(no subject)
Arc: Remember That Time When
Pairing: Daryan/Klavier
Rating: PG-13 for language, nada mas.
Word count: c. 700
Summary: Klavier finds the tourbus unexpectedly conducive to writing.
*
"Fuck-damn it!"
A PSDecima controller hits the seat next to Klavier with enough force to bounce right off again.
"You break that, you can buy me another." There's a series of familiar nauseating crunches: Jules cracking her knuckles. Klavier winces.
"Ugh," drifts down from the back seat. "How do you even play with your hands that fucked?"
“I doubt the arthritis will kick in until I'm not pretty enough to be in the band anyway."
The electronica playing on the menu screen is starting to imprint itself on Klavier's brain. He tries to block it out as he experiments with his new lyric, tries not to let the words fall into the pattern of the simple looping phrase.
Klavier finds the tourbus unexpectedly conducive to writing. A lot of his songs are born of epiphanies - sunset lighting the Pacific on fire, Montmartre at night, first fucks and last fucks and best fucks, goodbyes at airports - nothing too original, but he's good at it. But they take shape here, as the sounds of Daryan trying and failing to wind up Jules, of Tina and Ant playing that stupid license plate math game that Klavier sucks at, of games or films or sometimes just the hum of the engine, all wash over him. It stops him getting too melodramatic.
"Come on, Allegri. Best of seven." Klavier smiles to himself. Daryan is such a terrible loser.
"No."
"Afraid I'll beat you this time?" Someone at the back of the bus snorts. "Fuck off, Valentine." The cushion Tina throws at him falls short and hits Klavier instead. Klavier throws it back and gives her the finger for good measure.
"No, I'm afraid you'll finally break that controller when I kick your ass into next week again."
"Oh, whatever." Klavier is only half-listening, trying to hear the right rhythm in a particularly awkward line, but he looks up when he hears his name. "Fancy a game, Gavin?" Klavier bites back a laugh. He is the only person on the bus that Daryan is reliably able to beat. Normally, as entertaining as it is to watch Daryan throw a strop, he indulges him - but he can feel these words about to fall into place...He shakes his head, turning his attention back to his notebook.
"Spoilsport."
The level music starts up again, unaccompanied this time by Daryan's cursing and Jules's occasional triumphant laughs. She must have started playing by herself, Klavier thinks, and glances up to steal a glimpse of Daryan's disgruntled expression. Klavier smiles to himself again, and finally hits on the right scansion.
As he reads over what he's got so far, Daryan comes to sit next to him. His thigh is pressed close against Klavier's, and his arm is slung over the seat behind him, fingers just brushing Klavier's collarbone. Klavier shifts and settles back comfortably against him, letting Daryan read over his shoulder. He laughs, and Klavier can feel it on his neck.
"You're such a girl, Gavin." Says the guy who was on his knees on my balcony last night, Klavier thinks, unruffled. The cushion Tina throws hits Klavier again; this time, he keeps it. Daryan has fallen quiet now, and Klavier knows his mind’s working as it always does when Klavier shows him his lyrics, however much he may tease.
"Hum it," Daryan says abruptly, the smirk in his voice replaced by an appealing seriousness and concentration. Klavier obliges, although he hasn't quite got the melody figured out yet. With Daryan listening intently, he runs through the lines a few times, tweaking and fixing them as he goes.
Daryan pulls away and picks up Klavier's acoustic. He starts playing with chord progressions, then picking out riffs and phrases as Klavier, more sure now of where his words are going, begins singing softly. Tina is tapping out a simple percussion on the window of the bus. Then - there. That's the hook, Klavier thinks, with that sudden familiar rush. He glances up. Daryan is grinning crookedly at him, his face lit up with satisfaction, and affection tugs somewhere deep inside Klavier. He can't help a soft, private smile as he passes over the notebook.
Daryan keeps on playing experimentally as Klavier goes back to work, looking for a chorus in the notes Daryan has scrawled in the margin.
"69!" Tina shouts triumphantly from the backseat.
They all take a moment to snicker.
*
Pairing: Daryan/Klavier
Rating: PG-13 for language, nada mas.
Word count: c. 700
Summary: Klavier finds the tourbus unexpectedly conducive to writing.
*
"Fuck-damn it!"
A PSDecima controller hits the seat next to Klavier with enough force to bounce right off again.
"You break that, you can buy me another." There's a series of familiar nauseating crunches: Jules cracking her knuckles. Klavier winces.
"Ugh," drifts down from the back seat. "How do you even play with your hands that fucked?"
“I doubt the arthritis will kick in until I'm not pretty enough to be in the band anyway."
The electronica playing on the menu screen is starting to imprint itself on Klavier's brain. He tries to block it out as he experiments with his new lyric, tries not to let the words fall into the pattern of the simple looping phrase.
Klavier finds the tourbus unexpectedly conducive to writing. A lot of his songs are born of epiphanies - sunset lighting the Pacific on fire, Montmartre at night, first fucks and last fucks and best fucks, goodbyes at airports - nothing too original, but he's good at it. But they take shape here, as the sounds of Daryan trying and failing to wind up Jules, of Tina and Ant playing that stupid license plate math game that Klavier sucks at, of games or films or sometimes just the hum of the engine, all wash over him. It stops him getting too melodramatic.
"Come on, Allegri. Best of seven." Klavier smiles to himself. Daryan is such a terrible loser.
"No."
"Afraid I'll beat you this time?" Someone at the back of the bus snorts. "Fuck off, Valentine." The cushion Tina throws at him falls short and hits Klavier instead. Klavier throws it back and gives her the finger for good measure.
"No, I'm afraid you'll finally break that controller when I kick your ass into next week again."
"Oh, whatever." Klavier is only half-listening, trying to hear the right rhythm in a particularly awkward line, but he looks up when he hears his name. "Fancy a game, Gavin?" Klavier bites back a laugh. He is the only person on the bus that Daryan is reliably able to beat. Normally, as entertaining as it is to watch Daryan throw a strop, he indulges him - but he can feel these words about to fall into place...He shakes his head, turning his attention back to his notebook.
"Spoilsport."
The level music starts up again, unaccompanied this time by Daryan's cursing and Jules's occasional triumphant laughs. She must have started playing by herself, Klavier thinks, and glances up to steal a glimpse of Daryan's disgruntled expression. Klavier smiles to himself again, and finally hits on the right scansion.
As he reads over what he's got so far, Daryan comes to sit next to him. His thigh is pressed close against Klavier's, and his arm is slung over the seat behind him, fingers just brushing Klavier's collarbone. Klavier shifts and settles back comfortably against him, letting Daryan read over his shoulder. He laughs, and Klavier can feel it on his neck.
"You're such a girl, Gavin." Says the guy who was on his knees on my balcony last night, Klavier thinks, unruffled. The cushion Tina throws hits Klavier again; this time, he keeps it. Daryan has fallen quiet now, and Klavier knows his mind’s working as it always does when Klavier shows him his lyrics, however much he may tease.
"Hum it," Daryan says abruptly, the smirk in his voice replaced by an appealing seriousness and concentration. Klavier obliges, although he hasn't quite got the melody figured out yet. With Daryan listening intently, he runs through the lines a few times, tweaking and fixing them as he goes.
Daryan pulls away and picks up Klavier's acoustic. He starts playing with chord progressions, then picking out riffs and phrases as Klavier, more sure now of where his words are going, begins singing softly. Tina is tapping out a simple percussion on the window of the bus. Then - there. That's the hook, Klavier thinks, with that sudden familiar rush. He glances up. Daryan is grinning crookedly at him, his face lit up with satisfaction, and affection tugs somewhere deep inside Klavier. He can't help a soft, private smile as he passes over the notebook.
Daryan keeps on playing experimentally as Klavier goes back to work, looking for a chorus in the notes Daryan has scrawled in the margin.
"69!" Tina shouts triumphantly from the backseat.
They all take a moment to snicker.
*