Mini NaNo, day #1.
Random ficlet for mini_nanowrimo. 560 words, McFly RPF.
Dougie’s still drunk when they come off stage, covered in lipstick and sweat and stray feathers. Sits on the floor of the dressing room, eyes glazed and a vaguely confused smile, and Harry firmly ushers people out the room. Techs and club staff and PR, and he’s always polite, ever the gentleman, and he thinks that one day, that damn fake smile is just going to get stuck there. Never go away, and taunt him with fixed lips and perfect teeth. Closes the door, turns back, and Tom’s already crouched on the floor in front of Doug, frowning slightly. Danny’s in the corner, downing bottled water and pretending to ignore them, but Harry’s known him, known them, too long to believe him.
“Doug,” and Tom’s voice is pitched low, falsely slow. “How’s the bass line to Please, Please go?
“Oh,” and Dougie frowns, wriggles his tights-clad toes. “Like this?” Waves his arms in the air, waggles his fingers a bit. Tom looks perplexed, not entirely sure how to carry on the lecture from here, and Harry watches him from near the door, bites his lip.
Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t…
Dougie drops his arms back down, and, “Tom, my crotch is too hot.”
There’s a choking sound from the corner, Danny spills his water everywhere, and Tom sits back on his heels, blinks.
“Well, I’m not fucking helping you out there.”
“Oi,” and Harry comes over, stands behind Dougie. “Come on, get your arms up.”
Dougie tips his head back, grins widely and Harry has to lean his knee against the boy’s back to stop him falling over backwards. “Harry! Can you help me? I need to get these clothes off, and I’m not allowed to do it myself.”
“That was just on stage, you muppet,” but he tugs at the dress anyway, gets it slipped over Dougie’s head. Tosses it in a corner to lie abandoned in a heap, and it’ll end up either on eBay or being wanked over by some club worker. Can’t be bothered to care right now, not when it’s nearly three in the morning, and he manages to get Dougie standing upright again. Leans him against his chest, props him up with one arm and starts to tug the underwear and tights down. Tom and Danny watch him, half-amused, half-horrified, and he frowns at them.
“You could at least give me a hand here.”
“Nah, mate,” Danny holds up his hands. “You look like you’re doing fine all by yourself.”
Harry would flip him off if he had a spare hand, but he gets the clothing down past Dougie’s thighs, and gently sets him back on the floor. Pulls the tights off the rest of the way and throws them towards the dress, and he’s not entirely sure where Dougie’s actual clothes have gone. Probably never going to see them again, and Harry really isn’t sorry to see that awful shirt go. He’s never been a fan of sequins.
“You know,” and Dougie glances at Tom and Danny. Leans towards Harry, and he probably means to whisper, but it doesn’t quite come out that way. “I prefer it when you do that when there’s no one watching.”
There’s laughter coming from the corner, loud and hysterical. Greasy lipstick smears on his shirt, Dougie beaming at him, and he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
Apparently, I agreed to go to the Arsenal/Moscow match tonight with my dad. Okay!
Dougie’s still drunk when they come off stage, covered in lipstick and sweat and stray feathers. Sits on the floor of the dressing room, eyes glazed and a vaguely confused smile, and Harry firmly ushers people out the room. Techs and club staff and PR, and he’s always polite, ever the gentleman, and he thinks that one day, that damn fake smile is just going to get stuck there. Never go away, and taunt him with fixed lips and perfect teeth. Closes the door, turns back, and Tom’s already crouched on the floor in front of Doug, frowning slightly. Danny’s in the corner, downing bottled water and pretending to ignore them, but Harry’s known him, known them, too long to believe him.
“Doug,” and Tom’s voice is pitched low, falsely slow. “How’s the bass line to Please, Please go?
“Oh,” and Dougie frowns, wriggles his tights-clad toes. “Like this?” Waves his arms in the air, waggles his fingers a bit. Tom looks perplexed, not entirely sure how to carry on the lecture from here, and Harry watches him from near the door, bites his lip.
Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t…
Dougie drops his arms back down, and, “Tom, my crotch is too hot.”
There’s a choking sound from the corner, Danny spills his water everywhere, and Tom sits back on his heels, blinks.
“Well, I’m not fucking helping you out there.”
“Oi,” and Harry comes over, stands behind Dougie. “Come on, get your arms up.”
Dougie tips his head back, grins widely and Harry has to lean his knee against the boy’s back to stop him falling over backwards. “Harry! Can you help me? I need to get these clothes off, and I’m not allowed to do it myself.”
“That was just on stage, you muppet,” but he tugs at the dress anyway, gets it slipped over Dougie’s head. Tosses it in a corner to lie abandoned in a heap, and it’ll end up either on eBay or being wanked over by some club worker. Can’t be bothered to care right now, not when it’s nearly three in the morning, and he manages to get Dougie standing upright again. Leans him against his chest, props him up with one arm and starts to tug the underwear and tights down. Tom and Danny watch him, half-amused, half-horrified, and he frowns at them.
“You could at least give me a hand here.”
“Nah, mate,” Danny holds up his hands. “You look like you’re doing fine all by yourself.”
Harry would flip him off if he had a spare hand, but he gets the clothing down past Dougie’s thighs, and gently sets him back on the floor. Pulls the tights off the rest of the way and throws them towards the dress, and he’s not entirely sure where Dougie’s actual clothes have gone. Probably never going to see them again, and Harry really isn’t sorry to see that awful shirt go. He’s never been a fan of sequins.
“You know,” and Dougie glances at Tom and Danny. Leans towards Harry, and he probably means to whisper, but it doesn’t quite come out that way. “I prefer it when you do that when there’s no one watching.”
There’s laughter coming from the corner, loud and hysterical. Greasy lipstick smears on his shirt, Dougie beaming at him, and he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
Apparently, I agreed to go to the Arsenal/Moscow match tonight with my dad. Okay!