With a little help...
Title: With a little help...
Chapter: 1/1
POV: Third person
Author: stargirl82
Fandom: McFly
Pairing/Character(s): Danny Jones; Flones; implied Pones
Rating: mild R
Warnings: drama. hurt/comfort of sorts, though definitely no fluff.
Wordcount: 1433
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own. Pretty sure this didn't happen; it's just my imagination.
Author's note: just something that popped into my head... also, written for my prompt table: #10 Eyes
He sits on the heavy black leather couch, glass in hand, eyes cast downward as he listens to the sounds of everyone's cheerful chattering. The atmosphere's light, jolly, like a clear blue sky in the spring breeze, the sun sending rays of yellowish light towards the green grass of the earth. It's only the place that he occupies that doesn't seem quite as happy. It's like a square metre of dark, grey skies and pouring rain, the wind blowing so forcefully it gnaws at his cheeks and hurts his eyes. He's tired. Tired of sitting here, staring at his colourful, bubbly drink; tired of pretending that everything's all right. Tired of just being.
He's been hoping that, in time, it would get easier; that he'd be able to watch him with her, that there would come a time when the sight of them together, laughing, flirting, doesn't want to make him cut his wrists. But it's been years and nothing has changed and he is slowly but surely losing faith.
Tipping his head back, he downs his drink in three gulps and then excuses himself to go to the loo. Or possibly getting another drink, not necessarily in this order. One of the scantily dressed girls sees him approach and smiles at him, gesturing to the table beside her as if to ask if he wants another drink. He forces a grin on his lips and nods and she turns around to mix him another one of the brightly coloured drinks. He doesn't know what's in them but quite frankly, he doesn't give a shit. When she turns back around and leans forward to push the drink into his waiting hand, his gaze drops to her cleavage. A rather impressive cleavage and at any other time she might have tickled his fancy. Not tonight though.
He looks up when he finally realises that she's talking to him. Not that he understands a word of what she's saying but it would be rude to just stare at her boobs. She's blonde, he notices. He likes blonde, so he's about to reconsider his decision that he's not interested when he locks eyes with her. They're all wrong. They don't resemble a puddle of sweet, melted chocolate.
Closing his own eyes for a second, he takes a deep breath, gives her another fake smile and tells her that he has to go to the bathroom. Unwilling to give her the wrong impression, he turns around and storms off then because he's certainly not inviting her to tag along or meet him there.
Why he has even bothered to come to this awful party, he doesn't know. Perhaps because he asked him to, telling him that he needed him there while looking at him with those fucking huge, beautiful eyes. And he didn't have the heart to turn him down, so he agreed to show up. Right now he regrets that he kept his promise. They have hardly bandied five sentences since he's here. Because he has been too damn busy feeling her up and laughing at her jokes and listening to her stupid stories.
And he can't even hate him for it because she's awfully nice and invites him over for dinner on holidays or when she feels like he needs the company because "it's got to be awfully boring and lonely" to spend so much time on his own. If only she knew. If only she'd go jump in a lake so he would be free for him. The thought immediately makes him feel bad and he makes a silent promise to bring her an extra special bouquet of flowers next time she invites him over for dinner.
He steps outside, goose bumps forming on his skin as soon as the cool night air hits the bare skin of his arms and lower legs. Before he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, he sets the glass down to save the alcohol for later. Soon, he places the fag between his lips and lights it, then takes a deep drag, coughing slightly when the smoke hurts his lungs. He needs the nicotine just as much as the alcohol, needs something to keep him grounded, to keep him sane. Lord knows he has tried to get over him but hasn't been successful at all. It's not even worth trying anymore.
Would it be different if this one drunken night had never happened? Would he be able to look at him and see his best mate instead of the man he wanted to be with, completely, mind, body and soul? Would he have been able to move on instead of harbouring a crush on the boy if he hadn't gotten a taste of those sweet lips? Lips that tasted like honey and chocolate and home, lips that haunted his dreams every single night.
He doesn't know. All he knows is that he wishes things were different. That he would love him back or, if that can't be arranged, to go back in time and undo what happened back then. Even erasing his memories would probably work but unfortunately none of it is going to happen. He's stuck with his thoughts and wishes, his dreams and desires, his love.
Soft pink lips brushing over his mouth, a warm tongue swiping over his bottom lip, seeking entry to the younger boy's mouth. Fingers digging into his flesh, marking him, making him feel wanted and loved for the first time in he-can't-even-remember-how-long. He parts his lips, granting access to his mouth and swallows the moan that's bubbling in his throat when this wicked tongue slides over his own, sending a million tiny sparks of pure electricity through his every pore, ever fibre. He feels alive. No one has ever kissed him like that, like he actually means something, like he matters and he finds himself longing for more as he wraps his arms around the other boy and offers everything he's got to give. Willingly.
They sink down onto the bed, soft, dark silk sliding against their half-naked bodies as they move, kiss, caress. And then he closes his eyes. Stops thinking. He allows himself to just feel.
He flicks the cigarette butt away and watches the faint orange light glow in the distance until it dies down. Time passes. He doesn't know how long he's been standing there, staring into space. Only when he hears a noise behind him does he blink and bend down to pick up his abandoned glass. He doesn't turn around. Taking another long gulp, drinking half of the sickeningly sweet drink, he looks up into the night sky, trying to count the stars up there in the velvety sky.
"Don't you think you've had enough?"
He shrugs and downs the rest, still not bothering to turn to the owner of the voice but at least acknowledging him by throwing the glass away, the sound of it shattering into a thousand tiny pieces strangely satisfying and kind of comforting.
Now the glass and his heart share the same sad destiny.
"Let me help you, Dan."
The smaller boy wraps his arms around him from behind, cheek resting on his shoulder blade.
He sighs and stands there for a while, body tense, a frown marring his handsome features. "I don't know. Why would anyone even want damaged goods like me? I don't get it."
The younger boy's grip on him tightens before he finds himself being spun around forcefully. He reaches out, grabs the other boy's upper arms to steady himself and prevent from falling over. And then those arms are around his neck, pulling his head down until his mouth is pressed against a pair of deliciously soft lips.
The kiss ends as soon as it started, just a quick peck, really but it tells him what he needs to know. The other boy pulls back, leaving him feeling a bit naked and longing for more. It's been so long.
"Because you're worth it."
Greyish-blue eyes look into his own dark blue ones and even though he can't see them in the dark, he knows exactly what they look like. Maybe he can learn to forget a certain pair of deep brown eyes. Well, not forget but learn to accept that maybe there's another pair of eyes out there for him, attached to someone who will love him for him, unconditionally and him only. Perhaps he can get through this after all... with a little help from his friends.
A soft smile graces his features as he hugs the blond boy tightly. "Thanks, Doug."