fiction.
A/N: For the random word challenge at mcflyslash. I got temptation as my prompt and despite the title this isn’t smutty at all. Thanks to silverferret89 as always for her words of encouragement. Comments are appreciated.
"Keep watching and praying that you may not come into temptation; the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak." - Mark 14:38
It shouldn’t be this difficult; he thinks leather cool on his skin as they wait to go live, another tedious interview. He curls his fingers on his lap and tries to concentrate, tries not to let his eyes wander, tries not to breath in his scent, the coconut shampoo, the cologne he splashed on after that hasty shower this morning. It’s no use though; he’s too close, arm to arm.
He can feel, hear the thundering pulse of blood in his ears, and feels like he’s been dragged under by his pounding heartbeat. He manages to hide it, always. He manages to control the effect he has, most times. But it’s like a circle and he goes the full circumference then finds himself right back at the beginning, back fighting, feeling the fire lap at his heart, back feeling the new wave of yearning that takes over his body.
He’s become good at pretending none of those things happen when he’s nearby, had plenty of practice by all accounts. Sometimes he thinks it’s just not worth it.
+
The silver cross dangles around his neck, brushing against his collar bone as the water, lukewarm and heavy rains down on him. He tilts his head towards the shower head and feels the full force of the water on his skin; lips pulled into a pout, eyes slipping closed.
His fingers gently brush over the silver chain, a shuddering sigh falling from between his lips. Sometimes he thinks he should have stopped wearing it a long time ago.
+
“Danny?”
He lifts his head and blows cigarette smoke into the atmosphere, wishes he could say it was his only vice, his only temptation. The cool air bathes his skin, the cigarette butt flicked across the patio, laid smouldering in a flowerbed. He watches it for a second before tilting his head and looking up.
He stands by the back door his delicate hands curled around the doorjamb, wispy blonde locks blowing in the breeze. Danny swallows, tries to dislodge the lump in the back of his throat, tries to stop the rollercoaster, the double beat of his heart before it really gets out of hand. It doesn’t work, it thumps against his ribcage telling him he’s still living, still breathing, still feeling.
The messy mop of curls that frame his features blow in the breeze, his head nodding. “I’ll just be a minute.” And he watches him nod and turn, disappearing back inside.
Slowly he feels his body’s reactions return to normal, heart rate slow and breaths returning and he sighs into the night and flicks the packet of cigarettes open. He knows he’ll always be his biggest vice, bigger than the alcohol, the cigarettes, and the sex. Sometimes he wishes he could be strong enough to break it, break them all. He knows he never could.
+
His skin always looks so peachy soft, so perfect and appealing. He likes the look the most when he first comes off stage, the slight pink tint to his cheeks, the lazy and blissful smile that spreads his lips. He’ll recount his night with such great detail, animated hand movements and wide smiles and Danny always finds himself unable to help smiling back, feeling the euphoric waves that just emanate from his body.
But then he’ll remember and he’ll chastise himself, because he can’t, because he shouldn’t. And he’ll feel the burning heat, the wave that washes through him and he’ll wish he could find something, a way to make it all stop.
+
When he tells him the thinks it will all stop. His words are stumbled, tripped over and awkward. But it’s still there afterwards, the burning sphere that shields his heart. Telling him doesn’t make it go away at all.
“You do something to me. You make something inside stop working.” Danny’s words are whispered, quiet, embarrassed. He blinks watches as he just stands and stares back, wets his lips, those dainty fingers curling around his freckly wrist, making all thoughts of coherency go to hell. He thinks it won’t be long before he finds himself there too, the chain around his neck suddenly feeling a dead weight.
“I already know.” The voice is merely a whisper, soft and gentle and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and he can’t help the shudder that rattles though his bones, breaths sharp and dragged through parted lips.
He tries not to see the look that crosses pale, features when he pulls his hand back, when he stumbles backwards a little because that wasn’t the reaction he wanted, wanted anger and disgust. Now he feels vulnerable, uncovered, the foundations of the wall around his heart, the lines between what he knows is right and what he wants are starting to crumble and blur.
And then he’s just not sure how long he can hold off the inevitable.
+
When their lips crash together, Danny feels defenceless, amour slipping, heart and mind vulnerable. He knows he’s handing himself over, going against what he knows is right, deep down, but he just can’t stop it anymore, hold the tide back.
The beat of his heart betrays his mind and he’s groaning when he feels hands on his spin, spindly fingers drawing elegant circles over his clothed skin. He shudders when the fingers slip below his shirt and trail along his naked spine, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
There’s nothing about it that’s gentle. It’s not soft. It’s fast and feral, lips swollen, teeth biting into bottom lips and hands fisting clothes in an attempt to bring bodies closer. He feels weaker by every touch and when he drags his lips away, breath heavy and heart thudding in his chest he sees the look that glitters in dark irises. The look of lust and need and want and he crumbles.
He feels spineless for giving in, if he could he would turn, would walk, but when he steps closer and curls fingers around softer hands. When they crash against walls and lips meet again, he forgets he’s leading himself into temptation, forgets everything. And knows Tom Fletcher is one vice, one attraction, one burning temptation he just can’t break. No matter how hard he tries.
+
And so the circle starts again and he finds himself right back at the beginning. Back fighting, needing, wanting, falling feet first into the fiery clutches of lust without a way of escape.
fin.
Author: coloured_dream
Part: 1/1 (standalone, 1,102 words)
Pairing: Fletcher/Jones
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG-13
Summery: Keep watching and praying that you may not come into temptation; the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak
Disclaimer: All untrue, just a work of fiction.
A/N: For the random word challenge at mcflyslash. I got temptation as my prompt and despite the title this isn’t smutty at all. Thanks to silverferret89 as always for her words of encouragement. Comments are appreciated.
"Keep watching and praying that you may not come into temptation; the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak." - Mark 14:38
It shouldn’t be this difficult; he thinks leather cool on his skin as they wait to go live, another tedious interview. He curls his fingers on his lap and tries to concentrate, tries not to let his eyes wander, tries not to breath in his scent, the coconut shampoo, the cologne he splashed on after that hasty shower this morning. It’s no use though; he’s too close, arm to arm.
He can feel, hear the thundering pulse of blood in his ears, and feels like he’s been dragged under by his pounding heartbeat. He manages to hide it, always. He manages to control the effect he has, most times. But it’s like a circle and he goes the full circumference then finds himself right back at the beginning, back fighting, feeling the fire lap at his heart, back feeling the new wave of yearning that takes over his body.
He’s become good at pretending none of those things happen when he’s nearby, had plenty of practice by all accounts. Sometimes he thinks it’s just not worth it.
+
The silver cross dangles around his neck, brushing against his collar bone as the water, lukewarm and heavy rains down on him. He tilts his head towards the shower head and feels the full force of the water on his skin; lips pulled into a pout, eyes slipping closed.
His fingers gently brush over the silver chain, a shuddering sigh falling from between his lips. Sometimes he thinks he should have stopped wearing it a long time ago.
+
“Danny?”
He lifts his head and blows cigarette smoke into the atmosphere, wishes he could say it was his only vice, his only temptation. The cool air bathes his skin, the cigarette butt flicked across the patio, laid smouldering in a flowerbed. He watches it for a second before tilting his head and looking up.
He stands by the back door his delicate hands curled around the doorjamb, wispy blonde locks blowing in the breeze. Danny swallows, tries to dislodge the lump in the back of his throat, tries to stop the rollercoaster, the double beat of his heart before it really gets out of hand. It doesn’t work, it thumps against his ribcage telling him he’s still living, still breathing, still feeling.
The messy mop of curls that frame his features blow in the breeze, his head nodding. “I’ll just be a minute.” And he watches him nod and turn, disappearing back inside.
Slowly he feels his body’s reactions return to normal, heart rate slow and breaths returning and he sighs into the night and flicks the packet of cigarettes open. He knows he’ll always be his biggest vice, bigger than the alcohol, the cigarettes, and the sex. Sometimes he wishes he could be strong enough to break it, break them all. He knows he never could.
+
His skin always looks so peachy soft, so perfect and appealing. He likes the look the most when he first comes off stage, the slight pink tint to his cheeks, the lazy and blissful smile that spreads his lips. He’ll recount his night with such great detail, animated hand movements and wide smiles and Danny always finds himself unable to help smiling back, feeling the euphoric waves that just emanate from his body.
But then he’ll remember and he’ll chastise himself, because he can’t, because he shouldn’t. And he’ll feel the burning heat, the wave that washes through him and he’ll wish he could find something, a way to make it all stop.
+
When he tells him the thinks it will all stop. His words are stumbled, tripped over and awkward. But it’s still there afterwards, the burning sphere that shields his heart. Telling him doesn’t make it go away at all.
“You do something to me. You make something inside stop working.” Danny’s words are whispered, quiet, embarrassed. He blinks watches as he just stands and stares back, wets his lips, those dainty fingers curling around his freckly wrist, making all thoughts of coherency go to hell. He thinks it won’t be long before he finds himself there too, the chain around his neck suddenly feeling a dead weight.
“I already know.” The voice is merely a whisper, soft and gentle and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and he can’t help the shudder that rattles though his bones, breaths sharp and dragged through parted lips.
He tries not to see the look that crosses pale, features when he pulls his hand back, when he stumbles backwards a little because that wasn’t the reaction he wanted, wanted anger and disgust. Now he feels vulnerable, uncovered, the foundations of the wall around his heart, the lines between what he knows is right and what he wants are starting to crumble and blur.
And then he’s just not sure how long he can hold off the inevitable.
+
When their lips crash together, Danny feels defenceless, amour slipping, heart and mind vulnerable. He knows he’s handing himself over, going against what he knows is right, deep down, but he just can’t stop it anymore, hold the tide back.
The beat of his heart betrays his mind and he’s groaning when he feels hands on his spin, spindly fingers drawing elegant circles over his clothed skin. He shudders when the fingers slip below his shirt and trail along his naked spine, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
There’s nothing about it that’s gentle. It’s not soft. It’s fast and feral, lips swollen, teeth biting into bottom lips and hands fisting clothes in an attempt to bring bodies closer. He feels weaker by every touch and when he drags his lips away, breath heavy and heart thudding in his chest he sees the look that glitters in dark irises. The look of lust and need and want and he crumbles.
He feels spineless for giving in, if he could he would turn, would walk, but when he steps closer and curls fingers around softer hands. When they crash against walls and lips meet again, he forgets he’s leading himself into temptation, forgets everything. And knows Tom Fletcher is one vice, one attraction, one burning temptation he just can’t break. No matter how hard he tries.
+
And so the circle starts again and he finds himself right back at the beginning. Back fighting, needing, wanting, falling feet first into the fiery clutches of lust without a way of escape.
fin.