mercyrobot: (roadtrip jones)
[personal profile] mercyrobot
Title: You Get the Last Word
Pairing: Dan/Jones
Rating: PG-13
Words: ~2000
Summary: And they saunter vaguely back towards real life.
Notes: Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] the_reverand for looking over this! Any fail is all mine.
Takes place directly after One Day We'll Look Back And... Masterlist for this universe is here.
Oh! And the thing that gets bought in the shop is courtesy of [livejournal.com profile] silent_fields :D


You Get the Last Word

It feels like they're driving towards something Dan isn't sure he wants to reach. Well, they are-- the only appeal of London is having a refrigerator and a few more books. But in the abstract, too. This morning felt suspiciously like goodbye, Jones slow and serious and whispering his name over and over, kissing his eyelids and his temples as they lay in a clinging breathless tangle. Like Jones was taking Polaroid snaps with his lips, and maybe Dan was doing the same thing with his hands, taking notes on ribs and hipbones and drawing a map.

What goes on tour, maybe. Dan hasn't wanted to ask, not during breakfast in a twee little cafe, not on the near-silent ferry crossing when they stood at the railings and watched Dublin fade into the distance.

Jones isn't drawing or chattering or drumming on the dash and hasn't complained about Dan playing his Big Star tape. He's just staring out the window and fiddling with one of the chains round his neck.

"Jones?"

Dan takes his eyes off the road long enough to see Jones look over and not quite smile. "Alright?"

"I was about to ask you that."

"Yeah." He shifts about in his seat, the old leather creaking. "You ever see that bit with the Box Tops on Top of the Pops or whatever it was? Off their fuckin' faces and Chilton's eyes all rolled back in his head laughing like a demon."

"No." Dan laughs, but isn't quite relieved, because it feels grasped-for. He wonders if they're going to be able to remember how to talk to each other. "We never did see those caravans."

"No, we never did." Jones reaches over and lays a hand on Dan's leg, squeezing gently. "Maybe next time, yeah?"

Dan swallows, resists the urge to rummage for his cigarettes or fast-forward through Nature Boy and puts his hand on top of Jones's. "Yeah," he says.

Jones turns his hand up and threads his fingers through Dan's, and starts telling the story of how he discovered the caravans, a mad day with a Croatian girl he met in a hostel. It's hard to imagine Jones being caught in someone else's whirlwind rather than being the whirlwind, and Dan feels a twist in his gut that might be jealousy if he'd let it.

"Dunno whatever happened to her. Said she'd write me a letter but nothing ever came. Speaking of, where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"Postcard you bought in that mad old lady's shop."

"I sent that to Claire."

"Oh." Now Dan's sorry he didn't get another. "Well, I've had three, reckon she deserves one. What'd you say?"

"Nothing much. A haiku about barbed wire." They'd walked through chilling parts of Belfast that were full of it, murals pointing guns at them.

"Poetry too? You been holding out on me, Ashcroft. Fucking sonnets, c'mon."

"Sonnets about fucking?" Dan says it without thinking.

Jones laughs, but his grip on Dan's hand tightens. "Yeah, a proper ode to my cock. Iambic and all."

"Do you want an ode or a sonnet? They're different things."

"I'm not bothered, Oxford English. Cock poems."

"Let me not to the...fucking of...true cock--"

"Fuck off, even I know that one." Jones pulls Dan's hand across into his own lap. Dan lets it settle at the top of Jones's thigh and tries not to let his fingers itch to write stupid maudlin lines as Jones traces nonsense shapes over his knuckles. Star to my wandering bark or some shit.

"I don't really write poetry."

"You're well poetic. That bit about Helen and her broken-piano laugh and lost time piling up in the corners -- oh, shit." That's Jones knowing he's caught, because Dan wrote that two days ago with Jones asleep next to him. "I thought it was gonna be your review of those quiffy accordion wankers, and--"

"It's all right," Dan says. Though he feels a bit itchy under the praise and having his words quoted back to him, and keeps looking resolutely forwards, it really is.

"That mean I get to read more of it?"

Dan doesn't want to give Jones carte blanche to go rifling through notebooks. There are other lines he stopped himself putting to paper, but if this is coming home with them.... "Maybe."

Jones lifts Dan's hand and delivers a wet kiss to the back of it.

*

When they stop for petrol, Jones doesn't badger Dan for sweets, but he does follow him into the toilets and lean against the wall without doing anything.

"What?"

"How much longer we got?"

He knows the question's not loaded, but it feels that way a little. "Three hours or so. Why?"

"They said there's a town a bit up the road here."

"And you want to go see it. What's there?"

"Sheep, prob'ly. Old men in wellies. Lunch."

One last adventure. "If you like."

"I like."

Jones's smile goes a bit mischievous as Dan zips up, but he waits until Dan's washing his hands to get between Dan and the towel roll and kiss him for too long to be doing where anyone could walk in, sober people who might mind. Impressionable children or Nazi motorcycle gangs. But it's hard to really worry, and no one comes in. Jones has found sweets on his own, apparently; his tongue is perfumey and bittersweet from violet mints.

"What was that for?" Dan asks.

"Saving 'em up, ain't I?"

"What?"

"'S a bit hard to do while you're driving."

If anyone notices two wet handprints on Jones's arse or the fingernail marks on the back of Dan's neck, they wait until after the door's closed behind them to remark on it.

*

They have pie and chips and creamy local ale in a pub called the Wailing Goat. Jones illustrates it on serviettes and bus tickets with drawings of a screaming goat being chased by a pitchfork-wielding Dan in Wellington boots. He complains of having put too much vinegar on his chips and steals most of Dan's instead.

A few of the sparse scattering of locals stare openly at them, including a pair of young women who keep whispering to each other in between unsubtle glances. "Reckon they think we're famous," Jones says as he licks salt from his fingertips.

Dan would like to stop him sitting so close, but he also doesn't want to. "You, maybe. I could pass as the washed-up Nirvana-spawn support act."

"Maybe I'm your groupie."

*

Down the little high street, there's a shop with so many chairs and bits of old farm equipment and mirrors tangled up on the pavement outside that at first Dan wonders if there was a flood or a fire and whatever could be saved was dragged out, but it's really just that there was no more room on the inside. The place is packed to the rafters with disorganised piles of magazines and old signs, narrow pathways between chests and desks and wardrobes doing double duty as display shelves for armies of box cameras and teapots and doorknobs, hatboxes of dusty half-broken 78s and stacks upon towering stacks of books. Dan blinks at it to try to see any one thing rather than all of it at once. That one thing is Jones, turning slowly in the cramped space between a bright blue Aga and a moth-eaten pram full of dolls, with an openmouthed smile and his eyes lit up like Christmas. It's no surprise, really-- this must be like coming home for him.

Jones disappears into another room that the owner points him to, and Dan thumbs through a box of old postcards. There's one with a grotesque little drawing of a little man playing an accordion and a fairly filthy joke about sausages. He pays a pound for it and ignores the smirk he gets.

The other room of the shop is hot and dusty like a barn and is a maze of dangerous mountains of furniture. He finds Jones climbing up a precarious bookcase by way of a rocking chair, apparently trying to get at an old telephone.

"You'll break your neck," Dan calls. Jones turns his head and looks like he's about to say something cheeky around his grin, but that drops off as he loses his balance. Dan tries to grab him but only ends up breaking his fall as they land in a winded heap on the floor.

Jones starts laughing once it's clear neither of them has broken anything. "Knight in shining armour, you," he says, and kisses the corner of Dan's mouth.

"Never," Dan says, or tries to, but it's muffled by Jones's lips and turns into a surprised 'mmph.' His hands find their way to Jones's hips by rote, nearly frightening in the way they fit there. In the way everything fits everywhere.

But even Jones isn't exhibitionist enough to do any more than that on the floor of a shop, rolls away with a groan and then helps Dan up. They drag a piano-less piano bench over to get the phone down. It's rusty and dusty and the cord's all dry rotted. Jones turns something on the back and sparks a delighted gasp as it rankles out a slow tinkling tune like a sick ice cream van.

"A music box that looks like a phone?"

"Think it might be both," Jones says without taking his eyes off it. "I'm having it, whatever it is."

The shop owner wants fifty pounds for it and only takes cash, and Jones deflates so visibly at discovering he's only got a tenner and a load of random Irish coins that Dan digs into his pockets and produces a pair of crumpled twenties. Jones walks out grinning and cradling his prize. "I'll pay you back, yeah?" Jones says.

"Don't worry about it," says Dan, and then adds, "Remember this on your birthday," because he doesn't want to admit Jones's smile was worth ten times that.

After Dan's started the car but before he's put it in gear, Jones leans across and kisses him, deep and sweet with teeth worrying at Dan's lower lip and fingers curling into his hair. "Thank you," he says softly, and Dan doesn't drive far before he pulls the car into a layby hidden from the road by trees where they end up lying on the rough gravel with lime marking their clothes with white dust.

*

The space between where they are and London disappears under the tyres, and the traffic in the city means Dan needs his left hand to shift gears constantly. Jones's hand drops away onto Dan's knee, and eventually retreats into his own lap.

They're in front of Dan's building and the something heavy that's been growing unfurls and settles between them, or maybe it's just Dan feeling it. "Do you want to come up?" Dan asks after a moment of silence with Jones biting his lip and fiddling with his seat belt. "Max is probably out."

"Nah, I gotta get the car back."

They get out and Dan goes round the passenger side to get his bag from the back seat, straightens and turns to find Jones standing close and reaching out towards him, and he knows that look. "Jones--"

"Nobody's watching." It's a short kiss but Dan holds onto Jones much longer until he laughs into Dan's shoulder and steps back. "I ain't going off to war, y'know. Come round tomorrow and I'll show you that pirate cartoon."

He doesn't ask and what else or any of the other questions tying themselves in knots.

*

His room feels empty without anyone in the corner babbling about something or making noise or trying to undo his belt while he writes, just Dan and some flat cheap champagne he found in the fridge and a half-crushed pack of fags with a postcard he probably shouldn't write on, but does. Ridiculous words in bold ink over the faded script of someone named Arthur telling someone named G. that the weather is fine and Mother has hurt her back. 

livid hot in me
your cock is a thunderstorm
throbbing like my--


He can't finish it. It's the worst thing he's ever written anyway and it's not funny like he meant it to be. He shoves the postcard into a drawer and shakes another cigarette out of the packet.

Jones has drawn a heart on the filter.

Date: 2010-09-11 11:20 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] the-reverand.livejournal.com
You know I love it but at that risk of repeating myself and for the sake of having it all together...

"I'm not bothered, Oxford English. Cock poems."

I could rean them going back and forth forever. ^__^

If anyone notices two wet handprints on Jones's arse or the fingernail marks on the back of Dan's neck, they wait until after the door's closed behind them to remark on it.

WET HANDPRINTS ON BUM!! <3

I love the shop bit and all the stuf and Jones being so thrilled over it and Dan being thrilled Jones is thrilled and... His hands find their way to Jones's hips by rote, nearly frightening in the way they fit there. In the way everything fits everywhere.

After Dan's started the car but before he's put it in gear, Jones leans across and kisses him, deep and sweet with teeth worrying at Dan's lower lip and fingers curling into his hair. "Thank you," he says softly, and Dan doesn't drive far before he pulls the car into a layby hidden from the road by trees where they end up lying on the rough gravel with lime marking their clothes with white dust.

You write the best kisses. And just the suggestion in the last line is mmmmmmwarmmaking... <3

Jones standing close and reaching out towards him, and he knows that look. "Jones--"..."Nobody's watching." It's a short kiss but Dan holds onto Jones much longer until he laughs into Dan's shoulder and steps back. "I ain't going off to war, y'know.

Something about this is so perfect for me, hesitation and wanting and Dan clinging and Jones recognizing it and making it better. <33

AND THE POSTCARD AND HOT THUNDERSTORM COCKS! OH BOY.

Your them forever. <3

Date: 2010-09-11 11:41 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thirstyrobot.livejournal.com
Thank youuuuu <33333

I do appreciate having all the love collected up! :D

And the love in general. And thunderstorm cocks. XD I imagine hilarious outtakes with Dan swearing and smoking and wadding up paper as he tries to write a sonnet. :P

Date: 2010-09-12 01:22 am (UTC)

Date: 2010-09-12 01:26 am (UTC)

Date: 2010-09-12 01:35 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] turgid-prose.livejournal.com
That was super duper!

Big Star! Eeep!

Date: 2010-09-12 03:28 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thirstyrobot.livejournal.com
Thank you!

Yay Big Star love!! :D

Date: 2010-09-12 02:49 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bookends999.livejournal.com
*breathes out* Oh my god. "maybe I'm your groupie" The little heart on the filter.

Perfect. Just perfect. I want Jones to love me :)

Date: 2010-09-12 03:29 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thirstyrobot.livejournal.com
Ahhhhhh don't we all, oh man!

Thanks for reading! <3
(deleted comment)

Date: 2010-09-12 09:45 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thirstyrobot.livejournal.com
Aww it's a perfectly good response, thank you! :D That video cracks me the hell up every time. I think it's the keyboard player pulling faces and all "look ma, no hands." XD

Date: 2010-09-12 03:52 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] silent-fields.livejournal.com
- I really liked the recurring theme of Dan and Jones figuring out where they fit with each other as they slowly returned to the city. The entire first paragraph really got me, especially this: Like Jones was taking Polaroid snaps with his lips, and maybe Dan was doing the same thing with his hands, taking notes on ribs and hipbones and drawing a map. And while it is the beginning of many things for them Jones comment about not going to war is very true, you can feel the shadow of finale the whole time, but there's just enough light left in them both to push it back (oh hello prose, don't mind me.)

- "Maybe I'm your groupie."

This makes me a bit breathless, thinking of Jones beginning to get in the habit of reading Dan's writing and giving him feedback and the knowledge that later on, Dan will be famous in ways he'd never considered.

- The phone music box is wonderful and of course perfect for Jones.

- This was amazing and I'm very much looking forward to what's next! <3

Date: 2010-09-12 09:52 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thirstyrobot.livejournal.com
Thank you! <3 Oh man, yeah, Jones reading Dan's writing makes me all wobbly and it's totally going to happen a lot. :D

I actually meant to link the music box (and now have!) but it's a real thing I found, this. (http://www.etsy.com/listing/46828052/vintage-cameo-face-rotary-telephone?ref=sr_gallery_30&ga_search_query=music+box&ga_search_type=&ga_page=3&order=&includes[0]=tags&includes[1]=title) I guess it would've been in worse shape to be sold for so much less or the owner didn't care. :P And thank you again for the awesome idea!

Date: 2010-09-13 09:11 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] silent-fields.livejournal.com
That's fantastic!

You're very welcome, I'll send more your way when I decide I won't be using them. :)

Date: 2010-09-12 04:17 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] doctorpancakes.livejournal.com
I can't seem to think anything more coherent than AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW and how much I love this. So there you go.

Date: 2010-09-12 09:59 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thirstyrobot.livejournal.com
I am always thrilled to cause incoherent love, thank you! :D

Date: 2010-09-12 05:59 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] storyfan.livejournal.com
*taps foot impatiently while wait for iambic cock poems. checks watch and taps foot some more. takes deep, huffy breath. continues waiting …"

I, too, love the image of wet handprints on bums. The getting down of the telephone and discovering that it makes a sort of music was lovely, too. I could imagine Jones getting all excited over it and immediately thinking about how he could put it to good use.

A lovely job, my dear, as always.

Date: 2010-09-12 10:01 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thirstyrobot.livejournal.com
Baha, you'll be waiting a while! I really did try but ACK. XD

BUMPRINTS! :D

Thank you, darling! <3

Date: 2010-09-18 08:11 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] liljfrostbite.livejournal.com
XD MERCY, I SWEAR I HADN'T READ THIS COMMENT WHEN I WROTE MINE. XD

Date: 2010-09-12 09:34 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jackiethomas73.livejournal.com
This is gorgeous. I love the bitter sweet atmosphere.

Date: 2010-09-14 08:59 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thirstyrobot.livejournal.com
Glad you liked it! Thanks for reading! :)

Date: 2010-09-12 02:18 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ftw302.livejournal.com
So beautiful <3 <3 you're such an extraordinary writer, this is such a great series <3 seriously it's like prose, or...yeah it's really good!! Sorry I can't leave along and complex comment, but you know, it's very good, yeah, I want to read more of it XD MORE!

Date: 2010-09-14 09:00 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thirstyrobot.livejournal.com
Gah, you're too awesome, you make me blush. <3333 Thanks!

Date: 2010-09-12 03:16 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] pitpony13.livejournal.com
This is lovely!

Date: 2010-09-14 09:00 pm (UTC)

Date: 2010-09-12 05:11 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] monooccularcat.livejournal.com
They were so happy! It makes me worry for what can lead to the known-future.

Date: 2010-09-14 09:03 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thirstyrobot.livejournal.com
*sigh* I knooooooow. I sort of hate to do it to them, but it is what it is. Thanks for reading!

Date: 2010-09-12 07:52 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] xthursdaynextx.livejournal.com
Gorgeous. I love the sparse sort of way this was written and all the uncertainty.

Dan feels a twist in his gut that might be jealousy if he'd let it.

<3

Date: 2010-09-16 10:03 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thirstyrobot.livejournal.com
Sorry I'm so late replying but I'm no less appreciative! Glad you liked it, thank you! <3

Date: 2010-09-12 11:07 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] luridlolly.livejournal.com
AAAAAAAAH THIS--YOU--AAAAAAAH!!!! WONDERFUL!!!!

The uncertainty and the tension and the humor and the quiet affection are so perfect and believable. And kissing in loos and in the gravel and Dan' buying the music box/phone--are you trying to make my heart explode? Because I am totally ok with that.

Jones's ways of showing affection SLAY me--drawing Dan chasing goats, "Maybe I'm your groupie," all manner of kisses, HEARTS ON HIS CIGARETTES!! Such small things that feel big but secret and real and arrrrrrg my heart's just burst....

Also:
COCK POEMS
YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Date: 2010-09-16 10:09 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thirstyrobot.livejournal.com
Your comment was too good, it rendered me speechless for five days. XP *failz*

I've got some rainbow-striped tape if you heart needs mending. I LOVE THEM TOO AND WANT THEM TO GET MARRIEDDDDDD.

COCK POEMS. I think you should write cock poems. XD

Date: 2010-09-13 03:58 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] eggnogged.livejournal.com
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE SOUNDS I MADE WHEN I SAW THAT THERE WAS MORE OF THIS COULD ONLY BE HEARD BY DOGS (AT MILES AROUND).

Cock poems! Kissing! Handprints on bums! Happy Jones! More kissing! Hearts on cigarette filters! <333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333

After Dan's started the car but before he's put it in gear, Jones leans across and kisses him, deep and sweet with teeth worrying at Dan's lower lip and fingers curling into his hair. "Thank you," he says softly, and Dan doesn't drive far before he pulls the car into a layby hidden from the road by trees where they end up lying on the rough gravel with lime marking their clothes with white dust.

YOU SLAY ME. I LOVE THEM AND YOU. MORE PLEASE FOR EVER.

Date: 2010-09-16 10:12 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thirstyrobot.livejournal.com
AHHH you are awesome <3333 thank you! Supersonic squeaky Eggys are the best kind.

OF COURSE MORE. And probably forever because I am soooooo slow these days. XP

Date: 2010-09-14 04:14 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] laeta.livejournal.com
Jones has drawn a heart on the filter.

KILL ME, WHY DON'T YOU???

That was awesome :D

Date: 2010-09-16 10:13 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thirstyrobot.livejournal.com
Oooops! *revives*

Thank you, I'm so glad you liked it! :D

Date: 2010-09-18 08:06 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] liljfrostbite.livejournal.com
Running reading commentary!

that bit with the Box Tops
Whoa-ho, wow. I hadn't seen that either!

Sonnets about fucking?
HAHA Now I understand wtf Lolly was talking about on twitter today! XD

tries not to let his fingers itch to write stupid maudlin lines as Jones traces nonsense shapes over his knuckles. Star to my wandering bark or some shit.
Onhhhhh you make my heart ache in the best possible way.

One last adventure.
Moar hearty-stabby! ;__;

two wet handprints on Jones's arse or the fingernail marks on the back of Dan's neck
Gaaaaaaaaaaah gorgeous

He complains of having put too much vinegar on his chips and steals most of Dan's instead.
I am certain this has happened.

Jones says as he licks salt from his fingertips.
UNF.

this must be like coming home for him.
You are a genius. This is so perfect, but I didn't see it coming at all! And man, I've SO been to that shop. They're totally fun but overwhelming too. STUFF ERRYWURR.

"You'll break your neck"
HELLO self-fulfilling prophecy!

it rankles out a slow tinkling tune like a sick ice cream van
SO GORGEOUS.

Jones deflates so visibly ... that Dan digs into his pockets
*melts*

The space between where they are and London disappears under the tyres, ... Jones's hand drops away onto Dan's knee, and eventually retreats into his own lap.
GUH heart-stabby metaphor is heart-stabby.

"Nah, I gotta get the car back."
This feels like one of those responses you fire off without thinking much but that ends up somehow changing everything for the worse.

your cock is a thunderstorm
throbbing like my--

MAN you are killing me with this story tonight. A tie-in back to when they kissed in the rain on the hill? *dies*
And Dan's heart? Is that what it throbs like? <3

Jones has drawn a heart on the filter.
* Music:matt berry making barfy noises on the radio

hahahahaha AND THE MOODINESS FLIES OUT THE WINDOW. XD

LOVELY AS ALWAYS, MY DEAR. :D

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