June 19th, 2004

SPARCCK

FIC: "A Bit of Atmosphere" (Nick/Alex; R)

I've just been pointed in this direction by a fellow Franz-slasher and I thought I'd post up my fic just cos. Saw them on Thursday in NYC and they were fantastic. Ta to Alex for taking his shirt off, post-writhing on the support-dodgy stage with Nick. Lovely.

Thanks to THEJENNABIDES for the minute-to-minute encouragement and the fabulous beta. Sekrit gay message to her: Muskrit!Bob OMG!!1

A Bit of Atmosphere
Nick McCarthy/Alex Kapranos; R

*

"Down the water, he says. Let's have a look, he says, fantastic neighborhood."

"Don't whinge, Nicholas, it's unbecoming." Alex holds out the flask, shaking it; the whiskey sloshes and he smiles enticingly.

"Ta." Nick trades his fag for the flask. He licks at the mouth of it to wet his tongue and the insides of his lips before taking a swig. It burns straight down into his belly and makes him shudder a little -- cheap, nasty whiskey, because Alex spent most of their pocket money on a new pedal that he got "for a song" on eBay. He jams his other hand in his pocket and wriggles his fingers around to warm them up, fingering the little plastic king on a throne that he had got at Paddy's market as they walked through. It was probably once a topper for a wedding cake, but the face has been all but rubbed away and the crown is broken on one side, so the jagged nubs of it jab into the pad of his index finger.

Alex takes a long drag, inhaling through his teeth. "M'hungry," he says, and Nick takes another pull before trading back.

"Should have got a sherbet at Paddy's market, I told you."

Alex makes a little affirmative grunting noise and laps over the mouth of the flask, like Nick had done, although Nick's not sure when he did it he looked quite so. Ehm. He watches Alex sip delicately, his tongue between the glass rim and his bottom lip, his sharp adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

"Wot," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand.

"Nuffin," Nick replies, and he presses down on the crown stub, inhaling so hard his lungs buzz.

Alex sidesteps, nudges Nick with his shoulder and he nods toward a dilapidated bridge running over the Clyde. "To the tracks. And if there's still nothing we'll head back." He plucks the fag from Nick's mouth and slips the flask into the flat pocket of Nick's peacoat. His knuckles are knobby and red around the brown filter.

"You're buying," Nick grumbles, winding an arm about Alex's waist, burrowing his cold fingers up under the band of Alex's goosedown parka and nubby sweatshirt, finding warm skin through Alex's thin t-shirt.

"'Course, love." Alex squirms away from Nick's cold knuckles and leans all his weight on Nick's shoulder.

Nick rolls his eyes and shoves him away.

*

"You said to the tracks, not over them."

Alex squints into the sun where it hangs in a cold, faraway ball behind the skeleton of the bridge. "Humor me, would you please."

The sun paints lovely violet and orange swathes onto Alex's face, hollowing it out, his cheekbones sharp and stark and Nick's pressed his mouth there many a drunken night, many a sober night; he's brushed his thumb over them to catch eyelashes and once, once, there was a splash of vodka that he'd licked away without even thinking about it and he remembers Alex's rough-grained, thin skin under his tongue.

Stupid shiteing sun, stupid shiteing Alex. "Bugger." Nick tips his head back and puffs his breath out. "Fine. But there's fuck all over there, I'm telling you."

"Have a little faith, for Christ's sake. Always so negative, you are."

"Am not."

Alex picks a bit of weed and shreds it as they walk. "Ran into a bloke this morning."

Nick tilts his head. "I didn't know you went out. Where?"

"The kitchen."

"Ah."

Alex raises an eyebrow at him and Nick wipes a hand over his mouth to hide his grin.

"Am I going to be seeing him regularly, because I'll have to make a note to put on pants before I do the kettle."

Nick snorts. "You did not."

"I did! A man has a right to be naked in his own home."

Nick heaves a sigh and Alex elbows him a little. "Jealous?"

"Of you?" Nick laughs.

"My manly physique?"

Nick elbows him back. Alex suddenly turns, punches Nick in the side, digs his fingers in and knows, already, where all his ticklish spots are, even through the thick wool. Nick laughs and tries to pry him off, but Alex is determined, and Nick's knees buckle a little.

"My inescapable charisma?" Alex gets him in a head lock and presses in under his ribs, trying to get his hands up inside Nick's coat.

"Fuck, leave off, c'mon!" His hands flail about Alex's head and grab for his little grey wool hat, fisting it and dragging it off, hunching over it protectively as Alex's torturous hands change directives and scrabble at Nick's forearms.

"Give it!" Alex huffs, trying to jerk Nick upright. "You're only wasting time!"

Nick, in a burst of hysteria at Alex's hands curving under his armpits and over his belly, flings the cap away from them, and the west-blowing wind catches it and drags it along, toward the bridge.

"Ah, shite and double fuck." Alex takes off after it, long, gangly legs wobbly and not really used to running.

Nick lopes along behind him, snickering, and he knows retribution will come, but probably not for months, because Alex, he's finding, is easily distracted. Unless it's his drink he's looking out for. Then he gets his teeth in you and doesn't let go for fuck all.

"You get it?" he calls when Alex makes a little hitching lunge and then straightens.

"I did, and now you're buying."

"'Course, luv," Nick laughs with an exaggerated Northern accent and trots up alongside him, ruffling Alex's sweaty hair. When he pulls back, his hand is sticky with whatever product Alex had slathered on last night, having not showered this morning before dragging Nick out into the cold. Nick looks up through his bangs and smoothes his hand back through them, curving them behind his ear. He blinks and feels a little like a weight has come off without the brush of hair in his eyelashes.

"M'all manky now," Alex huffs and unzips his jacket, flapping the sides around him as he hops lightly onto the train tracks crossing the Clyde. "Eugh, me pits are freezing."

"Because it's arsing cold out here." Nick feels what he imagines is a ridiculous smile stretch his mouth; Alex looks like a peculiar, flightless bird.

Alex stands balanced on the tracks, the edges of his parka flapping around his waist. "I thought we agreed we were humoring me."

Nick snorts. "Lead on, then, Renton." He does get a perverse pleasure out of the particular way Alex's eyes narrow and his frown goes all lopsided. It was no less fascinating the fifth time he'd nicked Alex's vodka the night they met, and it made his blood run fast when Alex had planted his hands on Nick's chest and shoved.

"Don't think I don't know that grin," Alex says, turning to walk along the tracks, the wind carrying his words back to Nick along with a bit of fluff from the hood of his jacket.

Nick follows, one foot in front of the other along the metal rail.

*

Alex looks up, an unlit fag in his mouth. "Buffer me, would you."

Nick crouches in front of him, cupping his hands around the orange bic. "Are you sure these aren't in use?"

Alex leans back and inhales when he finally gets it lit, squinting one eye closed at Nick. "No, I'm just this fucked up."

"I think that's less comforting than you meant it." Nick sits back on his heels, picking at some of the weeds growing through the wooden slats. He flexes his cold, pinked hands and puts them in his pockets. "My flat isn't so bad for now."

"I didn't say it was." Alex holds out the fag, filter first. Nick leans forward and takes a puff, tasting whisky on the filter.

They're quiet for a moment, and when Nick's ankles get tired he kneels forward, resting the caps of his knees against the insides of Alex's thighs. They share a fag like that in silence, Nick rubbing his fingers together inside his pockets, Alex's hands growing red and wrinkly around the knuckles.

There's an odd rumble under the balls of Nick's feet, and he exhales, shaking his head when Alex offers again. "Wassat?"

Alex shrugs, crushing the butt out on the rail. "Dunno. Plane?"

Nick puts a hand on the rail, hissing at the frigid metal. It shudders under his palm and he looks back into the east. "Um. Alex."

"Yes, Nicholas."

"Disused according to who?"

"Hm." Alex wrinkles his chin forward. "Oops?"

Nick grabs his wrists and pulls him up, his heart pounding in his throat. "Get up and fucking run!"

Alex scrambles to get his feet under him and they sprint across the tracks as the train rumbles behind them; the wind tears water from Nick's eyes, his feet miraculously hitting every plank and not stumbling. In front of him, Alex's long legs are eating up the ground.

He's shouting something, but Nick can't hear him over the roar of blood in his ears and the steam whistle of the freight train. "Shut up and keep going!"

They clear the bridge with seconds to spare, and fling themselves into the soft grass growing long and wild along the edge of the tracks. Nick lands half on top of Alex, sprawling face up.

The train is almost deafening as it passes, and Nick just puts his head back and watches it go sideways, his vision half obscured by the line of Alex's parka.

Even after it's gone, he can feel the ground shivering; it takes him a second to realize it's Alex's belly, shuddering with laughter. And he can't even be that angry, because his veins are singing, like that night, when Nick honestly thought he was about to get his arse pounded by this crazy not-quite-Scotsman.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," he breathes and he's laughing so hard he can barely talk. "Jesus fucking christ."

Alex reaches down and threads his fingers through Nick's hair. "Sorry about that, mate." He doesn't actually sound all that sorry; he doesn't sound all that much like they nearly got hit by a train, either.

"S'fine."

"Rest a bit," Alex offers sleepily.

Nick smiles up into the sky and lets his head loll on Alex's sternum, his cheek against the stripe of bare skin between his ridden up jacket and his denims. He'd wanted to jump him that first night, later, in the back of Bob's car when he offered him a ride home and Alex was pressed hot and sloppy to his side, his open mouth fogging Nick's throat with his ethely breath. Nick knew the taste of it on someone's tongue and Alex had looked up at him through his lashes, moved his hand to his belly and said, "You're lovely, lovely."

He blinks hard, looks along the length of track until it curves south and he lifts his head a fraction at a glint of the setting sun off metal sheeting.

"What."

Nick pushes himself up onto one elbow and nods. "What's that there?"

Alex nudges him off and sits up, wrinkling his forehead. "I think it's one of those artist commune buildings. Abandoned now." He pauses and his mouth twiches up even though he deliberately doesn't look at Nick's raised eyebrows. "Honestly abandoned, and I actually know it for a fact this time."

Nick hm's and when the sun glare dissipates he can see it, a hulking, modern looking brick warehouse, a chain link fence all around. Gaping holes where windows might have once been. His brain tickles.

Alex presses his lips together and looks at Nick expectantly.

"I'm not giving you credit for this," Nick says, standing and dusting grass and dirt from his arse.

"Should do."

"I'm still not."

Alex grins and rocks on the balls of his feet.

"C'mon."

They walk slowly; they still have an hour of dusk yet.

*

The chain link fence isn't so terrible to get over. Nick isn't sure he ever had practice scaling walls made of wires before he came to Glasgow, the Germans being more fond of brick and mortar, but it seems to be one of those things you adapt to after a while. He has to toss his coat over after Alex goes, and when he drops down to the other side Alex is staring up at the building, petting the worn lapels.

Nick makes a noise and Alex chucks it back to him. "Thin blood," he says absently.

"More sense."

"I think we can get up there," Alex points toward the back of the building, at a half rusted dumpster. "Up the drainpipe. Footholds, see?"

They walk around it and while Alex tests the dumpster top, Nick counts up to the smashed in windows. "Sixth floor?"

"Ladies first."

Nick pushes himself up and finds, suddenly, it doesn't seem so daunting. And with Alex, even the most ridiculous ideas seem proper. The way the building is styled, the bricks stick out at measured intervals, and it's not much of a reach between each one. He pulls his sleeves over his palms when he gets to the ledge, telling himself not to look down. Broken glass or a broken neck. Not much of a choice. "Watch yourself," he says, finding holds that are bare. "Some jaggedy bits here."

It's not as musty inside as Nick would have thought, courtesy of the naked windowframes and the lovely Scottish autumn. There are some hulking things under great plastic sheets and pigeons roosting in the rafters and the tiny loft up to the left.

"Pigeon shite," Alex says when he hoists himself over the ledge.

"Adds a bit of atmosphere, though, don't you think?" Nick gingerly lifts a corner of one of the sheets. There's an odd chair thing there, something strange and uncomfortable looking.

Alex prowls the perimeter, poking at outlets and switchplates, scuffing his foot at the wooden flooring. "I'd say it's perfect."

"Well. This was the most productive day I've had in some time."

Alex is silent, his mood swinging suddenly down, as Nick is coming to realize happens without reason. He strips off his parka and hangs it on the corner of another possibly uncomfortable probably furniture item.

"You okay?" He leans back and pulls the ends of his scarf free from his coat, winding them around his fists.

The pigeons coo and flutter and Nick wonders how long they've been living here.

Alex trails his hand along the brick before standing in front of him, sliding his hands into Nick's pockets. Nick jerks and looks up, his heart thudding once, heavily. He comes away with the flask and unscrews it, swigging without taking his eyes from Nick's.

He's never noticed how much taller Alex is; he'd noticed that he, himself, was shorter than a lot of blokes, but he just sort of assumed everyone was eye-level after a period of knowing them. Alex had always seemed his height.

But Alex's shoulders are a little hunched so he can be right on the level.

"How do you say that thing again?" Alex asks out of nowhere.

It takes Nick a moment to process what Alex is asking, and even then it suddenly seems all ability to speak -- German or otherwise -- has fled him. He fuzzily recalls attempting to teach Alex German last night, before the lovely Irishman had distracted him. "What?"

"That thing." Alex grins and his uneven teeth push his bottom lip out on the one side; Nick can't stop his eyes from drifting and sticking to the pink, shiny inside of it. "How d'you say it again?"

Nick clears his throat a little and swallows around a little dusty lump that seems that have lodged there. "For the song? Ich heisse--"

"No," Alex whispers, and screws the cap back on the flask, setting it to his hip and letting go; it slithers down his leg and thunks against the floor. "The other."

Nick laughs a little breathlessly. The air is wet and thick and Nick is sweating, unbelievably. He can smell himself, warm, dank wool steaming up between them -- it's at once comforting and completely embarrassing. "Seriously, I don't know what you're on about."

"You really are lovely, aren't you." Alex tips forward so their foreheads touch and Nick closes his eyes. "Lovely, lovely."

Stop, he wants to say. Stop, I got over this right away because I knew it was pointless. "Am I supposed to say that in German?" he rasps back and Alex sighs, his warm breath fogging over Nick's chin.

"Fuck's sake, Nicholas." Alex pulls of Nick's scarf and lets it drop into the dirt and dust, tilts his head just a fraction. Nick holds his breath and suddenly, Alex's mouth is there, lipping onto his, slowly.

He tastes like stale, cheap whiskey and the bag of vinegar crisps he had before they left the flat. Alex's lips are dry and chapped and he flickers his tongue out to wet them, lapping quickly under Nick's upper lip. Nick lurches forward, breathes out into Alex's mouth, frames his palms over Alex's ribs to steady himself. He can feel the slow, steady beat of Alex's heart, and he wonders if Alex can feel his, the way it's triphammering inside him, battering against his insides and temples and between his legs.

It's the noise that gets him, the soft, wet sound of Alex wetting his lips again, parting his lips and licking into Nick's mouth. His tongue and the noise, inside his mouth, it makes him keen in the back of his throat, a little whingy sound and Alex laughs in his chest, mouth curving crookedly against Nick's.

Nick lets his hands slip to Alex's hips, knuckles his way under the hem of Alex's sweatshirt and undershirt after that. Alex's skin is scorching against Nick's cold fingers.

"Ah!" Alex jerks against him and takes his face in his hands, fitting the webs between his thumbs and index fingers around Nick's ears and petting the tufts of hair at his temples backwards, against the grain, squeezing the pads of his fingers against his skull.

He tongues along the inside of Nick's lower lip, where his mouth hangs open, and Nick tries to suck his tongue into his mouth, but Alex doesn't let him get enough suction, keeps his mouth open and lax and he breathes into him as he laps around his teeth and his upper palate.

They're almost struggling against each other for a moment and the only thing Nick can really focus on is the uneven hitching of Alex's breath, and the cooing of the pigeons in the loft; Nick squirms a hand in between them and tugs at the soft tab of Alex's denims, the top two buttons coming free.

The heat of him and the smell of him wafts up and Nick thinks he must have stopped breathing, except that his lungs feel full of Alex. Alex's mouth goes loose against his, catching Nick's upper lip between Alex's teeth and Nick's own. Alex tilts his hips out, to give Nick more room, and Nick elbows his way between, sliding the edges of both his palms along Alex's threadbare pants.

Nick presses his own hips up against Alex's long, ropy thigh, his prick heavy and aching, actually hurting him, and he thinks he better not, he better not come in his trousers like a third-former. But he rocks against Alex anyway, thinking he'll stop, he'll stop when he gets too close and Alex is mouthing at him again, distractedly. Nick realizes his hand is working at Nick's own trouser zip, struggling to get the little metal tab down.

The rest of the buttons on Alex's jeans slip free at Nick's jerk when Alex gets the zip down. Alex presses his forehead to Nick's again and their skin slips and sticks with sweat and Nick's hands flex, slide all the way in. Even as he thinks he wants to draw it out longer, Alex's hands are on his bare hips, spreading his trousers open and the cold air on his prick because he doesn't wear pants. He closes his fist around Alex, squeezing and slithering the soft skin taut when Alex jerks back and then forward, his breath a hot, peaty exhalation on Nick's face.

Alex hn's, a lazy sort of noise in the back of his throat, and cups the underside of Nick's cock in his palm, pressing up with the fleshy part of the heel, and guiding Nick forward until they meet in the middle, sticky-slick with precome.

"Fff--" Nick tries to say, but it unfurls into a general sort of hitch of his breath as they both start to pull, hard and slow, their knuckles scraping each other on each stroke. He slides his other hand around Alex's left hip and up, and back, back until his fingers slip and slide in the sweaty hollow of Alex's back. He thinks, he'd like to remember as much as he can.

He nudges Alex forward until he can feel his belly expand with his breath and both their fists bump his own belly.

Nick feels himself falter, his rhythm goes out of syncopation with Alex's and Alex grinds his forehead into him, sliding his mouth messily over Nick's cheekbone and temple, his breath loud, harsh, in time with his hand working between Nick's legs.

Nick's hearing goes to cotton, the world around him goes a bit plaid and his entire being focuses on the thick cramp of want that sinks through his belly and into his balls and he feels for one moment that high of orgasm and bliss that makes him think of lazy mornings in bed and the sun coming up red and orange behind the Briggait and then it unravels and the threads go so thin as to be invisible. There's a whine that he knows is from him and wet heat on his hand and his belly and slicking the insides of his thighs.

His knees go trembly and his movements turn a bit desperate, Alex breathing what sounds like words Nick can't understand into the join of Nick's shoulder and neck and the packets of hard muscle in his back bunch and twitch and suddenly everything is more slippery and steamy and there's the seasalt smell of semen thick in Nick's mouth.

Nick slumps back against the brick, his fingers hooked in the back loops of Alex's denims so their pricks slide and stick together in the mess of wet between them, and while Nick clenches his teeth at too much sensation, Alex laughs a little shakily and their breathing slows together.

"All right, Nick," Alex murmurs finally, sliding his one relatively clean hand across his brow and pushing his hair back, tucking it behind his ear.

"All right, Alex," Nick murmurs back. He heaves a great sigh and licks impulsively at Alex's cheek. It's strange. Maybe it hadn't been the vodka after all, that ethel taste. He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth and bites to stop his grin.

Alex winks, and moves back, wiping his sticky hand on the seat of his jeans and hitching them up. Nick watches his shaky fingers miss the first button twice before getting it and then they all go up, in a row. Nick stays for a moment, his trousers sagging around his softening prick and Alex makes a smug quirk of his mouth as he straightens the hem of his undershirt.

Nick rolls his eyes and zips up, raking a hand back through his bangs.

"I'd say we'd better get the keys, eh?" Alex says, walking the perimeter of the space with the languid sway of the just-about-thoroughly fucked. "Now that it's christened, I mean."

Nick laughs and palms semen onto the brick wall he'd been leaning against and Alex is, for the first time Nick's ever seen, almost giddy.

"C'mon, there's a sign for the landlord down on the gate."

"Haveta get the pigeons out," Nick says, dusting off his scarf, winding it around his neck.

"Oh, I dunno." Alex says, hoisting himself onto the windowsill. "They do add a bit of atmosphere, don't they."

"Bastard," Nick laughs. "Stuff it."

Alex disappears from view when he swings himself down onto the drainpipe.

Nick looks out across the Clyde and the Briggait and behind him, the pigeons are settling into sleep, with a rustle of feathers and beaks. He blinks, the chill wind stinging his eyes.

Atmoshpere, he thinks, and shakes his head, pushes out after Alex.

*

MIRIAMUS

Oh. My God.

I'm home, I'm home!!!!!!!!!!! FERDY PERV LAND!!!!!!! *does a dance*

Finally, I can be Chief Pervert and not get yelled at for it!!!!!!

MIRIAMUS

Yes we all know what he looks like but.

I think it's time to admire the insanifying prettiness that is Robert Hardy.

his face is so cute I barely notice the podge. That's the cutest face in the universe, that is.

MIRIAMUS

Last spam for now

In honour of all the Michaelphobes that exist in less enlightened places than this, I present:

(original to be found at www.b3ta.com in the movies section)

ITCANBEWRAPPED

(no subject)

ps this is such a great community!

MIRIAMUS

Wasn't going to spam anymore BUT

A stage production of Mary Poppins!!!!!! *smirk*