Title: In Your Arms
Author: Ellie (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
evolia)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Pudd - PoynterJudd
Genre: Really...it's like, no genre. Fluff, yeah...*grimaces*
Part: 1/1 - Standalone
Summary: They rarely exchange words, in those moments.
A/N: Con-crit very welcome. Like, really, I'm not joking, you can tell me how much this sucks and I'll probably still love you.
Not beta'ed, gah.
Reviews are like crack, and give me the want to write more, people. *grin*
And thanks to everyone who reviewed on my other fics, you are all angels, I love you very much so.
This was written forxxpatsy who prompted me with 'Respite', fluffy Pudd, (Check the complete list here! \o/). So here. It's short, around 600 words, but I really wanted to write my fic-a-day, had this idea brought upon me by a conversation with my gran about my ex and I, and thus, I wrote. I actually quite like it, and I hope you will enjoy it aswell.
Con-crit is welcome!
Disclaimer: Not mine, it's only pure fun for my twisted mind and my equally twisted muse. And I'm poor anyway.
There are moments, moments where all that is needed is a hug, an embrace in comfortable arms, an instant of peace in the whirlwind that is their lives. Sometimes he needs it, needs it badly, that moment. In the blink of an eye it’s done and over with but it’s there, he feels it, warming him all the way to his heart and making him smile bigger to the cameras.
He won’t ask for it, not every time. Sometimes Dougie will just do it, more so for himself than for Harry’s benefit, because he does need it too, just the comfort of knowing they’re here, they’re real, and they’re here for each other, through it all, through the secrecy and through the jokes.
They don’t even always have to ask for it. A look is enough, enough for Dougie to come closer and wrap his arms around Harry, in the privacy of a dark corner, between two closed doors, a second enough for Harry to feel like he’s charging the batteries of his heart by taking in Dougie, fingers smoothing down the younger male’s shirt, remembering every nook and cranny under the material, hands tingling with the memory afterwards, keeping him alive and sane.
Sometimes a squeeze of Dougie’s fingers around his shoulder as they smile on a red carpet is enough too, and he can feel the tension filling the young bassist, the need for a release, for some physical comfort that isn’t even sex, just the need to be held and to be told, in the curve of a neck, nose smelling well-known skin, that he isn’t alone and that he is loved, that everything will be okay.
It’s never quickies, it’s never sex, when they join their bodies in those moments. The sex they keep for later, when they have actual time to relish in it and cherish each other. No, in those snaps in a timeline, it’s just the secure feeling that they’re two in this universe, two souls battling a fight together, a fight for themselves, a fight that is life.
When they argue it ends that way too. They apologize, they laugh it off, they open their arms to each other and they hold on tight, peace made and sealed there, in a hug that means that whatever happens they’ll be there to fight this war against bad weather. The safety of each other’s arms is enough for them to be protected, and the memory of warmth and love is enough for them to walk on their own.
They rarely exchange words, in those moments. Evident ones sometimes slip out, confessions of devotion and forever, confessions of belonging and always, but mostly, they’re silent, long breathes taken as they try to inhale the other, as they try to remember everything, from how much Dougie’s hair grew to the smell of Harry’s new aftershave.
Once, the drummer said in an interview that he liked to hug Dougie. But he didn’t say how much hugging Dougie really was like being able to hold onto a lifeline, keeping him from drowning, or from crashing. Hugging Dougie is like breathing life back in his lungs when he feels out of air, because that’s the way love feels for him, like living on so little oxygen, only given by that one person, and that’s why you cling, that’s why you need.
Being in Dougie’s arms is like stopping time and losing track of where he is, when he is. It’s just being himself, spineless, careless, for a stilled instant, before everything rushes back in. Dougie’s arms are the prison in which he wants to curl and live on forever. In between Dougie’s arms is where he wants to die.
PoynterJudd/Standalone
Author: Ellie (
evolia)Rating: PG
Pairing: Pudd - PoynterJudd
Genre: Really...it's like, no genre. Fluff, yeah...*grimaces*
Part: 1/1 - Standalone
Summary: They rarely exchange words, in those moments.
A/N: Con-crit very welcome. Like, really, I'm not joking, you can tell me how much this sucks and I'll probably still love you.
Not beta'ed, gah.
Reviews are like crack, and give me the want to write more, people. *grin*
And thanks to everyone who reviewed on my other fics, you are all angels, I love you very much so.
This was written for
xxpatsy who prompted me with 'Respite', fluffy Pudd, (Check the complete list here! \o/). So here. It's short, around 600 words, but I really wanted to write my fic-a-day, had this idea brought upon me by a conversation with my gran about my ex and I, and thus, I wrote. I actually quite like it, and I hope you will enjoy it aswell.Con-crit is welcome!
Disclaimer: Not mine, it's only pure fun for my twisted mind and my equally twisted muse. And I'm poor anyway.
There are moments, moments where all that is needed is a hug, an embrace in comfortable arms, an instant of peace in the whirlwind that is their lives. Sometimes he needs it, needs it badly, that moment. In the blink of an eye it’s done and over with but it’s there, he feels it, warming him all the way to his heart and making him smile bigger to the cameras.
He won’t ask for it, not every time. Sometimes Dougie will just do it, more so for himself than for Harry’s benefit, because he does need it too, just the comfort of knowing they’re here, they’re real, and they’re here for each other, through it all, through the secrecy and through the jokes.
They don’t even always have to ask for it. A look is enough, enough for Dougie to come closer and wrap his arms around Harry, in the privacy of a dark corner, between two closed doors, a second enough for Harry to feel like he’s charging the batteries of his heart by taking in Dougie, fingers smoothing down the younger male’s shirt, remembering every nook and cranny under the material, hands tingling with the memory afterwards, keeping him alive and sane.
Sometimes a squeeze of Dougie’s fingers around his shoulder as they smile on a red carpet is enough too, and he can feel the tension filling the young bassist, the need for a release, for some physical comfort that isn’t even sex, just the need to be held and to be told, in the curve of a neck, nose smelling well-known skin, that he isn’t alone and that he is loved, that everything will be okay.
It’s never quickies, it’s never sex, when they join their bodies in those moments. The sex they keep for later, when they have actual time to relish in it and cherish each other. No, in those snaps in a timeline, it’s just the secure feeling that they’re two in this universe, two souls battling a fight together, a fight for themselves, a fight that is life.
When they argue it ends that way too. They apologize, they laugh it off, they open their arms to each other and they hold on tight, peace made and sealed there, in a hug that means that whatever happens they’ll be there to fight this war against bad weather. The safety of each other’s arms is enough for them to be protected, and the memory of warmth and love is enough for them to walk on their own.
They rarely exchange words, in those moments. Evident ones sometimes slip out, confessions of devotion and forever, confessions of belonging and always, but mostly, they’re silent, long breathes taken as they try to inhale the other, as they try to remember everything, from how much Dougie’s hair grew to the smell of Harry’s new aftershave.
Once, the drummer said in an interview that he liked to hug Dougie. But he didn’t say how much hugging Dougie really was like being able to hold onto a lifeline, keeping him from drowning, or from crashing. Hugging Dougie is like breathing life back in his lungs when he feels out of air, because that’s the way love feels for him, like living on so little oxygen, only given by that one person, and that’s why you cling, that’s why you need.
Being in Dougie’s arms is like stopping time and losing track of where he is, when he is. It’s just being himself, spineless, careless, for a stilled instant, before everything rushes back in. Dougie’s arms are the prison in which he wants to curl and live on forever. In between Dougie’s arms is where he wants to die.
PoynterJudd/Standalone
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