Don't Wanna Fly If You're Still On The Ground - (McFly) Multiple - Standalone
Title: Don't Wanna Fly If You're Still On The Ground
Author: coloured_dream
Pairing:Pudd (how’d that happen) but also subtle OT4 if you look hard enough.
Rating: light R
Part: 1/1 (standalone, 2,356 words)
Summery: Sometimes he wished he could be normal, wished he could have friends and a normal life without the wings.
Disclaimer: All untrue, nothing more than a work of fiction.
A/N: Dougie with wings! It’s a while since I posted anything and this has been sat on my hard drive for the better part of six months gathering dust and I’m kind of sick of seeing it so I thought it’s about time it was posted. Comments are loved ♥
[01.]
He can’t remember exactly when he noticed them; he’d had them all his life as far as he could remember. They were small and unnoticeable mostly, not too much of a pain. They grew as he grew. They were never a big deal to him and when harnessed down they were almost invisible.
It took him until he was thirteen, shy and awkwardly getting changed before gym to realise they were a big deal to everyone else. He heard the words the others called him bird boy, taunting, harsh and so hurtful, always echoed by laughter, always making his life a misery.
Sometimes he wished he could be normal, wished he could have friends and a normal life without the wings.
[02.]
He met them when he was fifteen and quickly found he could have a normal life, friends and a reason to smile, a purpose to live. Tom, Danny and Harry gave him everything he had never had, everything he ever wanted, but he always felt the wings were just waiting to destroy it all.
[03.]
He never told anyone about them, never allowed himself to get close to anyone, close enough to let his guard down. He always wore baggy t-shirts and hoodies, kept them hidden and harnessed down. He wasn’t quite sure how he managed it.
They found out by accident after almost a year of living together. Harry walked in on him getting changed, wings held close to his body and eyes wide with fright. He wished he could have explained but he couldn’t form the words too.
Everyone that’d ever seen him with his clothes off had recoiled in horror, had stared at him as though he was a freak and whispered hurtful words when his back was turned, laughed at him for being different. Harry was the first person not to, the first person to step towards him and place his hands on the very top of his back, touching the warm skin between his shoulder blades and feeling the feathers flutter over his hands.
“How long have you...” Harry pauses then and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, unsure of just how to word his question and cocks his head. He sees the faint and uncomfortable smile on Dougie’s thin lips, the dubious look on his features.
“A while.” Dougie replies with a shrug of his shoulders. Isn’t sure what else to say, isn’t sure why Harry isn’t running, isn’t trying to get away from him.
[04.]
When Tom and Danny do find out (Dougie choosing to tell them, show them, figuring the sooner they know the sooner they could decide if they still want him to be in their band) they don’t laugh, they don’t seem at all horrified. They watch him curiously, their lips held between their teeth and eyes wide but still accepting him, something Dougie finds difficult to comprehend.
“D-d-don’t they scare you? Don’t you think they make me abnormal?” the words are stammered and out of Dougie’s mouth before he has time to cover himself grey-ish white wings open behind him.
He’s so used to being alone - rejected that he can’t help but stare between them, wondering what they’re thinking, what it’ll take for them to freak out. He watches Tom move towards him and quickly pulls on his shirt thinks, this is it. He expects something, harsh words maybe but Tom’s fingers are curling over his shoulder, voice soft and wistful almost. He doesn’t expect this at all.
“No. There beautiful, part of you. They make you who you are.”
And Dougie can’t help the faint unsure smile that has his lips turning upwards, wondering what he’s done to deserve such understanding friends.
[05.]
He’s sat at the bottom of the garden when Danny finds him. The grass is damp below him, a cigarette hanging from between his lips and a light grey hoody wrapped around him, the air cold on his skin, refreshing. He doesn’t look up until he hears squeaky footsteps on the wet grass and finds Danny, hands in the pockets of his jeans and a beanie pulled low over dark curls.
“That’s bad for your health.” Danny says with a slight smile, crouching down beside Dougie and taking the cigarette between his own fingers.
Dougie can only chuckle, low and dry, watching as Danny blows smoke rings into the air, the wispy tendrils curling away in the atmosphere.
“Why d’ya assume everyone’s going to think you’re a freak, going to run from you?” the question slips from between Danny’s lips and he’s folding his body into a space beside Dougie not caring that the damp grass is wetting the back of his jeans. He takes another drag and tilts his head towards Dougie, watching as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.
Dougie sighs, really wishes he didn’t have to talk about any of this but Danny’s watching him - face so open and honest, the light dusting of freckles standing out in the patchy moonlight, dark lashes kissing his cheeks - and he knows he has to, owes him that much at least.
“Because that’s what everyone usually thinks, usually does. You are the only people that haven’t.” He speaks quietly afraid someone else might hear him, even though they’re alone. He doesn’t dare lift his head and see what Danny’s doing, if he’s staring at him.
“You are the only people to accept me with the wings. Usually I’m laughed at and made to feel like a freak. I never had friends growing up, not real friends anyway. Not until I met you, Tom and Harry.” Dougie’s voice fades then, quiet and leaving little clouds in the air, feels pathetic and small.
Danny doesn’t speak, doesn’t really know what words to say and just reaches out, curling his fingers around Dougie’s, skin warm and reassuring, slightly calloused fingers locking. It’s only when Danny looks up and meets Dougie’s eyes that his lips curl into a smile and tells him without words that it’s okay. He has friends now.
[06.]
The more time that passes the easier it gets, Dougie thinks. He doesn’t consciously cover up now, feels like he can walk around the house without a shirt on, feels the freedom he’s never really had before.
When he wakes and it’s still dark he rolls over and squints through the gloomy shadows at the clock, 3.18am. He doesn’t think about pulling on a shirt and just stumbles from bed in his boxers and silently moves out and down the stairs, padding towards the kitchen to get a drink.
The moonlight seems eerie as it casts shadows of silver light over the walls, the tiles cold below the soles of his feet. His hand clasps around a cool glass on the draining board and thrusts it under the running faucet, filling it half full and raising it to his lips. He swallows the cool water in a few gulps, places the glass on the countertop when it’s drained of all liquid.
He doesn’t hear footsteps on the stairs, slapping over the tiles in the kitchen and it’s only when a hand falls to his shoulders that he turns, wings fluttering a little and knocking the glass clean off the counter top.
Fuck Tom, words are hissed, the tumbler clattering to the floor and shattering sending shards of glittering, transparent glass across the tiles before he can react to stop it.
“Shit, sorry.” He’s blushing even in the darkness and doesn’t know why he’s so startled by Tom’s touch, the fingers that just brush along the base of the wings. There’s a silence he finds comfortable instead of creepy and dry swallows, ducking down to gather the razor sharp pieces.
“Dougie, please watch you don’t cut yourself!” Tom’s flicking the light on, flooding the room in a soft, pale orange glow and moving back towards the bassist, rooting under the sink for the dustpan and brush.
“Ouch! Shoot!” he hears Dougie’s exclamation and sighs sleepily.
“Just let me, Doug’s.” Tom’s voice isn’t venomous, is just frustrated as he crouches down and sweeps the glass up before Dougie can protest, head lifted and watching Dougie as he sucks his bleeding finger between his lips.
“Maybe you should let me take a look at that?” Tom’s speaking softly, fingers wrapping carefully around Dougie’s wrist and pulling his fingers from his mouth. “You’ll need a plaster.”
Dougie feels himself pushed back into one of the chairs around the table, watches Tom as he moves around the kitchen still in just his boxers and looking for the first aid kit, watching the way muscles move and skin shimmers. Tom’s touch is soft, a little cool when he wraps the band aid around the injured digit, lips pursing.
“There. All fixed.” Tom smiles wearily, shy and reserved and Dougie can’t help but frown a little wishing the rest of him could be fixed so easily.
[07.]
Dougie likes the simplicity of life now, the freedom he’s found, the way having friends takes away that hollow feeling that being alone brings. Sometimes though, none of that is really sufficient. Sometimes just friends aren’t really enough.
But then there’s Harry. Harry who takes that feeling away. They don’t define what it is they are, or what it is they have, it was sudden and quick, acting upon impulses.
It started as just cuddles before going on stage, warm and soft arms encasing bodies. Dougie thinks when Harry’s fingers ruffle feathers, that he just likes the feel of the weightless down against the palm of his hand.
It soon progressed on to kisses though, high on the after show adrenalin and none of it t really feeling all that wrong. They were gentle kisses, barely even real kisses sometimes. But then there were the rough kisses, the fierce kisses that built goose bumps on skin and lust beneath as they bumped into the walls along the hotel corridors, desperate to make it more, to feed the need.
Dougie couldn’t really be sure when that line had been crossed, when it had become something more. It had only ever happened a handful of times, wasn’t really an arrangement, just the moving of bodies in the darkness, wandering hands and heavy breaths.
Dougie couldn’t and wouldn’t even try to deny how good Harry’s skin felt over his own, warm and soft and just right. He couldn’t deny how much he loved the little noises Harry made when his lips skated across skin, or when his tongue wrapped around a nipple, Harry’s back arching and fingers digging into his scalp.
Dougie liked the sound of his name from Harry’s lips when his fingers wrapped around his cock, breathy and gasped, God, Dougie! The way he begged for more, please Dougie, please! hands straining against his skin and wet lips grazing in the darkness.
He liked the feel of Harry’s weight over his own body when he took control; fingers curling against his thigh as his tongue moved across his stomach making him squirm and plead for more himself. He liked the feel of breath and teeth against his neck, nipping and leaving marks, red and stark against pale skin. Most of all he liked the look on Harry’s face when he came, the way he’d bite into his bottom lips, eyes fluttering, and lips crashing as they ride out the storm together.
Then afterwards Dougie liked the way they would just lay, covers kicked to their waist and an arm thrown across Harry’s stomach as Harry’s own fingers lazily brushed through the feathers.
Dougie doesn’t try to work out what it is anymore. He just knows in his heart that it’s something he likes, something he needs.
[08.]
When he climbs out onto the roof from Tom’s balcony he just wants to be alone for a little while. The moon is high in the sky, a tiny little sliver of yellow light casting rays over his uncovered skin as the stars twinkle.
There’s a slight breeze on the air, ruffling the feathers. It’s not the first time he’s done this, climbed out here and just sat, not really thinking about anything imperticular.
Sometimes he wonders what would happen if he spread his wings and jumped, wondered if he’d be able to fly, land safely on the ground below.
It wasn’t something he was willing to test.
[09.]
He can hear the sound of the raindrops against the windows tinny and cold as they reverberate against the glass. He’s curled on his side staring into the darkness as they all somehow lay curled across Danny’s bed (his bed been the biggest).
He’s not sure whose hand that is wrapped around his waist or whose lips are brushing skin and sending shockwaves through his veins, he just knows he likes it. He makes a muffled mmmhm into the darkness when lips press to the base of his neck, sucking the skin and most probably leaving a mark.
He shivers and curls his fingers around the sheets and when he does eventually turn he gets a glimpse of just who it is, soft shafts of moonlight bathing skin and highlighting his angelic features. Tom’s warm breath is level on the back of his neck, he feels the way his fingers shift, spread out across his stomach and he parts his lips but words fail him.
He feels fingers move and grip at the feathers, thinks they’re Danny’s. If he squints hard enough through the darkness he thinks he can just make out Harry, curled around Danny, arms holding him, eyes closed, sound asleep.
He doesn’t say anything just sinks back against Tom, feeling soft like his bones have turned to mallow, feels as though he could float. He feels Tom whisper against his skin words breathy and gentle, clammy against his flesh, your perfect! Don’t ever change!
And all Dougie can do, taken aback, is stare at him through the darkness, lips curled feeling like he has everything he could ever want. And he knows now he would never change any of this for the world. Not even the wings.
Author: coloured_dream
Pairing:Pudd (how’d that happen) but also subtle OT4 if you look hard enough.
Rating: light R
Part: 1/1 (standalone, 2,356 words)
Summery: Sometimes he wished he could be normal, wished he could have friends and a normal life without the wings.
Disclaimer: All untrue, nothing more than a work of fiction.
A/N: Dougie with wings! It’s a while since I posted anything and this has been sat on my hard drive for the better part of six months gathering dust and I’m kind of sick of seeing it so I thought it’s about time it was posted. Comments are loved ♥
[01.]
He can’t remember exactly when he noticed them; he’d had them all his life as far as he could remember. They were small and unnoticeable mostly, not too much of a pain. They grew as he grew. They were never a big deal to him and when harnessed down they were almost invisible.
It took him until he was thirteen, shy and awkwardly getting changed before gym to realise they were a big deal to everyone else. He heard the words the others called him bird boy, taunting, harsh and so hurtful, always echoed by laughter, always making his life a misery.
Sometimes he wished he could be normal, wished he could have friends and a normal life without the wings.
[02.]
He met them when he was fifteen and quickly found he could have a normal life, friends and a reason to smile, a purpose to live. Tom, Danny and Harry gave him everything he had never had, everything he ever wanted, but he always felt the wings were just waiting to destroy it all.
[03.]
He never told anyone about them, never allowed himself to get close to anyone, close enough to let his guard down. He always wore baggy t-shirts and hoodies, kept them hidden and harnessed down. He wasn’t quite sure how he managed it.
They found out by accident after almost a year of living together. Harry walked in on him getting changed, wings held close to his body and eyes wide with fright. He wished he could have explained but he couldn’t form the words too.
Everyone that’d ever seen him with his clothes off had recoiled in horror, had stared at him as though he was a freak and whispered hurtful words when his back was turned, laughed at him for being different. Harry was the first person not to, the first person to step towards him and place his hands on the very top of his back, touching the warm skin between his shoulder blades and feeling the feathers flutter over his hands.
“How long have you...” Harry pauses then and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, unsure of just how to word his question and cocks his head. He sees the faint and uncomfortable smile on Dougie’s thin lips, the dubious look on his features.
“A while.” Dougie replies with a shrug of his shoulders. Isn’t sure what else to say, isn’t sure why Harry isn’t running, isn’t trying to get away from him.
[04.]
When Tom and Danny do find out (Dougie choosing to tell them, show them, figuring the sooner they know the sooner they could decide if they still want him to be in their band) they don’t laugh, they don’t seem at all horrified. They watch him curiously, their lips held between their teeth and eyes wide but still accepting him, something Dougie finds difficult to comprehend.
“D-d-don’t they scare you? Don’t you think they make me abnormal?” the words are stammered and out of Dougie’s mouth before he has time to cover himself grey-ish white wings open behind him.
He’s so used to being alone - rejected that he can’t help but stare between them, wondering what they’re thinking, what it’ll take for them to freak out. He watches Tom move towards him and quickly pulls on his shirt thinks, this is it. He expects something, harsh words maybe but Tom’s fingers are curling over his shoulder, voice soft and wistful almost. He doesn’t expect this at all.
“No. There beautiful, part of you. They make you who you are.”
And Dougie can’t help the faint unsure smile that has his lips turning upwards, wondering what he’s done to deserve such understanding friends.
[05.]
He’s sat at the bottom of the garden when Danny finds him. The grass is damp below him, a cigarette hanging from between his lips and a light grey hoody wrapped around him, the air cold on his skin, refreshing. He doesn’t look up until he hears squeaky footsteps on the wet grass and finds Danny, hands in the pockets of his jeans and a beanie pulled low over dark curls.
“That’s bad for your health.” Danny says with a slight smile, crouching down beside Dougie and taking the cigarette between his own fingers.
Dougie can only chuckle, low and dry, watching as Danny blows smoke rings into the air, the wispy tendrils curling away in the atmosphere.
“Why d’ya assume everyone’s going to think you’re a freak, going to run from you?” the question slips from between Danny’s lips and he’s folding his body into a space beside Dougie not caring that the damp grass is wetting the back of his jeans. He takes another drag and tilts his head towards Dougie, watching as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.
Dougie sighs, really wishes he didn’t have to talk about any of this but Danny’s watching him - face so open and honest, the light dusting of freckles standing out in the patchy moonlight, dark lashes kissing his cheeks - and he knows he has to, owes him that much at least.
“Because that’s what everyone usually thinks, usually does. You are the only people that haven’t.” He speaks quietly afraid someone else might hear him, even though they’re alone. He doesn’t dare lift his head and see what Danny’s doing, if he’s staring at him.
“You are the only people to accept me with the wings. Usually I’m laughed at and made to feel like a freak. I never had friends growing up, not real friends anyway. Not until I met you, Tom and Harry.” Dougie’s voice fades then, quiet and leaving little clouds in the air, feels pathetic and small.
Danny doesn’t speak, doesn’t really know what words to say and just reaches out, curling his fingers around Dougie’s, skin warm and reassuring, slightly calloused fingers locking. It’s only when Danny looks up and meets Dougie’s eyes that his lips curl into a smile and tells him without words that it’s okay. He has friends now.
[06.]
The more time that passes the easier it gets, Dougie thinks. He doesn’t consciously cover up now, feels like he can walk around the house without a shirt on, feels the freedom he’s never really had before.
When he wakes and it’s still dark he rolls over and squints through the gloomy shadows at the clock, 3.18am. He doesn’t think about pulling on a shirt and just stumbles from bed in his boxers and silently moves out and down the stairs, padding towards the kitchen to get a drink.
The moonlight seems eerie as it casts shadows of silver light over the walls, the tiles cold below the soles of his feet. His hand clasps around a cool glass on the draining board and thrusts it under the running faucet, filling it half full and raising it to his lips. He swallows the cool water in a few gulps, places the glass on the countertop when it’s drained of all liquid.
He doesn’t hear footsteps on the stairs, slapping over the tiles in the kitchen and it’s only when a hand falls to his shoulders that he turns, wings fluttering a little and knocking the glass clean off the counter top.
Fuck Tom, words are hissed, the tumbler clattering to the floor and shattering sending shards of glittering, transparent glass across the tiles before he can react to stop it.
“Shit, sorry.” He’s blushing even in the darkness and doesn’t know why he’s so startled by Tom’s touch, the fingers that just brush along the base of the wings. There’s a silence he finds comfortable instead of creepy and dry swallows, ducking down to gather the razor sharp pieces.
“Dougie, please watch you don’t cut yourself!” Tom’s flicking the light on, flooding the room in a soft, pale orange glow and moving back towards the bassist, rooting under the sink for the dustpan and brush.
“Ouch! Shoot!” he hears Dougie’s exclamation and sighs sleepily.
“Just let me, Doug’s.” Tom’s voice isn’t venomous, is just frustrated as he crouches down and sweeps the glass up before Dougie can protest, head lifted and watching Dougie as he sucks his bleeding finger between his lips.
“Maybe you should let me take a look at that?” Tom’s speaking softly, fingers wrapping carefully around Dougie’s wrist and pulling his fingers from his mouth. “You’ll need a plaster.”
Dougie feels himself pushed back into one of the chairs around the table, watches Tom as he moves around the kitchen still in just his boxers and looking for the first aid kit, watching the way muscles move and skin shimmers. Tom’s touch is soft, a little cool when he wraps the band aid around the injured digit, lips pursing.
“There. All fixed.” Tom smiles wearily, shy and reserved and Dougie can’t help but frown a little wishing the rest of him could be fixed so easily.
[07.]
Dougie likes the simplicity of life now, the freedom he’s found, the way having friends takes away that hollow feeling that being alone brings. Sometimes though, none of that is really sufficient. Sometimes just friends aren’t really enough.
But then there’s Harry. Harry who takes that feeling away. They don’t define what it is they are, or what it is they have, it was sudden and quick, acting upon impulses.
It started as just cuddles before going on stage, warm and soft arms encasing bodies. Dougie thinks when Harry’s fingers ruffle feathers, that he just likes the feel of the weightless down against the palm of his hand.
It soon progressed on to kisses though, high on the after show adrenalin and none of it t really feeling all that wrong. They were gentle kisses, barely even real kisses sometimes. But then there were the rough kisses, the fierce kisses that built goose bumps on skin and lust beneath as they bumped into the walls along the hotel corridors, desperate to make it more, to feed the need.
Dougie couldn’t really be sure when that line had been crossed, when it had become something more. It had only ever happened a handful of times, wasn’t really an arrangement, just the moving of bodies in the darkness, wandering hands and heavy breaths.
Dougie couldn’t and wouldn’t even try to deny how good Harry’s skin felt over his own, warm and soft and just right. He couldn’t deny how much he loved the little noises Harry made when his lips skated across skin, or when his tongue wrapped around a nipple, Harry’s back arching and fingers digging into his scalp.
Dougie liked the sound of his name from Harry’s lips when his fingers wrapped around his cock, breathy and gasped, God, Dougie! The way he begged for more, please Dougie, please! hands straining against his skin and wet lips grazing in the darkness.
He liked the feel of Harry’s weight over his own body when he took control; fingers curling against his thigh as his tongue moved across his stomach making him squirm and plead for more himself. He liked the feel of breath and teeth against his neck, nipping and leaving marks, red and stark against pale skin. Most of all he liked the look on Harry’s face when he came, the way he’d bite into his bottom lips, eyes fluttering, and lips crashing as they ride out the storm together.
Then afterwards Dougie liked the way they would just lay, covers kicked to their waist and an arm thrown across Harry’s stomach as Harry’s own fingers lazily brushed through the feathers.
Dougie doesn’t try to work out what it is anymore. He just knows in his heart that it’s something he likes, something he needs.
[08.]
When he climbs out onto the roof from Tom’s balcony he just wants to be alone for a little while. The moon is high in the sky, a tiny little sliver of yellow light casting rays over his uncovered skin as the stars twinkle.
There’s a slight breeze on the air, ruffling the feathers. It’s not the first time he’s done this, climbed out here and just sat, not really thinking about anything imperticular.
Sometimes he wonders what would happen if he spread his wings and jumped, wondered if he’d be able to fly, land safely on the ground below.
It wasn’t something he was willing to test.
[09.]
He can hear the sound of the raindrops against the windows tinny and cold as they reverberate against the glass. He’s curled on his side staring into the darkness as they all somehow lay curled across Danny’s bed (his bed been the biggest).
He’s not sure whose hand that is wrapped around his waist or whose lips are brushing skin and sending shockwaves through his veins, he just knows he likes it. He makes a muffled mmmhm into the darkness when lips press to the base of his neck, sucking the skin and most probably leaving a mark.
He shivers and curls his fingers around the sheets and when he does eventually turn he gets a glimpse of just who it is, soft shafts of moonlight bathing skin and highlighting his angelic features. Tom’s warm breath is level on the back of his neck, he feels the way his fingers shift, spread out across his stomach and he parts his lips but words fail him.
He feels fingers move and grip at the feathers, thinks they’re Danny’s. If he squints hard enough through the darkness he thinks he can just make out Harry, curled around Danny, arms holding him, eyes closed, sound asleep.
He doesn’t say anything just sinks back against Tom, feeling soft like his bones have turned to mallow, feels as though he could float. He feels Tom whisper against his skin words breathy and gentle, clammy against his flesh, your perfect! Don’t ever change!
And all Dougie can do, taken aback, is stare at him through the darkness, lips curled feeling like he has everything he could ever want. And he knows now he would never change any of this for the world. Not even the wings.