AnCatKatie
Rock n' Roll Doggie ALL ACCESS
Once again, WithoutSpeaking, this is totally your fault ^^
But, holy fuck. It did not happen how I intended. What I intended to happen didn't happen either. That's what writing does, though...the stories can write themselves...
And other than...well, the interesting bits...this chapter is encompassed totally by Peter Rowen. Little brat...
Not mine, not any of it, and untrue except song lyrics.
Non-PG version available by email or PM!
***
A faint anxiety firmly wrapped itself around Paul’s mind…he couldn’t let go of the suddenly apparent foot of space between he and Ali: what did that mean? And furthermore, the look in Cath’s eyes after he kissed her…and she had said—what?—something about not being here very much longer…
And he dreamed...
A passing car’s headlights faded, the imprint like the flash of eyes in the darkness. He walked and then ran along the Dublin streets, his heart pounding. Something was going to happen, something he had to stop—what was it? He couldn’t find…
He stood at a street corner, the light above him blue. Someone walked towards him. All he could see was their bare arms, that the blue light swam over oddly: Cath, the scars catching the light. When she neared he could see her makeup had run—had she been crying?—she opened her mouth to tell him something, removing one of her earrings. In her palm, the cross changed to a heart and then melted into the ground. He blinked, and in the next moment, it was daylight and he stood looking at Peter Rowen, who glared at him. Paul frowned back: where was Cath?
He blinked awake, momentarily dazed by the sunlight coming through his window, his head pounding.
That was odd. And frightening.
The hell did it mean?
Well, there was one thing. He and the rest of the band had been talking about the photos for the record, and Edge had suggested something about children. What an odd thought…maybe they could get Peter to do something, though. It was certainly an interesting idea, to have someone stand in for what the songs meant; the boy in Bono had been ripped apart or hidden, and he didn’t know if his younger self would ever return.
It was an oddly warm day, Cath found when she awoke. The sunlight was welcome, lit and warmed her comfortingly.
“Say hello to the sun, baby,” she said quietly, giggling. It felt rather foolish to talk without being sure she was heard. The past couple days, though…something about them had wormed into her mind, the constant struggle between Paul who waited and whatever invisible demons she had to face that obstructed her from being truthful with him—or around him without the others.
It isn’t really Isaac, is it—Paul had driven away the remnants of that fear; it would probably be good if she just opened up with him. Maybe they’d both be happier, more directed.
She was just deathly, deathly afraid of what he would do, completely uncertain as she was of what his reaction would be. For some reason, she anticipated it as far from pleasant, though most of that automatic fear had dissipated when Ali let her stay here and Cath no longer saw herself being, say, pushed out onto the street because Paul couldn’t deal with the problems he created.
Hmm.
She would probably stay close to Edge…David Evans…and watch Paul from afar. It was safer that way, in the meantime. Paul could probably easily sweep her off her feet and they’d be making love before she knew it, and at some point he would see, go “oh shit!” and run out the door. Yeah, she’d be careful. That wasn’t the best scenario.
She threw a white dress over her head happily; it probably wouldn’t be too cold out, and shoved her arms through a sweater just in case, running downstairs and after slipping on her shoes and calling out to Ali, “I’m going to find Edge and the guys!”, running out the door.
It wasn’t too far to Edge’s place. Cath fell into the easy rhythm of the exercise, reminded a little of swimming a couple days before. It was satisfying to be able to run, still unencumbered by the inevitable change in body mass, and good to be able to suddenly decide to do something on her own. She’d been doing more and more of that since she left home and got control over her own life.
She finally reached the right house and knocked on the door, then stood there impatiently. No-one. That was odd…
She crossed her arms, and heard a commotion a little ways beyond her sight. Cath went to investigate, picking up her pace again into a light run.
“Bloody hell,” Adam complained. The bassist crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the house, the unspoken that he was clearly too cool—or irritated—for a photoshoot. “Listen, we haven’t even thought up the name for the record yet—“
“—not to mention half the songs are unfinished,” Larry added, lying down on the grass stubbornly.
“—why are we taking the album photo now?”
“It’s not of us,” Edge said calmly, surreptitiously snapping a photo of Larry from an unattractive angle and laughing while the other boy glared and gave him the finger. “And this soon wasn’t my brilliant idea either.”
“Yes, Bono Vox, fucking brilliant.” Adam rolled his eyes. “Maybe we could shoot a photo when we’re done finishing up the songs? Maybe even just that new one, what’s it called…‘cat’ something…where is Paul anyway?”
There was the sound of some struggle and an outraged comment, probably the kid, from out of sight.
“I think our subject is giving the brilliant man some trouble,” Edge said straight-faced, his continuing comment dying away as Paul rounded the corner, not hauling Peter Rowen by the seat of his pants but otherwise occupied. There was a streak of red—facepaint—Edge could breathe again—across Cath’s ankle. She wore a white dress, positively glowed from exercise, and to Edge was the most beautiful thing since sunlight as she listened very seriously to something Peter chattered on about while he smudged facepaint off his face.
Bono smiled some captivated smile at her and grinned over at the rest of the band. The picture-taking took a little less time than anticipated, the sunlight practically blinding and therefore perfect for pictures, though Peter made faces until Paul rolled his eyes and asked desperately what the kid wanted if he’d only get through this “focki—I mean, this one picture!”
Edge didn’t hear what Peter demanded; he sat next to Cath, filled with a sort of warm happiness imbued from the light that stayed with him hazily because of Cath’s obvious happiness, but was torn away when she looked at Bono and the little boy.
“He’s not so terrible with kids as I assumed,” Cath whispered to Edge jokingly. Sure, he felt good for Bono, but at the same time, he wanted to punch him in the face and think up some lasting reason why Cath would be happier with him.
Whatever he was going to reply was unheard by her: Cath eased upwards and crossed over to Bono, intrigued by the picture that had just been taken. Peter had folded his arms behind his head and, startled by something or other, looked intensely into the camera, his thoughts open through his eyes. Something about that instant seemed right to Cath.
“You should use that one,” she whispered in Paul’s ear. He shivered as her lips brushed just below his earlobe, and turned to her, something impatient and excited sparking in his eyes. Cath sensed if he took another picture, he’d probably ruin it. Just as well: there was something about the one before…
She left with him, looking significantly at Edge to try and communicate the difficulty of what she was about to do. His smile in return was encouraging: she tried to gather some strength from the support.
“Gonna go take these pictures to be developed,” Larry called, already walking away.
And Edge, for the most part alone now in his backyard, Cath having gone, the past few minutes running through his head, was in agony. He was distracted by Peter launching himself onto Edge’s back and tackling the older boy, hair messed up by Bono. Edge’s hair was being messed up by Peter, and the kid scrambled away when Edge tried to mock-tackle him back.
When he looked at the tiny glimpse of sidewalk he could see from his backyard, Paul and Cath were gone. He hoped like hell Paul would behave himself and react maturely—well, in the non-sexual sense.
Adam turned as if to leave but stopped, frowned, looking hard at Edge, his eyes widening.
“Oh, no,” the bassist realized. “You’ve got it bad for her, don’t you.” He looked pained at his discovery. “Well…good luck with that.” He couldn’t offer any more support than that, seeing the way Bono looked at the woman. He’d written a fecking song about her, clearly in love—things would be difficult for Edge.
Paul grinned over at Cath as they walked over to his house. He wasn’t sure why they were doing so, but rather hopeful all the same.
“Well, that was something,” he laughed.
“What was?”
“The guys, the photos going so well, and flippin’ Peter Rowen! I practically ransack Edge’s house looking for the kid and find him outside, having smeared your leg with facepaint and being much less trouble, little brat…” He’d called Peter that a couple times, by now with a sort of exasperated fondness.
He rolled his eyes. “I can’t imagine having kids…”
Cath made an abrupt nervous noise that passed Paul by.
They had reached his house, and he reached over to open the door, the shadow of his arm falling across her face, her dark eyes glittering softly, some open expression spreading over her face as she looked at him. Paul stood against the sun, sun etching around the funny spikes of his hair and illuminating in a handspan the contours of his face. Something inside Cath connected again to the present day. They stood staring at each other, Paul seeing the woman he had seen months ago, that same energy burning within her that gripped his thoughts wherever he turned, Cath seeing something forgotten and found.
Tears came to her eyes, falling away. Warm fingers came to the back of her neck as Paul leaned down and kissed her softly, passionately.
No-one was home but them. Cath whispered his name, about to say something else, but he put a finger to her lips, caught her hand, and led her up the stairs to his room. She sat on the bed, heart pounding, Paul staring at her after closing the door.
He bent closer to her again and she put her hands to the side of his face firmly to stop him.
“Paul,” she began again, laughing despite herself.
“What?” he asked in a hushed voice, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smile. She stopped this time his hands from doing anything devious. They folded around her own.
“Paul Hewson…” My, this would almost be fun but for the anxiety pouring through her body. She wished they could just spend the rest of the day in each other’s arms, that smile only for her, but that was an impossibility. Four months. He would notice.
“…I’m pregnant,” she said almost too softly to hear, her heart hammering. She couldn’t look away from him. His grip on her hands had tightened spasmodically. He removed them and looked away in shock, at the ceiling, at his feet, at Cath again. She could see the thoughts on his face. The fist her heart had made unclenched bit by bit.
“Oh my god,” Paul said, suddenly trying not to laugh. He hadn’t thought he was capable of, well…
Cath watched as he clenched his fists in uncontainable emotion and grinned exuberantly. “I can’t believe you kept it a secret for so long,” he told her, then sat back down again. Unable to express what he felt in words, he kissed her abruptly, the raw amazement somehow making its way to Cath through their locked lips.
They broke apart after what seemed like instants and hours, he still smiling. He trailed his fingers along the side of her face, the wonder and desire on his own captivating to Cath. Her head found its way to upon his chest. Her eyelashes tickled as she kissed his collarbone.
Paul was looking down at her stomach, his head tilted. “I don’t see anything,” he said, the amusement in his voice overtaken by the amazement that softened his eyes.
“That’s because I’m not naked,” she told him seriously, grinning, kissing him hard, breaking away finally to watch his eyes dazed as if practically intoxicated.
He gave her that half-smile again, unable to breathe, in an answer to that invitation. “We can still…” he managed to begin to ask before Cath’s dress slipped off her shoulders. She answered him a definite yes, their lips locking together again as they slipped into the shadows of the room, the shadows overtaken by sparkling motes of light.
***
...Edge is going to kill me. Or kill Bono, I'm not sure which.
But, holy fuck. It did not happen how I intended. What I intended to happen didn't happen either. That's what writing does, though...the stories can write themselves...
And other than...well, the interesting bits...this chapter is encompassed totally by Peter Rowen. Little brat...
Not mine, not any of it, and untrue except song lyrics.
Non-PG version available by email or PM!
***
A faint anxiety firmly wrapped itself around Paul’s mind…he couldn’t let go of the suddenly apparent foot of space between he and Ali: what did that mean? And furthermore, the look in Cath’s eyes after he kissed her…and she had said—what?—something about not being here very much longer…
And he dreamed...
A passing car’s headlights faded, the imprint like the flash of eyes in the darkness. He walked and then ran along the Dublin streets, his heart pounding. Something was going to happen, something he had to stop—what was it? He couldn’t find…
He stood at a street corner, the light above him blue. Someone walked towards him. All he could see was their bare arms, that the blue light swam over oddly: Cath, the scars catching the light. When she neared he could see her makeup had run—had she been crying?—she opened her mouth to tell him something, removing one of her earrings. In her palm, the cross changed to a heart and then melted into the ground. He blinked, and in the next moment, it was daylight and he stood looking at Peter Rowen, who glared at him. Paul frowned back: where was Cath?
He blinked awake, momentarily dazed by the sunlight coming through his window, his head pounding.
That was odd. And frightening.
The hell did it mean?
Well, there was one thing. He and the rest of the band had been talking about the photos for the record, and Edge had suggested something about children. What an odd thought…maybe they could get Peter to do something, though. It was certainly an interesting idea, to have someone stand in for what the songs meant; the boy in Bono had been ripped apart or hidden, and he didn’t know if his younger self would ever return.
It was an oddly warm day, Cath found when she awoke. The sunlight was welcome, lit and warmed her comfortingly.
“Say hello to the sun, baby,” she said quietly, giggling. It felt rather foolish to talk without being sure she was heard. The past couple days, though…something about them had wormed into her mind, the constant struggle between Paul who waited and whatever invisible demons she had to face that obstructed her from being truthful with him—or around him without the others.
It isn’t really Isaac, is it—Paul had driven away the remnants of that fear; it would probably be good if she just opened up with him. Maybe they’d both be happier, more directed.
She was just deathly, deathly afraid of what he would do, completely uncertain as she was of what his reaction would be. For some reason, she anticipated it as far from pleasant, though most of that automatic fear had dissipated when Ali let her stay here and Cath no longer saw herself being, say, pushed out onto the street because Paul couldn’t deal with the problems he created.
Hmm.
She would probably stay close to Edge…David Evans…and watch Paul from afar. It was safer that way, in the meantime. Paul could probably easily sweep her off her feet and they’d be making love before she knew it, and at some point he would see, go “oh shit!” and run out the door. Yeah, she’d be careful. That wasn’t the best scenario.
She threw a white dress over her head happily; it probably wouldn’t be too cold out, and shoved her arms through a sweater just in case, running downstairs and after slipping on her shoes and calling out to Ali, “I’m going to find Edge and the guys!”, running out the door.
It wasn’t too far to Edge’s place. Cath fell into the easy rhythm of the exercise, reminded a little of swimming a couple days before. It was satisfying to be able to run, still unencumbered by the inevitable change in body mass, and good to be able to suddenly decide to do something on her own. She’d been doing more and more of that since she left home and got control over her own life.
She finally reached the right house and knocked on the door, then stood there impatiently. No-one. That was odd…
She crossed her arms, and heard a commotion a little ways beyond her sight. Cath went to investigate, picking up her pace again into a light run.
“Bloody hell,” Adam complained. The bassist crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the house, the unspoken that he was clearly too cool—or irritated—for a photoshoot. “Listen, we haven’t even thought up the name for the record yet—“
“—not to mention half the songs are unfinished,” Larry added, lying down on the grass stubbornly.
“—why are we taking the album photo now?”
“It’s not of us,” Edge said calmly, surreptitiously snapping a photo of Larry from an unattractive angle and laughing while the other boy glared and gave him the finger. “And this soon wasn’t my brilliant idea either.”
“Yes, Bono Vox, fucking brilliant.” Adam rolled his eyes. “Maybe we could shoot a photo when we’re done finishing up the songs? Maybe even just that new one, what’s it called…‘cat’ something…where is Paul anyway?”
There was the sound of some struggle and an outraged comment, probably the kid, from out of sight.
“I think our subject is giving the brilliant man some trouble,” Edge said straight-faced, his continuing comment dying away as Paul rounded the corner, not hauling Peter Rowen by the seat of his pants but otherwise occupied. There was a streak of red—facepaint—Edge could breathe again—across Cath’s ankle. She wore a white dress, positively glowed from exercise, and to Edge was the most beautiful thing since sunlight as she listened very seriously to something Peter chattered on about while he smudged facepaint off his face.
Bono smiled some captivated smile at her and grinned over at the rest of the band. The picture-taking took a little less time than anticipated, the sunlight practically blinding and therefore perfect for pictures, though Peter made faces until Paul rolled his eyes and asked desperately what the kid wanted if he’d only get through this “focki—I mean, this one picture!”
Edge didn’t hear what Peter demanded; he sat next to Cath, filled with a sort of warm happiness imbued from the light that stayed with him hazily because of Cath’s obvious happiness, but was torn away when she looked at Bono and the little boy.
“He’s not so terrible with kids as I assumed,” Cath whispered to Edge jokingly. Sure, he felt good for Bono, but at the same time, he wanted to punch him in the face and think up some lasting reason why Cath would be happier with him.
Whatever he was going to reply was unheard by her: Cath eased upwards and crossed over to Bono, intrigued by the picture that had just been taken. Peter had folded his arms behind his head and, startled by something or other, looked intensely into the camera, his thoughts open through his eyes. Something about that instant seemed right to Cath.
“You should use that one,” she whispered in Paul’s ear. He shivered as her lips brushed just below his earlobe, and turned to her, something impatient and excited sparking in his eyes. Cath sensed if he took another picture, he’d probably ruin it. Just as well: there was something about the one before…
She left with him, looking significantly at Edge to try and communicate the difficulty of what she was about to do. His smile in return was encouraging: she tried to gather some strength from the support.
“Gonna go take these pictures to be developed,” Larry called, already walking away.
And Edge, for the most part alone now in his backyard, Cath having gone, the past few minutes running through his head, was in agony. He was distracted by Peter launching himself onto Edge’s back and tackling the older boy, hair messed up by Bono. Edge’s hair was being messed up by Peter, and the kid scrambled away when Edge tried to mock-tackle him back.
When he looked at the tiny glimpse of sidewalk he could see from his backyard, Paul and Cath were gone. He hoped like hell Paul would behave himself and react maturely—well, in the non-sexual sense.
Adam turned as if to leave but stopped, frowned, looking hard at Edge, his eyes widening.
“Oh, no,” the bassist realized. “You’ve got it bad for her, don’t you.” He looked pained at his discovery. “Well…good luck with that.” He couldn’t offer any more support than that, seeing the way Bono looked at the woman. He’d written a fecking song about her, clearly in love—things would be difficult for Edge.
Paul grinned over at Cath as they walked over to his house. He wasn’t sure why they were doing so, but rather hopeful all the same.
“Well, that was something,” he laughed.
“What was?”
“The guys, the photos going so well, and flippin’ Peter Rowen! I practically ransack Edge’s house looking for the kid and find him outside, having smeared your leg with facepaint and being much less trouble, little brat…” He’d called Peter that a couple times, by now with a sort of exasperated fondness.
He rolled his eyes. “I can’t imagine having kids…”
Cath made an abrupt nervous noise that passed Paul by.
They had reached his house, and he reached over to open the door, the shadow of his arm falling across her face, her dark eyes glittering softly, some open expression spreading over her face as she looked at him. Paul stood against the sun, sun etching around the funny spikes of his hair and illuminating in a handspan the contours of his face. Something inside Cath connected again to the present day. They stood staring at each other, Paul seeing the woman he had seen months ago, that same energy burning within her that gripped his thoughts wherever he turned, Cath seeing something forgotten and found.
Tears came to her eyes, falling away. Warm fingers came to the back of her neck as Paul leaned down and kissed her softly, passionately.
No-one was home but them. Cath whispered his name, about to say something else, but he put a finger to her lips, caught her hand, and led her up the stairs to his room. She sat on the bed, heart pounding, Paul staring at her after closing the door.
He bent closer to her again and she put her hands to the side of his face firmly to stop him.
“Paul,” she began again, laughing despite herself.
“What?” he asked in a hushed voice, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smile. She stopped this time his hands from doing anything devious. They folded around her own.
“Paul Hewson…” My, this would almost be fun but for the anxiety pouring through her body. She wished they could just spend the rest of the day in each other’s arms, that smile only for her, but that was an impossibility. Four months. He would notice.
“…I’m pregnant,” she said almost too softly to hear, her heart hammering. She couldn’t look away from him. His grip on her hands had tightened spasmodically. He removed them and looked away in shock, at the ceiling, at his feet, at Cath again. She could see the thoughts on his face. The fist her heart had made unclenched bit by bit.
“Oh my god,” Paul said, suddenly trying not to laugh. He hadn’t thought he was capable of, well…
Cath watched as he clenched his fists in uncontainable emotion and grinned exuberantly. “I can’t believe you kept it a secret for so long,” he told her, then sat back down again. Unable to express what he felt in words, he kissed her abruptly, the raw amazement somehow making its way to Cath through their locked lips.
They broke apart after what seemed like instants and hours, he still smiling. He trailed his fingers along the side of her face, the wonder and desire on his own captivating to Cath. Her head found its way to upon his chest. Her eyelashes tickled as she kissed his collarbone.
Paul was looking down at her stomach, his head tilted. “I don’t see anything,” he said, the amusement in his voice overtaken by the amazement that softened his eyes.
“That’s because I’m not naked,” she told him seriously, grinning, kissing him hard, breaking away finally to watch his eyes dazed as if practically intoxicated.
He gave her that half-smile again, unable to breathe, in an answer to that invitation. “We can still…” he managed to begin to ask before Cath’s dress slipped off her shoulders. She answered him a definite yes, their lips locking together again as they slipped into the shadows of the room, the shadows overtaken by sparkling motes of light.
***
...Edge is going to kill me. Or kill Bono, I'm not sure which.
yes please!
thankyou!
Thank you!
