mcfly-slash ... Summer in the City
see? i've gotten the hang of it again!
creativity-dryspell is officially over, people!
Title: Summer in the City
Author: mostly me
Rating: PG
Chapter: 1/1 … Standalone
Genre: Romance
Pairing: PoynterJudd
Summary: Of course his and Harry’s holiday had to be over at some point.
Word count: 2,214
Disclaimer: still not true
Dedication: ♥ manuanya ♥ again! She is my only inspiration these days and really, I owe her so much more than just a story now and then.
Author’s note: This is a companion-piece to 'This is It'. You should read that first, maybe.
All good things must come to an end. Dougie knows that, had heard the saying tons and tons and tons of times. Still, it didn’t make the whole thing better. An end is never good anyway now, is it?
Of course his and Harry’s holiday had to be over at some point. There were things they had to get back to, lives had to be lived, more music had to be created. And even though he was excited to go back home, couldn’t wait to lay his hands on his bass again, he didn’t want to leave at the same time.
His mood seemed to drop to an all-time low when him and Harry had boarded the plane and the pilot greeted the passengers, saying over the intercom that freezing temperatures awaited them back in England. Typical for January, really, but it’s just so annoying when one day, you can roast in the sun, and the day after you have to put on five layers of clothing just to go to Tesco’s.
Harry notices Dougie’s mood dropping. He himself doesn’t mind the winter so much, likes the prospect of there might be laying snow on the ground when they get back. And who wants to have an endless summer anyway? Apparently Dougie does because the smile isn’t on his face anymore and just listening to the pilot made him shudder.
“Best we take our jackets out of our suitcases first thing in Heathrow, eh?”
“I didn’t bring mine.”
“Doug, it’s January.”
“I know but. We’ll get on the taxi home and Danny put the heating on in my flat yesterday. It‘ll be fine.”
Harry nods and pulls Dougie to himself as close as he can, what with the armrests down and them both buckled up in their seatbelts. He put on some sunscreen this morning because he knew the smell would remind Dougie of the summer and the sea and the beach. He wants Dougie to smell it all on him so he won’t be so sad anymore.
Dougie can’t help it though. The flight takes them almost ten hours and he drifts in and out of sleep, gets annoyed because he can’t move really and England comes closer and closer. And then they’re flying into Heathrow, the pilot announcing the temperature is just about five degrees and Dougie can’t even see any land until the plane almost touches the ground because it’s so grey around him.
They wait by baggage claim and as soon as Harry get’s his suitcase he takes out his warm jacket. He pulls out a jumper too, handing it to Dougie who’s standing there, only a hoodie over his t-shirt.
“It’s fine.”
“Will you put the damn thing on now? It’s cold outside.”
“Harry, I’m fine!”
And Dougie really doesn’t mean to be so harsh but it’s. His holiday in the sun is over and he’s back home and England just sucks at the moment, alright? And no, he doesn’t want to put on a jumper because that will only mean that he accepts the cold and right now, that’s not what he’s planning on doing.
They exit the terminal building and of course, it’s raining. Dougie isn’t even surprised. He just pulls his hood over his head and ignores the shiver that is running over his body the second the automatic doors close behind him.
Harry looks at the man next to him, eyebrows raised. He makes a move to hand Dougie the jumper again, since he’s still holding it in his hand. But Dougie just huffs and stomps off in direction of the taxis.
So they both get into the taxi and it’s like sitting in an igloo because the driver had been smoking with the window open and a fag-length is definitely enough to make a car cool down rapidly. They’re already on the motorway by the time Dougie notices that the heating is actually on.
Harry is sitting next to him, a bit helpless as to what to do to get his boyfriend out of this mood. He opens his jacket and pulls Dougie close so they’re both engulfed in warmth but Dougie barely reacts, just keeps staring out of the window, watching the rain coming down heavily.
“So” Harry starts, speaking low into Dougie’s ear, “I was thinking about running us a bath as soon as we get in, what do you think? Get the candles out, put some relaxing tunes on. You know, be right cheesy about it. Ignore the weather and all.”
“If you want to. I know I will do laundry as soon as I get in.”
“And that can’t wait? Having a bath usually not requires wearing clothes, you know.”
“No Harry, it cannot wait. I’ve been to Mum’s over Christmas and we left the second I came back from hers. It’s not that I want to do the sodding laundry but if I want to wear clean clothes tomorrow, I will have to do it.”
Dougie’s words, they sting a bit, maybe more than that. But Harry ignores it, ignores that mood Dougie’s in. He knows Dougie doesn’t mean it and that, deep down, he is sorry for letting it out on Harry. But the young man’s also frustrated and before he smashes something, Harry takes the punches for now.
The taxi arrives in their street and Dougie tells the driver to quickly pull over at his building because really, unpacking is necessary and maybe, when he’s home and he sees his basses again, strum a chord or two, he’ll feel better in no time.
Dougie enters the flat and he almost freezes on the spot. It’s cold, so bloody fucking cold. Why oh why did he tell Danny to put the heating on? He should have told Tom because Tom, instead of Danny, probably wouldn’t have forgotten it.
He opens the door of his flat again and just yells up the staircase. “Thanks for nothing, Danny!” Not that it’s of any use because Dougie could already hear the loud noise of Springsteen’s latest album when he entered the building earlier.
So Dougie turns the heating on, full blast, hoping that in one or two hours it’ll be a bit warmer. Then he goes for his suitcase. He just throws everything on a pile, before getting the rest of his laundry from his bedroom. And now there’s this massive mountain of clothing right in his living room and Dougie doesn’t know where to start. He sighs and starts sorting the clothes by colour and shoves a first armful into his washing machine.
It’s still not much warmer so Dougie goes to make some tea. And then he wanders through his flat, the mug in his hand and he just waits. The washing machine is roaring, the rain is still hitting forcefully against his window. He thinks he should actually get his bass out, play a bit, let his frustrations seep into angry notes but just as he’s on his way to get the instrument from his bedroom, he gets distracted by the phone ringing.
“Hello?” he asks into the phone, and it’s accompanied by a sigh. No point in hiding how unhappy he is.
“Got any food?”
It’s Harry and he sounds as cheerful as ever. Dougie really doesn’t get it.
“What?”
“Do you have any food at home?”
Dougie shrugs. He hasn’t even checked. “Dunno. I told Danny to just get me something for the microwave but seeing as he also forgot my heating, he probably didn’t get it either. One would assume he wants to kill me off.”
“Wanna come over? I kinda expected you not having anything in and I don’t really feel like cooking just for me. Come on, stop the sulking. For me?”
And Dougie can’t help it. He can basically see Harry’s hopeful puppy eyes right there in front of him and just. He can’t say no. Even though sulking really sounds tempting right now.
He sighs again. “Okay fine. Right now or …?”
“Right now’s just fine. And no worries about wardrobe. I have t-shirts and stuff for you if needs must.”
“Okay. See you in a bit.”
So Dougie leaves his flat as it is and makes his way over to Harry’s. It’s still raining and grey and cold and he really wishes that Harry would have gotten the flat upstairs, not Danny.
Harry opens the door to his flat before Dougie can even lift his arm to ring the doorbell. He looks as cheerful as he sounded on the phone and according to his attire, he hasn’t noticed the arctic temperatures outside. He smiles brightly and hands Dougie a glass, condensation on the surface, with a some liquid and green leaves and a black straw sticking out.
“Mojito?”
“What?”
“Mojito.” Harry lifts the glass a little, as if Dougie hadn’t seen it before.
“You can make Mojitos?”
“Found the recipe online. And no worries, I tried it before. Not yours, mine of course.”
Dougie gives his boyfriend a questioning look but still accepts the glass and tries a sip. It’s really good, the taste nowhere different from the ones he had on holiday.
Then he steps into the flat and he notices how nice and warm it is. “You told Tom to put the heating on, didn’t you? Idiot he is, he should have known Danny would forget mine and - wow!”
Dougie’s sentence is cut short when he enters Harry’s living room. There’s a little sandpit right in the middle of the room, complete with two deckchairs. Harry has the shudders closed and switched the lights on so it looked like the sun was shining right there in the room. And in the background Dougie can hear the sounds of waves crashing, probably a CD with sounds of the sea.
“How’s this … How’d you do that?”
“I had some little summer elves.” Harry says with a smile.
“I hope they’ll help you to clean that up. Sand in your living room, are you aware of what you got yourself into with this one, Judd?”
“You made a joke. That’s worth it.”
Harry leans over and presses a light kiss onto Dougie’s lips. Dougie can smell mint and tastes a bit of alcohol. Yeah, Harry definitely tested those Mojitos.
“Fancy some chicken? Fried. With rice and peas?”
“Let me guess. Got the recipe from the head-chef of the hotel we stayed at?”
“Fried chicken with rice and peas doesn’t require skills, you know. Now, want some?”
“Please?”
Harry nods and heads for the kitchen, yelling over his shoulder that Dougie can get comfortable and just relax until the food’s ready. And so he lounges on the deckchair, sucks on his straw every so often and closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth. For a minute he even forgets that he’s in Harry’s flat.
But then he hears Harry rummaging around in the kitchen and he snaps back to reality. He looks around himself again. Harry’s really thought of everything. The sand, the sounds of the sea and the sun (real or unreal, who cares? And the lamp surely won’t give him a sunburn). And it smells a bit of sunscreen too, probably the leftovers from that spray can Harry had bought for their holiday.
The urge to just be with Harry becomes overwhelming so Dougie gets up and goes into the kitchen. Not to help, he knows himself better than that, but he just needs to be next to Harry right now.
Harry seems to feel him approaching because the moment Dougie is in the doorway, he is already greeted by a blinding smile.
“Like it?”
Dougie nods. “I’m amazed. If we were over at mine, we could jump into the hot tub. I hope Danny left at least that in one piece.”
Harry laughs, flipping over the chicken in the pan. “Food’s almost ready.”
“Need any help?”
Harry shakes his head. “You’re on holiday.”
“So are you.”
And Dougie moves forward and wraps his arms around Harry’s middle from behind. He’s breathing him in, the smell of the flat lingering on Harry as well, so much more intense now that it’s right under his nose. He doesn’t wanna let go, ever. So he turns his head just a fraction and kisses the back of Harry’s neck, holding onto him tighter.
These are the moments he can’t see himself living without. They don’t need to talk or anything like that. They just need to breathe each other in and touch and hold each other and it’s fine like that. When Harry’s there with him, there’s no rain and it’s not cold or windy. He can be wherever he is, any place feels like paradise when Harry’s there, warm and comfortable and free of all troubles.
Winter will pass, the rain will stop pelting down and the sun will eventually return, even here in England. But Dougie now knows that he doesn’t actually need any of this. Because he’s got Harry and that even beats a year of summer holiday.
The End
Comments are appreciated.
creativity-dryspell is officially over, people!
Title: Summer in the City
Author: mostly me
Rating: PG
Chapter: 1/1 … Standalone
Genre: Romance
Pairing: PoynterJudd
Summary: Of course his and Harry’s holiday had to be over at some point.
Word count: 2,214
Disclaimer: still not true
Dedication: ♥ manuanya ♥ again! She is my only inspiration these days and really, I owe her so much more than just a story now and then.
Author’s note: This is a companion-piece to 'This is It'. You should read that first, maybe.
All good things must come to an end. Dougie knows that, had heard the saying tons and tons and tons of times. Still, it didn’t make the whole thing better. An end is never good anyway now, is it?
Of course his and Harry’s holiday had to be over at some point. There were things they had to get back to, lives had to be lived, more music had to be created. And even though he was excited to go back home, couldn’t wait to lay his hands on his bass again, he didn’t want to leave at the same time.
His mood seemed to drop to an all-time low when him and Harry had boarded the plane and the pilot greeted the passengers, saying over the intercom that freezing temperatures awaited them back in England. Typical for January, really, but it’s just so annoying when one day, you can roast in the sun, and the day after you have to put on five layers of clothing just to go to Tesco’s.
Harry notices Dougie’s mood dropping. He himself doesn’t mind the winter so much, likes the prospect of there might be laying snow on the ground when they get back. And who wants to have an endless summer anyway? Apparently Dougie does because the smile isn’t on his face anymore and just listening to the pilot made him shudder.
“Best we take our jackets out of our suitcases first thing in Heathrow, eh?”
“I didn’t bring mine.”
“Doug, it’s January.”
“I know but. We’ll get on the taxi home and Danny put the heating on in my flat yesterday. It‘ll be fine.”
Harry nods and pulls Dougie to himself as close as he can, what with the armrests down and them both buckled up in their seatbelts. He put on some sunscreen this morning because he knew the smell would remind Dougie of the summer and the sea and the beach. He wants Dougie to smell it all on him so he won’t be so sad anymore.
Dougie can’t help it though. The flight takes them almost ten hours and he drifts in and out of sleep, gets annoyed because he can’t move really and England comes closer and closer. And then they’re flying into Heathrow, the pilot announcing the temperature is just about five degrees and Dougie can’t even see any land until the plane almost touches the ground because it’s so grey around him.
They wait by baggage claim and as soon as Harry get’s his suitcase he takes out his warm jacket. He pulls out a jumper too, handing it to Dougie who’s standing there, only a hoodie over his t-shirt.
“It’s fine.”
“Will you put the damn thing on now? It’s cold outside.”
“Harry, I’m fine!”
And Dougie really doesn’t mean to be so harsh but it’s. His holiday in the sun is over and he’s back home and England just sucks at the moment, alright? And no, he doesn’t want to put on a jumper because that will only mean that he accepts the cold and right now, that’s not what he’s planning on doing.
They exit the terminal building and of course, it’s raining. Dougie isn’t even surprised. He just pulls his hood over his head and ignores the shiver that is running over his body the second the automatic doors close behind him.
Harry looks at the man next to him, eyebrows raised. He makes a move to hand Dougie the jumper again, since he’s still holding it in his hand. But Dougie just huffs and stomps off in direction of the taxis.
So they both get into the taxi and it’s like sitting in an igloo because the driver had been smoking with the window open and a fag-length is definitely enough to make a car cool down rapidly. They’re already on the motorway by the time Dougie notices that the heating is actually on.
Harry is sitting next to him, a bit helpless as to what to do to get his boyfriend out of this mood. He opens his jacket and pulls Dougie close so they’re both engulfed in warmth but Dougie barely reacts, just keeps staring out of the window, watching the rain coming down heavily.
“So” Harry starts, speaking low into Dougie’s ear, “I was thinking about running us a bath as soon as we get in, what do you think? Get the candles out, put some relaxing tunes on. You know, be right cheesy about it. Ignore the weather and all.”
“If you want to. I know I will do laundry as soon as I get in.”
“And that can’t wait? Having a bath usually not requires wearing clothes, you know.”
“No Harry, it cannot wait. I’ve been to Mum’s over Christmas and we left the second I came back from hers. It’s not that I want to do the sodding laundry but if I want to wear clean clothes tomorrow, I will have to do it.”
Dougie’s words, they sting a bit, maybe more than that. But Harry ignores it, ignores that mood Dougie’s in. He knows Dougie doesn’t mean it and that, deep down, he is sorry for letting it out on Harry. But the young man’s also frustrated and before he smashes something, Harry takes the punches for now.
The taxi arrives in their street and Dougie tells the driver to quickly pull over at his building because really, unpacking is necessary and maybe, when he’s home and he sees his basses again, strum a chord or two, he’ll feel better in no time.
Dougie enters the flat and he almost freezes on the spot. It’s cold, so bloody fucking cold. Why oh why did he tell Danny to put the heating on? He should have told Tom because Tom, instead of Danny, probably wouldn’t have forgotten it.
He opens the door of his flat again and just yells up the staircase. “Thanks for nothing, Danny!” Not that it’s of any use because Dougie could already hear the loud noise of Springsteen’s latest album when he entered the building earlier.
So Dougie turns the heating on, full blast, hoping that in one or two hours it’ll be a bit warmer. Then he goes for his suitcase. He just throws everything on a pile, before getting the rest of his laundry from his bedroom. And now there’s this massive mountain of clothing right in his living room and Dougie doesn’t know where to start. He sighs and starts sorting the clothes by colour and shoves a first armful into his washing machine.
It’s still not much warmer so Dougie goes to make some tea. And then he wanders through his flat, the mug in his hand and he just waits. The washing machine is roaring, the rain is still hitting forcefully against his window. He thinks he should actually get his bass out, play a bit, let his frustrations seep into angry notes but just as he’s on his way to get the instrument from his bedroom, he gets distracted by the phone ringing.
“Hello?” he asks into the phone, and it’s accompanied by a sigh. No point in hiding how unhappy he is.
“Got any food?”
It’s Harry and he sounds as cheerful as ever. Dougie really doesn’t get it.
“What?”
“Do you have any food at home?”
Dougie shrugs. He hasn’t even checked. “Dunno. I told Danny to just get me something for the microwave but seeing as he also forgot my heating, he probably didn’t get it either. One would assume he wants to kill me off.”
“Wanna come over? I kinda expected you not having anything in and I don’t really feel like cooking just for me. Come on, stop the sulking. For me?”
And Dougie can’t help it. He can basically see Harry’s hopeful puppy eyes right there in front of him and just. He can’t say no. Even though sulking really sounds tempting right now.
He sighs again. “Okay fine. Right now or …?”
“Right now’s just fine. And no worries about wardrobe. I have t-shirts and stuff for you if needs must.”
“Okay. See you in a bit.”
So Dougie leaves his flat as it is and makes his way over to Harry’s. It’s still raining and grey and cold and he really wishes that Harry would have gotten the flat upstairs, not Danny.
Harry opens the door to his flat before Dougie can even lift his arm to ring the doorbell. He looks as cheerful as he sounded on the phone and according to his attire, he hasn’t noticed the arctic temperatures outside. He smiles brightly and hands Dougie a glass, condensation on the surface, with a some liquid and green leaves and a black straw sticking out.
“Mojito?”
“What?”
“Mojito.” Harry lifts the glass a little, as if Dougie hadn’t seen it before.
“You can make Mojitos?”
“Found the recipe online. And no worries, I tried it before. Not yours, mine of course.”
Dougie gives his boyfriend a questioning look but still accepts the glass and tries a sip. It’s really good, the taste nowhere different from the ones he had on holiday.
Then he steps into the flat and he notices how nice and warm it is. “You told Tom to put the heating on, didn’t you? Idiot he is, he should have known Danny would forget mine and - wow!”
Dougie’s sentence is cut short when he enters Harry’s living room. There’s a little sandpit right in the middle of the room, complete with two deckchairs. Harry has the shudders closed and switched the lights on so it looked like the sun was shining right there in the room. And in the background Dougie can hear the sounds of waves crashing, probably a CD with sounds of the sea.
“How’s this … How’d you do that?”
“I had some little summer elves.” Harry says with a smile.
“I hope they’ll help you to clean that up. Sand in your living room, are you aware of what you got yourself into with this one, Judd?”
“You made a joke. That’s worth it.”
Harry leans over and presses a light kiss onto Dougie’s lips. Dougie can smell mint and tastes a bit of alcohol. Yeah, Harry definitely tested those Mojitos.
“Fancy some chicken? Fried. With rice and peas?”
“Let me guess. Got the recipe from the head-chef of the hotel we stayed at?”
“Fried chicken with rice and peas doesn’t require skills, you know. Now, want some?”
“Please?”
Harry nods and heads for the kitchen, yelling over his shoulder that Dougie can get comfortable and just relax until the food’s ready. And so he lounges on the deckchair, sucks on his straw every so often and closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth. For a minute he even forgets that he’s in Harry’s flat.
But then he hears Harry rummaging around in the kitchen and he snaps back to reality. He looks around himself again. Harry’s really thought of everything. The sand, the sounds of the sea and the sun (real or unreal, who cares? And the lamp surely won’t give him a sunburn). And it smells a bit of sunscreen too, probably the leftovers from that spray can Harry had bought for their holiday.
The urge to just be with Harry becomes overwhelming so Dougie gets up and goes into the kitchen. Not to help, he knows himself better than that, but he just needs to be next to Harry right now.
Harry seems to feel him approaching because the moment Dougie is in the doorway, he is already greeted by a blinding smile.
“Like it?”
Dougie nods. “I’m amazed. If we were over at mine, we could jump into the hot tub. I hope Danny left at least that in one piece.”
Harry laughs, flipping over the chicken in the pan. “Food’s almost ready.”
“Need any help?”
Harry shakes his head. “You’re on holiday.”
“So are you.”
And Dougie moves forward and wraps his arms around Harry’s middle from behind. He’s breathing him in, the smell of the flat lingering on Harry as well, so much more intense now that it’s right under his nose. He doesn’t wanna let go, ever. So he turns his head just a fraction and kisses the back of Harry’s neck, holding onto him tighter.
These are the moments he can’t see himself living without. They don’t need to talk or anything like that. They just need to breathe each other in and touch and hold each other and it’s fine like that. When Harry’s there with him, there’s no rain and it’s not cold or windy. He can be wherever he is, any place feels like paradise when Harry’s there, warm and comfortable and free of all troubles.
Winter will pass, the rain will stop pelting down and the sun will eventually return, even here in England. But Dougie now knows that he doesn’t actually need any of this. Because he’s got Harry and that even beats a year of summer holiday.
The End
Comments are appreciated.