Happiness (4/13)
Happiness (4/13)
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Nathan Barley
Pairing: Dan/Jonatton
Rating: PG, this chapter
Word Count: 1012, this chapter (4801, so far)
Warnings: extreme discomfort
Disclaimer: Brooker and Morris own Nathan Barley, not me. I own a wobblier tummy than I'd like, and a large box of unsweetened baking chocolate that's just crying out to be made into chocolate sponge pud.
Author's Notes: *cheeky grin*
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Mum.
Jonatton had just used the word Mum. Jonatton had just addressed that nice woman in the sundress who stood in the doorway using the word Mum. As in mother. The word echoed through Dan’s consciousness as he was gripped with a sudden terror: this was no innocent weekend at Henley. This was a surprise parental visit. Dan was in no way prepared for this.
“Jonatton, what - ”
Suddenly, and not knowing quite how it happened, Dan found himself tugged into a crushingly warm embrace, smooshed into the woman’s cleavage, her tasteful gold necklace no doubt leaving a permanent indentation on his face.
“So wonderful to finally meet you, Dan,” she smiled, releasing him from her death grip just before he would have blacked out from oxygen deprivation. “Jon’s told me so much about you.”
“Oh, God,” Dan’s stomach lurched.
“Oh, all quite flattering, don’t worry, for fuck’s sake,” she laughed. “Come on upstairs, your dad’s just done us a pitcher of Pimms for the evening.”
She turned, giving Dan a conspiratorial wink as she went, and the two men followed her up the stairs to the main floor. It was a spacious home - definitely old, but recently redecorated, if Dan’s confused assessment was anything to go by. It was warm and full of natural light, hardwood floors, leather, and rich earth tones - the kind of place one expected parent-types to live in, especially if they apparently had quite a comfortable amount of money. It turned out that Jonatton’s room was one floor up a spiral staircase surrounded by curved shelves and shelves of books, and one floor above them was Jonatton’s parents’ room, and above that was the roof. Which had a hot tub, and a small herb garden. It certainly stood in stark contrast with Dan’s family home; the flat in Leeds, smaller than Jonatton’s and still painted in Seventies Brown. Dan was not quite sure what he had imagined Jonatton’s family would be like, but he was quite sure this was not it.
To be honest, he had never been able to imagine Jonatton having a family at all.
But Jonatton had settled in immediately, placing their overnight bags in the guest bedroom and storing their perishable picnic foods in the refrigerator. Dan felt uncomfortably silly, following Jonatton’s movements like a useless and stroppy puppy, taking in the environment without appearing to snoop.
Sometimes, Jonatton had a funny way of showing Dan just how much he loved him: that is, if one defined funny as leaving Dan on an ever-diminishing ice floe in waters infested with a herd of ornery walruses, while Jonatton looked on sneeringly from a helicopter above.
This was strange and unfair, thought Dan. Trust Jonatton to take a legitimate relationship milestone and use it as a means to humiliate him. He could have left then, he thought, if it bothered him enough: the train station was just down the road and he could afford to get back to London, quit his job, live on Jones’ couch until another job came along, or move back in with Mum and Dad in Leeds. It would not have been so bad. He could have just left, he could have just not put up with it any more, but he wanted, for some insane, masochistic reason, to stay.
“All right, Jon?” came a voice from the kitchen.
Jonatton’s father, it turned out, was an affable-looking grey-haired fellow in glasses and a casual pink button-up shirt.
“Dad,” said Jonatton. “Brought quinoa salad, etcetera?”
“Is that the one you do with the coriander? Lovely,” he said, taking the bowl from his son, then turning his attention to Dan, smiling. “Well, you must be Dan Ashcroft. Fancy a Pimms?”
“Umm, yeah, that’d be great,” nodded Dan. “Thanks, Mr. - ”
“Just Jez, please,” laughed Jonatton’s father, patting Dan on the back. “We don’t stand on ceremony round here, Dan. Besides, you’re family.”
“Right, Jez, okay,” Dan smiled weakly.
This was surreal. Dan felt as though his grip on reality was unravelling at tremendous speed. Jonatton’s parents both seemed so decidedly normal. Nice, even.
“Have you met Molly?” asked Jez, handing Dan a glass of fruit-filled booze. By Dan’s estimation, it smelled a bit like cough medicine with bits of strawberry and cucumber in. As he took a first sip, he tried to conceal his grimace of disgust with a polite smile, and continued drinking, because hey, free alcohol.
(By Jonatton’s estimation, Dan’s attempt at a polite smile came across as cutely psychotic. By Jonatton’s estimation, this was going to be the greatest regatta in the history of Henley.)
But Dan had not seen Molly. Molly. Dan did not remember Jonatton mentioning anything about a relation named Molly. An estranged sister, perhaps? But Jonatton was an only child, surely. An aunt, then, a nan, the next door neighbour?
“Molly, of course, no I haven’t,” said Dan, desperately searching his memory for any mention Jonatton may have made of who the hell Molly was.
“She’s probably been having a lie-down,” said Jez. “She’s not as rambunctious as before, what with the babies on the way.”
So Molly was pregnant. This narrowed her identity down, thought Dan. At least inasmuch as she was probably not a great-auntie. He hoped.
“That’s... nice?” hesitated Dan, attempting as best as possible - which was still pretty poorly - to hide behind his Pimms.
“Mhmm,” agreed Jez. “She’s due to have her litter in, oh, two weeks or so?”
“Molly is my parents’ pug,” Jonatton whispered in Dan’s ear.
Oh, thought Dan, it was the fucking dog all along. And here he thought he had been terribly remiss in forgetting things he had not been told in the first place about Jonatton’s family. There was no doubt in Dan’s mind that this weekend was going to be endless, funless nightmare.
Chapter Five
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Nathan Barley
Pairing: Dan/Jonatton
Rating: PG, this chapter
Word Count: 1012, this chapter (4801, so far)
Warnings: extreme discomfort
Disclaimer: Brooker and Morris own Nathan Barley, not me. I own a wobblier tummy than I'd like, and a large box of unsweetened baking chocolate that's just crying out to be made into chocolate sponge pud.
Author's Notes: *cheeky grin*
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Mum.
Jonatton had just used the word Mum. Jonatton had just addressed that nice woman in the sundress who stood in the doorway using the word Mum. As in mother. The word echoed through Dan’s consciousness as he was gripped with a sudden terror: this was no innocent weekend at Henley. This was a surprise parental visit. Dan was in no way prepared for this.
“Jonatton, what - ”
Suddenly, and not knowing quite how it happened, Dan found himself tugged into a crushingly warm embrace, smooshed into the woman’s cleavage, her tasteful gold necklace no doubt leaving a permanent indentation on his face.
“So wonderful to finally meet you, Dan,” she smiled, releasing him from her death grip just before he would have blacked out from oxygen deprivation. “Jon’s told me so much about you.”
“Oh, God,” Dan’s stomach lurched.
“Oh, all quite flattering, don’t worry, for fuck’s sake,” she laughed. “Come on upstairs, your dad’s just done us a pitcher of Pimms for the evening.”
She turned, giving Dan a conspiratorial wink as she went, and the two men followed her up the stairs to the main floor. It was a spacious home - definitely old, but recently redecorated, if Dan’s confused assessment was anything to go by. It was warm and full of natural light, hardwood floors, leather, and rich earth tones - the kind of place one expected parent-types to live in, especially if they apparently had quite a comfortable amount of money. It turned out that Jonatton’s room was one floor up a spiral staircase surrounded by curved shelves and shelves of books, and one floor above them was Jonatton’s parents’ room, and above that was the roof. Which had a hot tub, and a small herb garden. It certainly stood in stark contrast with Dan’s family home; the flat in Leeds, smaller than Jonatton’s and still painted in Seventies Brown. Dan was not quite sure what he had imagined Jonatton’s family would be like, but he was quite sure this was not it.
To be honest, he had never been able to imagine Jonatton having a family at all.
But Jonatton had settled in immediately, placing their overnight bags in the guest bedroom and storing their perishable picnic foods in the refrigerator. Dan felt uncomfortably silly, following Jonatton’s movements like a useless and stroppy puppy, taking in the environment without appearing to snoop.
Sometimes, Jonatton had a funny way of showing Dan just how much he loved him: that is, if one defined funny as leaving Dan on an ever-diminishing ice floe in waters infested with a herd of ornery walruses, while Jonatton looked on sneeringly from a helicopter above.
This was strange and unfair, thought Dan. Trust Jonatton to take a legitimate relationship milestone and use it as a means to humiliate him. He could have left then, he thought, if it bothered him enough: the train station was just down the road and he could afford to get back to London, quit his job, live on Jones’ couch until another job came along, or move back in with Mum and Dad in Leeds. It would not have been so bad. He could have just left, he could have just not put up with it any more, but he wanted, for some insane, masochistic reason, to stay.
“All right, Jon?” came a voice from the kitchen.
Jonatton’s father, it turned out, was an affable-looking grey-haired fellow in glasses and a casual pink button-up shirt.
“Dad,” said Jonatton. “Brought quinoa salad, etcetera?”
“Is that the one you do with the coriander? Lovely,” he said, taking the bowl from his son, then turning his attention to Dan, smiling. “Well, you must be Dan Ashcroft. Fancy a Pimms?”
“Umm, yeah, that’d be great,” nodded Dan. “Thanks, Mr. - ”
“Just Jez, please,” laughed Jonatton’s father, patting Dan on the back. “We don’t stand on ceremony round here, Dan. Besides, you’re family.”
“Right, Jez, okay,” Dan smiled weakly.
This was surreal. Dan felt as though his grip on reality was unravelling at tremendous speed. Jonatton’s parents both seemed so decidedly normal. Nice, even.
“Have you met Molly?” asked Jez, handing Dan a glass of fruit-filled booze. By Dan’s estimation, it smelled a bit like cough medicine with bits of strawberry and cucumber in. As he took a first sip, he tried to conceal his grimace of disgust with a polite smile, and continued drinking, because hey, free alcohol.
(By Jonatton’s estimation, Dan’s attempt at a polite smile came across as cutely psychotic. By Jonatton’s estimation, this was going to be the greatest regatta in the history of Henley.)
But Dan had not seen Molly. Molly. Dan did not remember Jonatton mentioning anything about a relation named Molly. An estranged sister, perhaps? But Jonatton was an only child, surely. An aunt, then, a nan, the next door neighbour?
“Molly, of course, no I haven’t,” said Dan, desperately searching his memory for any mention Jonatton may have made of who the hell Molly was.
“She’s probably been having a lie-down,” said Jez. “She’s not as rambunctious as before, what with the babies on the way.”
So Molly was pregnant. This narrowed her identity down, thought Dan. At least inasmuch as she was probably not a great-auntie. He hoped.
“That’s... nice?” hesitated Dan, attempting as best as possible - which was still pretty poorly - to hide behind his Pimms.
“Mhmm,” agreed Jez. “She’s due to have her litter in, oh, two weeks or so?”
“Molly is my parents’ pug,” Jonatton whispered in Dan’s ear.
Oh, thought Dan, it was the fucking dog all along. And here he thought he had been terribly remiss in forgetting things he had not been told in the first place about Jonatton’s family. There was no doubt in Dan’s mind that this weekend was going to be endless, funless nightmare.
Chapter Five