[ficlet] "One Scene and a Coda"
Title: One Scene and a Coda
Pairing: James & Oliver Phelps
Author: a_carnal_mink
Length: 854 words
Disclaimer: Fiction. Fiction. Fiction. Just a little thing while I was bored at work.
Rating: PG13 for language and possible suggestions of 'cest if you wish to take it that way.
Summary: Turning an accident on the football field into Method.
This part of the pitch was more mud than grass, Oliver's knees were informing him. And there was something sharper than ground down there, but it wasn't enough to worry him right now. There was plenty more to be worried about at the moment. Such as no eye movement evident under James' lids. That was a worry. And the slight twitch in James' right index finger. Oliver actually thought that might be even more of a worry than the eye thing. And the goose-egg lump that was already beginning to bloom on James' forehead. Worrisome, but that finger twitch was still holding his attention.
'Fuck!' Peter was cursing from nearby, rubbing gingerly at a corresponding goose-egg on his own forehead. 'Fuck! Is he moving? Is he okay?'
'He’s out,' Oliver replied grimly, pressing his fingers against James' throat, even though he could plainly see that James' chest was rising and falling with obvious breath. 'Someone - ' Oliver paused a moment, frowning. James would probably wake up in a second or two and most likely kill Oliver for making such a fuss about this, but fuck it. 'Someone call an ambulance. Someone call somebody!'
Oliver stared helplessly down at his prone brother, gaze raking over the still face, the colour-leeched complexion and the sweat-matted fringe. The image swam in front of Oliver's eyes, the football kit changing in his mind to dusty and bloodied wizard robes. In the image, he was still kneeling here like this, still staring at his brother helplessly, willing him to be okay, willing this not to have happened.
'He'll be alright, Ol,' someone else was saying. 'We all know Pete's got a soft head.'
Hand shaking slightly - and god, how he hoped no one noticed that - Oliver pressed his own right index finger against James'. He could feel the vague twitch tickling against the pad of his finger, each little jerk seeming to time in with the fall of James' chest as he breathed out. Alive. He lifted his head up and looked around at the concerned faces of their friends and teammates. 'Has someone called - '
'Yeah, mate, it's on its way.' A hand clapped him on the shoulder briefly.
'Sorry for stuffing the game like this,' Oliver mumbled, pulling his hand away from James' as he suddenly realised he was still latched on to that tiny Alive movement.
'Don't be stupid,' Peter grinned, promptly wincing as the grin obviously hurt his head. 'Almost half-time anyway.' He tried another valiant sort-of-grin and gave Oliver's shoulder a gentle poke. 'How come we never see you run like that during a game, eh?'
Oliver attempted a small smile at the try for levity, but clearly failed. Blinking quickly, Oliver hung his head down in order to hide his face a bit. He heard Pete clear his throat and clamber to his feet. 'Alright you lot,' Pete announced to everyone else. 'Stop gawping like a pack of twats and give him a bit of air, why don’t you?' He managed to meet Oliver's gaze for a moment and gave him a slight nod.
'Thanks,' Oliver whispered, then continued to stare at his unmoving twin while everybody else moved away and gave them a bit of space. 'Stop being Fred,' he barely uttered over James. 'Right now, J. I fucking mean it.' His fingertips ghosted over the tender silk of James' closed eyelids. 'We're hardly bloody Method actors, are we? I don't want this kind of sense memory bullshit to fall back on. Wake up!' His throat was so dry he had to cough, turning his head to the side so he wasn't coughing all over James. 'Please,' he whispered again, hoarsely this time. 'Please wake up.'
Surreptitiously, he glanced around to make sure all their mates had fallen back far enough to not be able to overhear him if he raised his voice a little. Then he let his right hand rest solidly over James' sternum and pressed down ever so slightly. He could do this. He could make James pay attention to him with just one word - as long as he said it right, as long as he let his voice carry the weight and significance of all their secrets and truths in it.
He gazed down longingly at his brother, pressed his fingers a little more firmly over his sternum, and dredged up his deepest, most heartfelt, most commanding voice for the one word that said it all for him.
'James.'
Coda
Oliver vaguely noted Julie Walters, standing off camera with Mark Williams, sniffling into a hanky as the director called cut on the twins' wide-shot. After perhaps two seconds of stunned silence, the entire set suddenly burst into applause. James cracked an eye open and gave Oliver a tentative smile.
'Sounds like you nailed it, bro.'
Oliver swallowed loudly as he stood up and held out a hand to help his brother off the floor. 'Fucked if I was gonna put us through that more times than I had to.'
Sliding on the sensitive flesh of Oliver's inner wrist, James' right index finger twitched a tiny dance of Alive.
~fin~
Pairing: James & Oliver Phelps
Author: a_carnal_mink
Length: 854 words
Disclaimer: Fiction. Fiction. Fiction. Just a little thing while I was bored at work.
Rating: PG13 for language and possible suggestions of 'cest if you wish to take it that way.
Summary: Turning an accident on the football field into Method.
This part of the pitch was more mud than grass, Oliver's knees were informing him. And there was something sharper than ground down there, but it wasn't enough to worry him right now. There was plenty more to be worried about at the moment. Such as no eye movement evident under James' lids. That was a worry. And the slight twitch in James' right index finger. Oliver actually thought that might be even more of a worry than the eye thing. And the goose-egg lump that was already beginning to bloom on James' forehead. Worrisome, but that finger twitch was still holding his attention.
'Fuck!' Peter was cursing from nearby, rubbing gingerly at a corresponding goose-egg on his own forehead. 'Fuck! Is he moving? Is he okay?'
'He’s out,' Oliver replied grimly, pressing his fingers against James' throat, even though he could plainly see that James' chest was rising and falling with obvious breath. 'Someone - ' Oliver paused a moment, frowning. James would probably wake up in a second or two and most likely kill Oliver for making such a fuss about this, but fuck it. 'Someone call an ambulance. Someone call somebody!'
Oliver stared helplessly down at his prone brother, gaze raking over the still face, the colour-leeched complexion and the sweat-matted fringe. The image swam in front of Oliver's eyes, the football kit changing in his mind to dusty and bloodied wizard robes. In the image, he was still kneeling here like this, still staring at his brother helplessly, willing him to be okay, willing this not to have happened.
'He'll be alright, Ol,' someone else was saying. 'We all know Pete's got a soft head.'
Hand shaking slightly - and god, how he hoped no one noticed that - Oliver pressed his own right index finger against James'. He could feel the vague twitch tickling against the pad of his finger, each little jerk seeming to time in with the fall of James' chest as he breathed out. Alive. He lifted his head up and looked around at the concerned faces of their friends and teammates. 'Has someone called - '
'Yeah, mate, it's on its way.' A hand clapped him on the shoulder briefly.
'Sorry for stuffing the game like this,' Oliver mumbled, pulling his hand away from James' as he suddenly realised he was still latched on to that tiny Alive movement.
'Don't be stupid,' Peter grinned, promptly wincing as the grin obviously hurt his head. 'Almost half-time anyway.' He tried another valiant sort-of-grin and gave Oliver's shoulder a gentle poke. 'How come we never see you run like that during a game, eh?'
Oliver attempted a small smile at the try for levity, but clearly failed. Blinking quickly, Oliver hung his head down in order to hide his face a bit. He heard Pete clear his throat and clamber to his feet. 'Alright you lot,' Pete announced to everyone else. 'Stop gawping like a pack of twats and give him a bit of air, why don’t you?' He managed to meet Oliver's gaze for a moment and gave him a slight nod.
'Thanks,' Oliver whispered, then continued to stare at his unmoving twin while everybody else moved away and gave them a bit of space. 'Stop being Fred,' he barely uttered over James. 'Right now, J. I fucking mean it.' His fingertips ghosted over the tender silk of James' closed eyelids. 'We're hardly bloody Method actors, are we? I don't want this kind of sense memory bullshit to fall back on. Wake up!' His throat was so dry he had to cough, turning his head to the side so he wasn't coughing all over James. 'Please,' he whispered again, hoarsely this time. 'Please wake up.'
Surreptitiously, he glanced around to make sure all their mates had fallen back far enough to not be able to overhear him if he raised his voice a little. Then he let his right hand rest solidly over James' sternum and pressed down ever so slightly. He could do this. He could make James pay attention to him with just one word - as long as he said it right, as long as he let his voice carry the weight and significance of all their secrets and truths in it.
He gazed down longingly at his brother, pressed his fingers a little more firmly over his sternum, and dredged up his deepest, most heartfelt, most commanding voice for the one word that said it all for him.
'James.'
Coda
Oliver vaguely noted Julie Walters, standing off camera with Mark Williams, sniffling into a hanky as the director called cut on the twins' wide-shot. After perhaps two seconds of stunned silence, the entire set suddenly burst into applause. James cracked an eye open and gave Oliver a tentative smile.
'Sounds like you nailed it, bro.'
Oliver swallowed loudly as he stood up and held out a hand to help his brother off the floor. 'Fucked if I was gonna put us through that more times than I had to.'
Sliding on the sensitive flesh of Oliver's inner wrist, James' right index finger twitched a tiny dance of Alive.
~fin~