mcfly-slash ... The Way Love Works
eeeeee .. next week i'll go to london.
for simple plan.
gonna be funnnnnn!
before that. have this.
Title: The Way Love Works
Author: me
Rating: 15 … and we might be bordering on a slight NC 17 *gasp*
Chapter: 1/1 … Standalone
Genre: AU - Erm … I don’t really know to be honest.
Pairing: Poynter/Judd
Summary: I guess it’s just that their definition of love is different than ours.
Disclaimer: nope, not true
Author’s note: This started as a songfic. But while writing the whole songfic-thing suddenly didn’t work anymore. Shame. But I kept writing because this is entering foreign territory for me and I wanted to see if I can do it. So let’s see, shall we?
People often ask me why I let him do all this to me, why I’m staying with him even though he does all this. And I can’t blame them. If I was them, I’d ask me the same question.
But I, however, am me and therefore, I know the answer. I let him do it because I love him. And I know that he loves me too and that’s why I’m staying with him. I’m staying with him because we love each other. And love’s all we need, isn’t it?
If this was anyone else, believe me, I would have made a runner faster than you can blink. But it’s not anyone else, it’s him. It’s Harry. And that simple fact makes the whole thing different.
Our relationship can best be described as intense. It always has been. Ever since the day we met. Other couples have stories about meeting back at school, in a pub, at a party, even at work. They can sit by the fire when they’re old and tell their grandchildren every romantic detail about that first moment when they had laid eyes on each other and knew they were forever.
If Harry and me will ever have grandchildren, which is unlikely, seeing that none of us is actually capable of having children, we will probably have to censor our story first. A lot. Because when we met there was a lot of swearing involved instead of flying sparks, pink clouds and violins playing in the backround.
Harry and I met in traffic. And it wasn’t that he was in the car next to mine and we did some eye-fucking at a red light. No, we were involved in a car accident. Because he had been on the phone while driving and had ignored everything else around him. And one of the things around him so happened to be my car with me inside.
I was beyond pissed. The car was new, my first ever car and I had saved a long time to finally buy it. And then the fucker named Harry Judd runs his car into it because he’s on the bloody phone. So I got out of my dented car, ripped the phone (yes, he had the fucking nerve to still be on the phone even though he easily could have killed me) out of his hand and threw it the length of the street.
We started screaming at each other, added a few pushes here and there. I was pissed because he had wrecked my car, he was pissed because I had smashed his phone. Thank god, the police was there, taking our addresses for their report, keeping a safe distance between him and me, before things could get even more heated and we would end up killing each other.
But then again … things got heated. We just didn’t kill each other, at least not literally spoken.
The evening of the accident I was sitting at home, not really doing anything other than mourning over my car and adding up the money I’d have to spend on getting it fixed when there was a persistent knocking on my door.
I opened and before I could even do anything else, I was pushed backwards by Harry who slammed the door closed, pinned me against it and forcefully took me there and then. When he left the next morning, I had bruises and could barely walk, let alone sit down properly.
And that was how Harry and I began. And the way we began, we continued. And the way we continued, it’s still the way our relationship works.
Harry and I have been together for three years now. And even though saying it probably makes me sound like a soppy git, we really love each other wholeheartedly. We are everything for each other. Mainly because no one understands our relationship and all we have is each other.
My mum and my sister, they hate Harry. When I come to visit them in the summer (alone because I’m really not keen about my mum rolling her eyes when Harry turns his back towards her) and walk around with no t-shirt on in the back garden, they frown at the bruises and speak of ‘abuse’.
But it’s not abuse when you let someone do it, is it? I can’t help it that all that gentle love-making just isn’t our thing. I don’t mind pain, and neither does he. If anything, pain lets me know that I’m there and that he’s there and that we’re both there, completely there. And I can’t help it that he’s bigger and stronger than me. And I can’t do anything against the fact that my skin is just paler than his and therefore the scratches and bruises he leaves on me are just visible and the marks I leave on him just, well, aren’t.
My mum nearly got a heart attack when I helped her in the kitchen the last time I was over at hers. I had rolled the sleeves of my shirt up to not get it dirty and that’s when she saw it.
“Dougie Lee Poynter, what is that?” And she had pointed at my forearm.
I looked down, for a moment forgetting what I had there. When I saw it, my eyes sparkled.
On our last anniversary a few weeks ago, Harry had the idea to leave other sorts of marks on each other. Different ones this time, ones that wouldn’t fade away after a few days.
I had an earth shattering orgasm, making a mess inside my pants, when he had straddled me and carved his name into my arm with a razor blade.
“You just let him do this to you?” my mum questioned.
I had shrugged. “It’s cheaper than a tattoo.”
And with that our conversation was over. My mum knew that arguing with me would never get her anywhere, that I’d still stick with Harry and insist on the fact that not only I loved him but that he loved me too, which was shown with my name I had carved onto his arm with another razor blade while he brought himself off. And I just didn’t bother to tell her for the millionth time that our love was just different.
When Harry and I are in bed, or wherever else, at night, it’s intense and it’s loud and it hurts and it’s perfect. I’m always taking, he’s always giving. It’s never the other way round. Because that’s just the way we know and the way that we both need it to be. It’s the way we work.
Harry has a job in a law company. He has a boss. From Monday to Friday between 9am and 5pm there is someone who tells him what to do. Whereas I, I work in a tattoo studio. I have a boss as well but we’re laid back, he pretty much lets me do whatever I want, as long as I don’t come near the customers with a tattooing machine.
So, when Harry and me are at home, it’s roles reversed. I get submissive, he gets to be the free spirit.
I let him tie me to the bed. I let him gag me so I can’t utter a peep until he lets me. I let him thrust into me without preparing me first. I don’t come until he collapses onto me, spent, and his hand is bringing me off.
Because that’s what we both need. He needs to be in control and I need to be controlled. That’s how we are and that’s how we get and that’s how we work.
Don’t get me wrong though. We’re not one of those S&M couples. I mean, to a certain extend I think we are. But then again, it’s not that he hurts me and I just take it without doing anything. I hurt him just as much. My teeth get quite vicious when I’m aroused. Harry jokes that if he ever wants to get a piercing he just makes me grow hard and then me and my teeth can do the rest.
And it’s not that we never tried the ‘normal’ stuff either. We tried the easy way, with foreplay and all that. And that’s okay once in a while, like when one of us is just really tired or very ill and simply not in the state for anything intense or fast-paced. Then it’s just a hand job or a blow job or he actually uses lube and lets me ride him, giving at least a bit of control away, handing it to me.
Still, being nice to each other in bed is just not our thing. We don’t work like that.
The other couples that we know, the very few that know about our ways and don’t judge us for it, they always look at us in awe. Because we do hold hands and we do share little kisses and he does put his arm around me protectively. They wonder how we can be so rough to each other and still share such intimiacy with each other and be just like they are. How we can work like they work.
I guess it’s just that their definition of love is different than ours. For them love is rose petals scattered around the house and candlelit dinners and walks on the beach. For us love is passion and devotion and completely giving yourself to the other one. But unlike them, we just show all those things directly to each other and not disguise them with gestures.
Harry gets prove of my passion and devotion whenever he wants it and all I need to do is get naked, lay in bed or wherever he wants me to be and let him just have me. And Harry proves his passion and devotion to me when he gets home, throws his briefcase into the next corner, fucks my brains out and gives himself to me. Completely.
And because of all this, I didn’t ask any questions when Harry woke me up this morning and forced me into the car. I didn’t ask any questions when he pulled up outside the town hall of my hometown, reached into the glove box and threw a box into my lap. I didn’t think twice when he asked me if we were now getting married or not. I just said yes and let him drag me into the building.
We did what was necessary and signed a few papers.
And now we’re actually married which we ‘celebrated’ on the car park, in our car, leaving me with more bruises and more sore than ever. But hey, that’s just us and our love. And you know what, it works. We work.
The End
Comments are appreciated.
A/N 2: There's a sequel/spin-off to this one. Wanna read it?
A/N 3: Can anyone guess which song this was supposed to be based on?
for simple plan.
gonna be funnnnnn!
before that. have this.
Title: The Way Love Works
Author: me
Rating: 15 … and we might be bordering on a slight NC 17 *gasp*
Chapter: 1/1 … Standalone
Genre: AU - Erm … I don’t really know to be honest.
Pairing: Poynter/Judd
Summary: I guess it’s just that their definition of love is different than ours.
Disclaimer: nope, not true
Author’s note: This started as a songfic. But while writing the whole songfic-thing suddenly didn’t work anymore. Shame. But I kept writing because this is entering foreign territory for me and I wanted to see if I can do it. So let’s see, shall we?
People often ask me why I let him do all this to me, why I’m staying with him even though he does all this. And I can’t blame them. If I was them, I’d ask me the same question.
But I, however, am me and therefore, I know the answer. I let him do it because I love him. And I know that he loves me too and that’s why I’m staying with him. I’m staying with him because we love each other. And love’s all we need, isn’t it?
If this was anyone else, believe me, I would have made a runner faster than you can blink. But it’s not anyone else, it’s him. It’s Harry. And that simple fact makes the whole thing different.
Our relationship can best be described as intense. It always has been. Ever since the day we met. Other couples have stories about meeting back at school, in a pub, at a party, even at work. They can sit by the fire when they’re old and tell their grandchildren every romantic detail about that first moment when they had laid eyes on each other and knew they were forever.
If Harry and me will ever have grandchildren, which is unlikely, seeing that none of us is actually capable of having children, we will probably have to censor our story first. A lot. Because when we met there was a lot of swearing involved instead of flying sparks, pink clouds and violins playing in the backround.
Harry and I met in traffic. And it wasn’t that he was in the car next to mine and we did some eye-fucking at a red light. No, we were involved in a car accident. Because he had been on the phone while driving and had ignored everything else around him. And one of the things around him so happened to be my car with me inside.
I was beyond pissed. The car was new, my first ever car and I had saved a long time to finally buy it. And then the fucker named Harry Judd runs his car into it because he’s on the bloody phone. So I got out of my dented car, ripped the phone (yes, he had the fucking nerve to still be on the phone even though he easily could have killed me) out of his hand and threw it the length of the street.
We started screaming at each other, added a few pushes here and there. I was pissed because he had wrecked my car, he was pissed because I had smashed his phone. Thank god, the police was there, taking our addresses for their report, keeping a safe distance between him and me, before things could get even more heated and we would end up killing each other.
But then again … things got heated. We just didn’t kill each other, at least not literally spoken.
The evening of the accident I was sitting at home, not really doing anything other than mourning over my car and adding up the money I’d have to spend on getting it fixed when there was a persistent knocking on my door.
I opened and before I could even do anything else, I was pushed backwards by Harry who slammed the door closed, pinned me against it and forcefully took me there and then. When he left the next morning, I had bruises and could barely walk, let alone sit down properly.
And that was how Harry and I began. And the way we began, we continued. And the way we continued, it’s still the way our relationship works.
Harry and I have been together for three years now. And even though saying it probably makes me sound like a soppy git, we really love each other wholeheartedly. We are everything for each other. Mainly because no one understands our relationship and all we have is each other.
My mum and my sister, they hate Harry. When I come to visit them in the summer (alone because I’m really not keen about my mum rolling her eyes when Harry turns his back towards her) and walk around with no t-shirt on in the back garden, they frown at the bruises and speak of ‘abuse’.
But it’s not abuse when you let someone do it, is it? I can’t help it that all that gentle love-making just isn’t our thing. I don’t mind pain, and neither does he. If anything, pain lets me know that I’m there and that he’s there and that we’re both there, completely there. And I can’t help it that he’s bigger and stronger than me. And I can’t do anything against the fact that my skin is just paler than his and therefore the scratches and bruises he leaves on me are just visible and the marks I leave on him just, well, aren’t.
My mum nearly got a heart attack when I helped her in the kitchen the last time I was over at hers. I had rolled the sleeves of my shirt up to not get it dirty and that’s when she saw it.
“Dougie Lee Poynter, what is that?” And she had pointed at my forearm.
I looked down, for a moment forgetting what I had there. When I saw it, my eyes sparkled.
On our last anniversary a few weeks ago, Harry had the idea to leave other sorts of marks on each other. Different ones this time, ones that wouldn’t fade away after a few days.
I had an earth shattering orgasm, making a mess inside my pants, when he had straddled me and carved his name into my arm with a razor blade.
“You just let him do this to you?” my mum questioned.
I had shrugged. “It’s cheaper than a tattoo.”
And with that our conversation was over. My mum knew that arguing with me would never get her anywhere, that I’d still stick with Harry and insist on the fact that not only I loved him but that he loved me too, which was shown with my name I had carved onto his arm with another razor blade while he brought himself off. And I just didn’t bother to tell her for the millionth time that our love was just different.
When Harry and I are in bed, or wherever else, at night, it’s intense and it’s loud and it hurts and it’s perfect. I’m always taking, he’s always giving. It’s never the other way round. Because that’s just the way we know and the way that we both need it to be. It’s the way we work.
Harry has a job in a law company. He has a boss. From Monday to Friday between 9am and 5pm there is someone who tells him what to do. Whereas I, I work in a tattoo studio. I have a boss as well but we’re laid back, he pretty much lets me do whatever I want, as long as I don’t come near the customers with a tattooing machine.
So, when Harry and me are at home, it’s roles reversed. I get submissive, he gets to be the free spirit.
I let him tie me to the bed. I let him gag me so I can’t utter a peep until he lets me. I let him thrust into me without preparing me first. I don’t come until he collapses onto me, spent, and his hand is bringing me off.
Because that’s what we both need. He needs to be in control and I need to be controlled. That’s how we are and that’s how we get and that’s how we work.
Don’t get me wrong though. We’re not one of those S&M couples. I mean, to a certain extend I think we are. But then again, it’s not that he hurts me and I just take it without doing anything. I hurt him just as much. My teeth get quite vicious when I’m aroused. Harry jokes that if he ever wants to get a piercing he just makes me grow hard and then me and my teeth can do the rest.
And it’s not that we never tried the ‘normal’ stuff either. We tried the easy way, with foreplay and all that. And that’s okay once in a while, like when one of us is just really tired or very ill and simply not in the state for anything intense or fast-paced. Then it’s just a hand job or a blow job or he actually uses lube and lets me ride him, giving at least a bit of control away, handing it to me.
Still, being nice to each other in bed is just not our thing. We don’t work like that.
The other couples that we know, the very few that know about our ways and don’t judge us for it, they always look at us in awe. Because we do hold hands and we do share little kisses and he does put his arm around me protectively. They wonder how we can be so rough to each other and still share such intimiacy with each other and be just like they are. How we can work like they work.
I guess it’s just that their definition of love is different than ours. For them love is rose petals scattered around the house and candlelit dinners and walks on the beach. For us love is passion and devotion and completely giving yourself to the other one. But unlike them, we just show all those things directly to each other and not disguise them with gestures.
Harry gets prove of my passion and devotion whenever he wants it and all I need to do is get naked, lay in bed or wherever he wants me to be and let him just have me. And Harry proves his passion and devotion to me when he gets home, throws his briefcase into the next corner, fucks my brains out and gives himself to me. Completely.
And because of all this, I didn’t ask any questions when Harry woke me up this morning and forced me into the car. I didn’t ask any questions when he pulled up outside the town hall of my hometown, reached into the glove box and threw a box into my lap. I didn’t think twice when he asked me if we were now getting married or not. I just said yes and let him drag me into the building.
We did what was necessary and signed a few papers.
And now we’re actually married which we ‘celebrated’ on the car park, in our car, leaving me with more bruises and more sore than ever. But hey, that’s just us and our love. And you know what, it works. We work.
The End
Comments are appreciated.
A/N 2: There's a sequel/spin-off to this one. Wanna read it?
A/N 3: Can anyone guess which song this was supposed to be based on?