Dreaming Awake [The Libertines RPS, Pete/Carl, PG]
I have commited RPS. I am so, so sorry. *hangs head in shame*
(Except I'm totally not, because it brought a lot of lols to my life, hee. Anyway, this thing just jumped at me while I was having a shower and refused to let go. No, I don't really get my writing patterns either, not really.)
Title: Dreaming Awake
Word Count: 835
Pairing: Pete/Carl
Author Notes: As if you needed this to prove how much I fucking love the Libs. Haha. Unbetaed because it's just a short drabble and I'm lazy like that. Set on the day they recorded 'A Day in the Life'.
Dreaming Awake
Once everything’s been said and done and they’re still high from the Beatles and music and the shorter and shorter distance between them, they tell story after story on the studio’s threshold just so they’ll have an extra moment together.
They share a cigarette, take slow drags, and hunch their shoulders because it really has been too long. “Fancy a pint?” Pete asks, sounding surprised of saying the words, and Carl surprises himself in return by accepting.
They drink rather too much, because it’s hard to face the past while sober.
They throw stale peanuts at each other’s hair and mock the music playing loudly at the pub they’re in and get thrown out when they start dancing and singing at the top of their lungs and annoying the rest of the people there. No one recognizes them, surprisingly, considering Pete’s face has been on every single tabloid in the country almost every single day ever since he started inducing poor innocent Kate Moss into those nasty ways of his.
When they leave, it’s holding onto each other, stumbling with lose bits of pavement on the ground, and Carl hardly realizes he’s nuzzling Pete’s neck because it’s such a normal thing for him to do, a habit he could never really shake off even after years of hardly seeing the other man.
They find themselves breathing in tune, talking in song as they hum bits of songs they once started together and never finished and they don’t really notice when they start walking in the direction of the old flat they once shared instead of going in their own ways. They don’t notice until they’re right outside the door, and then Pete scratches the back of his head and Carl mumbles something and they sit on the sidewalk and share another cigarette just because.
A sigh, a shove, a laugh and a song and when they kiss, it tastes like smoke and like memories and they’re laughing like they used to when they were starving and no one knew them and when it all meant something, and they chase each other around the street like children, and then push the other against walls and act nothing like children.
There’s pang of regret as Carl is pushing Pete against a brick wall, as he’s biting Pete’s lips and holding onto the hem of Pete’s shirt, and he remembers he’s charmed by Annalisa and Pete is mad about Kate, even if he can’t tell whether it’s actually love or just plain madness and it’s bitter, feeling Pete’s hands on his nape.
“I hated you, you know,” Carl mumbles against Pete’s lips, and it’s not until then that he realizes he’s pushing too hard, holding on too strongly, and that even unconsciously he wants to hurt Pete, wants to get even. “I’m not sure if I do still,” he continues, and Pete nods and smirks and says Nothing I didn’t expect in that uneven tone of his and he kisses Carl again, stops him from talking and maybe it’s a good thing because then there’s only the sound of the brush of cloth against cloth and Pete’s head hitting the wall behind him, eyes closed, and the fag they share, afterwards, sitting once again on the sidewalk.
“I hated you a bit, too,” Pete says after a while with a far-away expression, and Carl is not surprised.
Right before dawn, Pete’s the one that pulls Carl by the lapels of his leather jacket and kisses him hard enough to bruise, because Carl might have ached more, but Pete missed him most. When he lets go, Pete smirks, pats him on the cheek, and Carl wants to punch him suddenly, either because he thinks Pete owes him or just because, he doesn’t know, but he doesn’t do it, he just shoves Pete back and smiles and they leave on their own ways and try real hard not to look back.
(Carl still has a frantic voice message on his cell asking him if he’d like to cover the Beatles because it sounds rather brilliant and it’d be great to do it together, you know? For the good old times, and wait, I probably shouldn’t phrase it like that, but well, you know. Call me back if you’re interested. I’d like it if you did. Pete was probably high out of his mind when he called, like he is while doing everything else he does these days, but Carl hasn’t deleted it. Yet.)
A couple of days later their song is on the radio, and it almost feels like déjà vu, except this time around they own themselves instead of owning the other one and their names are no longer said in the same breath and when Carl sits down to write a new song all he can think of when he stares at the blank page is You betrayed me and I betrayed you as well.
And then, it feels like the dream is over. (If it ever started).
(Except I'm totally not, because it brought a lot of lols to my life, hee. Anyway, this thing just jumped at me while I was having a shower and refused to let go. No, I don't really get my writing patterns either, not really.)
Title: Dreaming Awake
Word Count: 835
Pairing: Pete/Carl
Author Notes: As if you needed this to prove how much I fucking love the Libs. Haha. Unbetaed because it's just a short drabble and I'm lazy like that. Set on the day they recorded 'A Day in the Life'.
Dreaming Awake
Once everything’s been said and done and they’re still high from the Beatles and music and the shorter and shorter distance between them, they tell story after story on the studio’s threshold just so they’ll have an extra moment together.
They share a cigarette, take slow drags, and hunch their shoulders because it really has been too long. “Fancy a pint?” Pete asks, sounding surprised of saying the words, and Carl surprises himself in return by accepting.
They drink rather too much, because it’s hard to face the past while sober.
They throw stale peanuts at each other’s hair and mock the music playing loudly at the pub they’re in and get thrown out when they start dancing and singing at the top of their lungs and annoying the rest of the people there. No one recognizes them, surprisingly, considering Pete’s face has been on every single tabloid in the country almost every single day ever since he started inducing poor innocent Kate Moss into those nasty ways of his.
When they leave, it’s holding onto each other, stumbling with lose bits of pavement on the ground, and Carl hardly realizes he’s nuzzling Pete’s neck because it’s such a normal thing for him to do, a habit he could never really shake off even after years of hardly seeing the other man.
They find themselves breathing in tune, talking in song as they hum bits of songs they once started together and never finished and they don’t really notice when they start walking in the direction of the old flat they once shared instead of going in their own ways. They don’t notice until they’re right outside the door, and then Pete scratches the back of his head and Carl mumbles something and they sit on the sidewalk and share another cigarette just because.
A sigh, a shove, a laugh and a song and when they kiss, it tastes like smoke and like memories and they’re laughing like they used to when they were starving and no one knew them and when it all meant something, and they chase each other around the street like children, and then push the other against walls and act nothing like children.
There’s pang of regret as Carl is pushing Pete against a brick wall, as he’s biting Pete’s lips and holding onto the hem of Pete’s shirt, and he remembers he’s charmed by Annalisa and Pete is mad about Kate, even if he can’t tell whether it’s actually love or just plain madness and it’s bitter, feeling Pete’s hands on his nape.
“I hated you, you know,” Carl mumbles against Pete’s lips, and it’s not until then that he realizes he’s pushing too hard, holding on too strongly, and that even unconsciously he wants to hurt Pete, wants to get even. “I’m not sure if I do still,” he continues, and Pete nods and smirks and says Nothing I didn’t expect in that uneven tone of his and he kisses Carl again, stops him from talking and maybe it’s a good thing because then there’s only the sound of the brush of cloth against cloth and Pete’s head hitting the wall behind him, eyes closed, and the fag they share, afterwards, sitting once again on the sidewalk.
“I hated you a bit, too,” Pete says after a while with a far-away expression, and Carl is not surprised.
Right before dawn, Pete’s the one that pulls Carl by the lapels of his leather jacket and kisses him hard enough to bruise, because Carl might have ached more, but Pete missed him most. When he lets go, Pete smirks, pats him on the cheek, and Carl wants to punch him suddenly, either because he thinks Pete owes him or just because, he doesn’t know, but he doesn’t do it, he just shoves Pete back and smiles and they leave on their own ways and try real hard not to look back.
(Carl still has a frantic voice message on his cell asking him if he’d like to cover the Beatles because it sounds rather brilliant and it’d be great to do it together, you know? For the good old times, and wait, I probably shouldn’t phrase it like that, but well, you know. Call me back if you’re interested. I’d like it if you did. Pete was probably high out of his mind when he called, like he is while doing everything else he does these days, but Carl hasn’t deleted it. Yet.)
A couple of days later their song is on the radio, and it almost feels like déjà vu, except this time around they own themselves instead of owning the other one and their names are no longer said in the same breath and when Carl sits down to write a new song all he can think of when he stares at the blank page is You betrayed me and I betrayed you as well.
And then, it feels like the dream is over. (If it ever started).