Fic: Another Sky (9/11)
Another Sky (9/11)
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Nathan Barley
Pairing: Dan/Jones
Rating: R
Word Count: 1544, this chapter (11776 so far)
Warnings: medical doodads, sexual intercourse, and Germany
Disclaimer: Still don't own 'em. WE'D HAVE HAD A SECOND FLIPPING SERIES IF I GOSH DARN DID, LET ME TELL YOU
Author's Notes: Parts of this chapter were a late addition, and are really a testament to the way in which sometimes characters can surprise you with the directions they choose to take the story.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
“Looks like some kind of lizard!” Jones gazed at the whooshing screen with awe.
Somewhere in the visual noise, he could see a squidgy little blob all snuggled down. He wondered if he could sample that whooshing. He could hear the beginnings of a song in it. Dan had just stepped out of the room to take a call; Carys looked mildly uneasy as the technician squished a magic wand around her distended belly.
“Alright, Peanut,” said Jones to the little blob on the screen. “I’m going to be one of your dads! Dan, he’s just outside, he’s going to be your dad too. We can’t wait to meet you, it’s going to be well ma-”
“I don’t think it can hear you through the telly, Jones,” interjected Carys, confused. “I don’t know how it works, but I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“You know,” said the technician, clearing the cold blobby stuff off of Carys’ belly, “a lot of people find it really helpful to talk directly to the baby through the mother’s belly. Why don’t you try that?”
“Nice one,” smiled Jones. “No, even better!”
Jones carefully extricated his headphones from around his neck and placed them against Carys’ belly. He fished around in the mess of wires draped over his torso until he found the ipod he was looking for, and wheeled round until he found just the right piece with which to say hello to the baby. As soon as he hit play, Carys’ eyes grew wide with shock and wonder.
“Jesus fuck, Jones, I think the baby’s pulling shapes,” she laughed. “It’s your kid, all right.”
“That is well massive,” he smiled, pumping his fist in the air along with the quiet beats radiating through the room.
“What’s - ” Dan squinted as he returned from the corridor.
“Check it out, babe! The kid’s pulling little babyshapes in the womb!” exclaimed Jones, pointing excitedly at the headphones strapped across Carys’ middle. Dan carefully navigated his way around the various furniture and machines in the room, and back to Jones’ side.
“You’re still going to have to keep it down when the kid moves in with us though, you know that,” said Dan.
“Yeah, I know,” laughed Jones, snaking an arm around Dan’s waist. “How are you going to sleep with all that quiet?”
---
By Dan’s estimation, Jones had had nine litres of coffee on the flight to Berlin, and would not sleep that weekend. Dan, on the other hand, slept comfortably through Jones’ thundering DJ set at Popmusikhaus (or whatever equally German club it was they went to), slept through the walk back to the shoebox flat they were borrowing from the strange German girls in Tugboats in Stereo or whatever they called themselves, and only woke to the sound of Jones’ voice, on the telephone back to London, again.
“You know you can just ring if you need anything at all... yeah, I know she’s not due yet, but... look, in case of emergency, there’s a mix I’ve done for when she goes into labour, and it’s on my laptop at the house, all right? Yeah, but just tell her not to start having the baby until - ”
and he likely would have continued in that way, but for the fact that Dan extricated the phone from Jones’ grasp, switched it off without so much as a goodbye Claire, and shoved it down the front of his trousers.
“Babe, what the - ” Jones began.
“They will ring if anything happens,” Dan reminded him, lighting a fresh cigarette, gazing out the window on the dark and silent street below. “If you want the phone back, you’re just going to have to brush your hand against my penis to get it.”
“Babe, is this your way of telling me to stop fretting and come have a shag?” facepalmed Jones.
“Probably. We going to be ringing home all through the wedding next week too? Because I think it might distract the happy couple if you’re brushing your hand against my penis there,” observed Dan, taking a long draw on his cigarette, allowing the smoke to curl round him in pornographically dreamy curls. “Is it working?”
“Course it’s working, babe,” beamed Jones, ruffling his multicoloured hair in that way he did when Dan made him feel all sexy.
Jones eyed Dan suspiciously before diving for his trousers. He slid his hand in and had a good - possibly too thorough - feel around for his phone. Dan could tell by the way Jones was half squinting and his tongue slightly escaped one corner of his mouth that he was concentrating very, very hard on his task. Dan gasped as Jones’ hand bypassed the phone altogether and curled softly around him. The sudden intake of breath caused him to choke on a plume of too much cigarette smoke; he chucked what remained of it out the window as he sputtered and coughed. Jones tossed his phone onto the desk, and led Dan gently to the bed, sitting him down.
“Jesus, babe,” he said, concerned. “Let me get you some water.”
“It’s fine, fine,” Dan coughed, attempting to dispel Jones’ concern. “I just... fuck.”
“Aww, babe,” Jones rubbed Dan’s back softly until his breathing returned to normal.
Dan growled softly in appreciation of the contact, before pouncing on Jones. The smaller man giggled and wriggled under him, sneaking his hands beneath Dan’s moth-eaten striped jumper.
“I love you, babe,” he grinned.
Unwrapping Jones was sometimes a complicated undertaking: after the night’s show, he had remained covered in wires and cords and things that made noise, ipods and kazoos and at least three sets of headphones slung about his person. Dan sat up, straddling his legs, and carefully unwound each one. Jones felt strangely naked without his equipment, strangely vulnerable, but he felt safe with Dan.
“I want...” Dan said, trailing off.
“What do you want?” asked Jones, tracing a fingertip across Dan’s fuzzy jawline.
“You,” grinned Dan, running his tongue over his teeth.
Jones now understood Dan’s intention. Loud, loud fucking. This was a luxury they had to take advantage of while they could. Without warning, he rolled Dan onto his back, flinging his shirt onto the floor.
Berlin was a deceptively quiet city. There were so many musicians Jones knew - casual acquaintances, mostly, some less rubbish than others - who chose to live there. It might well have been a good place to work, but Jones’ home was London, and Dan’s home was with Jones.
Once in a while, a car would pass beneath their window, swishing through the wet street below. Apart from that, it seemed, the whole city had long since gone to sleep. Everyone, except for Dan and Jones, lost in their little universe.
For five years, it had just been them, Dan Ashcroft and Jones: their own little universe of two, with their own rhythms and their own little language, at times almost without words. They clung to one another now with screaming desperation, fucking in the dark of a tiny German room, knowing that for better or worse, everything was about to change. They were about to let someone else in, and they wanted to, they were both certain of it, but it would never be their little universe of two again: this mode of life, Jones’s loud noises and Dan’s overflowing ashtray on the kitchen table, was about to undergo an evolution so drastic that neither could quite envision it in its entirety, and no matter how wonderful their new life might be, they hung on to this moment for dear life. They hung on to this moment because they knew it might never come again.
Neither would say this out loud, but they understood. They understood when Dan chanted Jones’ name over and over, screaming with joy into the pillow; they understood when Jones held Dan’s hand in his own, squeezing tightly, leaning down to place a kiss just between Dan’s shoulder blades. They understood the strange, underlying sense of loss that neither could articulate, that they were each afraid they would miss their life as it was. There was no way to resolve this, of course, but to hold on, and move forward.
So Jones held on to Dan, burying his face in Dan’s neck, nibbling him there, and Dan let out a rumbling growl. All the little sounds he made were beautiful to Jones. It was so perfect, this communication without words: a tactile dialogue. Dan’s breaths became ragged and Jones could tell he was close. Dan shouted Jones’ name as he came, and Jones came tumbling after, spilling into him, effervescent warmth spreading out from his core and throughout his trembling body. As they collapsed, breathless, into each other, Dan looked at Jones, and Jones looked at Dan.
“Cheers babe,” said Jones, burying his face in Dan’s shoulder.
It was not until Dan began to stroke his hair and whisper to him that Jones realized he had begun quietly sobbing.
Chapter Ten
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Nathan Barley
Pairing: Dan/Jones
Rating: R
Word Count: 1544, this chapter (11776 so far)
Warnings: medical doodads, sexual intercourse, and Germany
Disclaimer: Still don't own 'em. WE'D HAVE HAD A SECOND FLIPPING SERIES IF I GOSH DARN DID, LET ME TELL YOU
Author's Notes: Parts of this chapter were a late addition, and are really a testament to the way in which sometimes characters can surprise you with the directions they choose to take the story.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
“Looks like some kind of lizard!” Jones gazed at the whooshing screen with awe.
Somewhere in the visual noise, he could see a squidgy little blob all snuggled down. He wondered if he could sample that whooshing. He could hear the beginnings of a song in it. Dan had just stepped out of the room to take a call; Carys looked mildly uneasy as the technician squished a magic wand around her distended belly.
“Alright, Peanut,” said Jones to the little blob on the screen. “I’m going to be one of your dads! Dan, he’s just outside, he’s going to be your dad too. We can’t wait to meet you, it’s going to be well ma-”
“I don’t think it can hear you through the telly, Jones,” interjected Carys, confused. “I don’t know how it works, but I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“You know,” said the technician, clearing the cold blobby stuff off of Carys’ belly, “a lot of people find it really helpful to talk directly to the baby through the mother’s belly. Why don’t you try that?”
“Nice one,” smiled Jones. “No, even better!”
Jones carefully extricated his headphones from around his neck and placed them against Carys’ belly. He fished around in the mess of wires draped over his torso until he found the ipod he was looking for, and wheeled round until he found just the right piece with which to say hello to the baby. As soon as he hit play, Carys’ eyes grew wide with shock and wonder.
“Jesus fuck, Jones, I think the baby’s pulling shapes,” she laughed. “It’s your kid, all right.”
“That is well massive,” he smiled, pumping his fist in the air along with the quiet beats radiating through the room.
“What’s - ” Dan squinted as he returned from the corridor.
“Check it out, babe! The kid’s pulling little babyshapes in the womb!” exclaimed Jones, pointing excitedly at the headphones strapped across Carys’ middle. Dan carefully navigated his way around the various furniture and machines in the room, and back to Jones’ side.
“You’re still going to have to keep it down when the kid moves in with us though, you know that,” said Dan.
“Yeah, I know,” laughed Jones, snaking an arm around Dan’s waist. “How are you going to sleep with all that quiet?”
---
By Dan’s estimation, Jones had had nine litres of coffee on the flight to Berlin, and would not sleep that weekend. Dan, on the other hand, slept comfortably through Jones’ thundering DJ set at Popmusikhaus (or whatever equally German club it was they went to), slept through the walk back to the shoebox flat they were borrowing from the strange German girls in Tugboats in Stereo or whatever they called themselves, and only woke to the sound of Jones’ voice, on the telephone back to London, again.
“You know you can just ring if you need anything at all... yeah, I know she’s not due yet, but... look, in case of emergency, there’s a mix I’ve done for when she goes into labour, and it’s on my laptop at the house, all right? Yeah, but just tell her not to start having the baby until - ”
and he likely would have continued in that way, but for the fact that Dan extricated the phone from Jones’ grasp, switched it off without so much as a goodbye Claire, and shoved it down the front of his trousers.
“Babe, what the - ” Jones began.
“They will ring if anything happens,” Dan reminded him, lighting a fresh cigarette, gazing out the window on the dark and silent street below. “If you want the phone back, you’re just going to have to brush your hand against my penis to get it.”
“Babe, is this your way of telling me to stop fretting and come have a shag?” facepalmed Jones.
“Probably. We going to be ringing home all through the wedding next week too? Because I think it might distract the happy couple if you’re brushing your hand against my penis there,” observed Dan, taking a long draw on his cigarette, allowing the smoke to curl round him in pornographically dreamy curls. “Is it working?”
“Course it’s working, babe,” beamed Jones, ruffling his multicoloured hair in that way he did when Dan made him feel all sexy.
Jones eyed Dan suspiciously before diving for his trousers. He slid his hand in and had a good - possibly too thorough - feel around for his phone. Dan could tell by the way Jones was half squinting and his tongue slightly escaped one corner of his mouth that he was concentrating very, very hard on his task. Dan gasped as Jones’ hand bypassed the phone altogether and curled softly around him. The sudden intake of breath caused him to choke on a plume of too much cigarette smoke; he chucked what remained of it out the window as he sputtered and coughed. Jones tossed his phone onto the desk, and led Dan gently to the bed, sitting him down.
“Jesus, babe,” he said, concerned. “Let me get you some water.”
“It’s fine, fine,” Dan coughed, attempting to dispel Jones’ concern. “I just... fuck.”
“Aww, babe,” Jones rubbed Dan’s back softly until his breathing returned to normal.
Dan growled softly in appreciation of the contact, before pouncing on Jones. The smaller man giggled and wriggled under him, sneaking his hands beneath Dan’s moth-eaten striped jumper.
“I love you, babe,” he grinned.
Unwrapping Jones was sometimes a complicated undertaking: after the night’s show, he had remained covered in wires and cords and things that made noise, ipods and kazoos and at least three sets of headphones slung about his person. Dan sat up, straddling his legs, and carefully unwound each one. Jones felt strangely naked without his equipment, strangely vulnerable, but he felt safe with Dan.
“I want...” Dan said, trailing off.
“What do you want?” asked Jones, tracing a fingertip across Dan’s fuzzy jawline.
“You,” grinned Dan, running his tongue over his teeth.
Jones now understood Dan’s intention. Loud, loud fucking. This was a luxury they had to take advantage of while they could. Without warning, he rolled Dan onto his back, flinging his shirt onto the floor.
Berlin was a deceptively quiet city. There were so many musicians Jones knew - casual acquaintances, mostly, some less rubbish than others - who chose to live there. It might well have been a good place to work, but Jones’ home was London, and Dan’s home was with Jones.
Once in a while, a car would pass beneath their window, swishing through the wet street below. Apart from that, it seemed, the whole city had long since gone to sleep. Everyone, except for Dan and Jones, lost in their little universe.
For five years, it had just been them, Dan Ashcroft and Jones: their own little universe of two, with their own rhythms and their own little language, at times almost without words. They clung to one another now with screaming desperation, fucking in the dark of a tiny German room, knowing that for better or worse, everything was about to change. They were about to let someone else in, and they wanted to, they were both certain of it, but it would never be their little universe of two again: this mode of life, Jones’s loud noises and Dan’s overflowing ashtray on the kitchen table, was about to undergo an evolution so drastic that neither could quite envision it in its entirety, and no matter how wonderful their new life might be, they hung on to this moment for dear life. They hung on to this moment because they knew it might never come again.
Neither would say this out loud, but they understood. They understood when Dan chanted Jones’ name over and over, screaming with joy into the pillow; they understood when Jones held Dan’s hand in his own, squeezing tightly, leaning down to place a kiss just between Dan’s shoulder blades. They understood the strange, underlying sense of loss that neither could articulate, that they were each afraid they would miss their life as it was. There was no way to resolve this, of course, but to hold on, and move forward.
So Jones held on to Dan, burying his face in Dan’s neck, nibbling him there, and Dan let out a rumbling growl. All the little sounds he made were beautiful to Jones. It was so perfect, this communication without words: a tactile dialogue. Dan’s breaths became ragged and Jones could tell he was close. Dan shouted Jones’ name as he came, and Jones came tumbling after, spilling into him, effervescent warmth spreading out from his core and throughout his trembling body. As they collapsed, breathless, into each other, Dan looked at Jones, and Jones looked at Dan.
“Cheers babe,” said Jones, burying his face in Dan’s shoulder.
It was not until Dan began to stroke his hair and whisper to him that Jones realized he had begun quietly sobbing.
Chapter Ten