Title: To be turned around
Authors: armillarysphere and evolia
Rating: NC-17 overall, although this is PG-13
Pairing: PoynterJones
Genre: AU - Romance/Drama
Part: 1/17
Summary: Act I - the beginnings. In this story, Dougie is born and bred in South Africa, and is a professional surfer. McFly, this up and coming band from Britain, decide to take an extended holiday to Dougie's hometown after their bassist bail on them.
A/N: Hello, and welcome in 'To be turned around'! This fic, our first collaboration Pones, was written ages ago - although it did take us a long time, it's not a small story. This story is cut into three acts, and we hope you'll enjoy this introduction chapter enough that you will want to read more and get into the story! Concrit is most welcome. Also, we promise we will not take months to answer your comments. We feel really bad about this, and it won't happen again!
Warnings: Drug use.
Disclaimer: This is fiction, which means it's not true. We just have healthy imaginations.

---

Being a surfer is a state of mind. Surfing is more than just a sport, a game. For most people, it’s just that, and it’s fine, but when you cross that line, that fine line between the sport and the passion, it all becomes more. It’s more intense and more demanding, more rewarding and more satisfying.

Dougie crossed that line at age 5. He had been on this board, that his father bought him when he was three, for them to go surfing together, and he’d been paddling in the water, his mother knee deep in the ocean behind him, making sure he was safe.

And there had been this wave. It wasn’t a big one, but it seemed gigantic for Dougie. And he took it. And he laughed as it wiped him out. And that was it.

His mum joked that he was addicted to the ocean, and maybe he was. He never felt better than when he was out on his board, just him and the waves, the roar of the water over his head, the rumble under his feet as he rode towards the shore, the call of the seabirds above him. It was such an effort to get him to go to school that in the end his mum just gave up, tutored him herself for a few years until he scraped through a couple of exams and after that he was free.

He was barely in his teens by the time he started entering competitions, beating guys way older than him easily, and while the money he won wasn't much (yet), it went some way to supporting his mum after his dad left them, him and his mum and his sister, and moved to England, without so much as a note on the kitchen table. Dougie never really forgave him.

His love for the ocean just seemed to grow after that, an insatiable hunger to feel free, to be alone, to be in control of something in his life. On his board, riding a wave, he was the master of the oceans. In a tube, fingers grazing the walls of water on either side of him, he was himself, free to scream his rage at his father, his sorrow.

He was kind of a loner, hanging around the kids of his age because his pro gig was quite cool, and got him invited to all the parties. He didn’t talk to most of them, though, didn’t get drunk with them. He did score girls, though, small brunettes or tall blondes, he didn’t really care. Then there was the guys. He was pickier, but in the end, it didn’t matter more than with girls.

He kept winning though, travelling to California and Australia for bigger and bigger competitions, sponsorship deals landing nicely in his lap, although he turned down the modelling offers unlike some of his rivals. He doesn't mind wearing the gear, makes a change from scraping money from odd jobs to pay for new boards and suits, but posing for photos in it just isn't him.

He started teaching a few lessons, just for the hell of it, when he'd been pro for a few years already, spending the time when he isn't practicing with little kids and their parents on the beach, loving the smiles he gets when they catch their first wave, the proud cries and whoops when they get back to shore, high-fives and sand flying around all over.

And it’s how he ends up offering his services to two young guys, one night as he's enjoying a drink at the hotel bar, the hotel next to which he lives, and that roofs his surf club. He hears them talking about surfing as they go past him, thick English accents that make his skin bristle a little, just out of habit and residual anger that will always be there.

“Mate, we’re in South Africa. We gotta learn how to surf!”

“The surf school is booked all week, Dan. Can’t you wait?”

“No, I bloody well can't. I was supposed to be learning in Australia, remember? Then that – that prick ruined everything.”

“Don't take it out on me, all right?”

Dougie can't help but turn his head to look at them, a couple of average looking guys, one with a shaved head and, okay, maybe not so average eyes, and the other with a ridiculous mop of curly hair, and freckles, and laughter lines around his eyes that suggest when he smiles, it's probably a major event.

Dougie's pulled worse looking blokes.

“Sorry. Can’t – you know.”

“Yeah. Whatever. We’ve got time here, Danny, we took a one way ticket. We can wait a week.”

Dougie takes a swig of his beer, wiping at the corner of his mouth with the back of his thumb before throwing them a glance. The bar’s almost empty bar the three of them, and well, they’re not really being quiet.

“Or I could teach you.”

The one apparently called Danny, with the hair, spins around on his stool fast enough that he half falls off, only to be caught by Mr Blue Eyes who grabs onto the back of his shirt and hauls him upright again. Dougie grins.

“Yeah? I dunno if we can afford private lessons.”

“Oh, no, I don't charge.”

Mr Blue Eyes raises a suspicious eyebrow at him, and, yeah, well, Dougie probably would too. It seems unbelievable that a guy like him wouldn’t be looking for easy money made on tourists. But Dougie’s got more than enough, and this is just fun for him.

“You don’t? Then what do you want from us?”

It sounds low, a bit threatening, a little scared, wary. It’s Dougie’s time to raise an eyebrow.

“What could I possibly want from two strangers? I just like giving lessons, that’s all.”

“Come on, Harry, don’t be like that. We should make the most of it.”

Blue Eyes – Harry – snorts and takes another drink of his beer, still watching Dougie closely as he slips down off his stool and walks over to them, his flip-flops making almost no sound on the tiled floor. He holds his hand out and gives them another smile.

“I'm Dougie. I live next door. If you want lessons, come and find me tomorrow. If you don't, then no hard feelings, and maybe I'll see you around.”

The curly haired dude, Danny, shakes his hand, and gives a pointed look to his friend, who reluctantly does, too, after a few seconds. Then Dougie shrugs, smiles at them, and turns around. His bed is calling him forth.

**

When Dougie goes out on his porch the next morning, mug of steaming coffee in hand and his iPod blasting in his ears, he looks out at the beach, the slow, soft breeze promising some nice waves later on. There's his board there, next to the small coffee table he has outside, and he runs a hand over it, testing the roughness, wondering if he needs to wax it today.

His mind wanders back to the night before and those two guys, and maybe they'll come, maybe they won't, but it certainly won't stop Dougie from running out to the waves when his coffee is consumed. It's been two days since he last got to surf, the day before filled up with meetings with sponsors, and he can feel the itch in his legs, the burn in his arms.

It's early enough that the ocean is still the colour of steel, the sand looking more like rocks than the almost white grains that will fly up around his ankles in a little while.  He watches the surn burn through the clouds, taking away the mist as he drains his coffee, leaning his elbows on the rail that runs around the porch.

He can see a couple of guys jogging on the beach, the wind taking their voices away from him, and it's almost as though they're in a music video as he watchess their lips move in time to the songs playing in his ears.

He smiles to himself when he sees that it's the two English guys from the night before, and he has to admit that he'd never have picked them as the type to go out training that early in the morning when he sees the gloves thrown over their shoulders.

The curly-haired one - Danny, that was it - raises his hand in greeting when he looks up, his eyes meeting Dougie's, before he nudges the other one with his elbow, pointing in Dougie's direction.

Dougie pulls out one of his headphones and cups a hand around his mouth as they walk closer up the dunes.

"Morning!"

He can see sweat on their skin when they're close enough, making them shine somewhat under the moody sky, and he leaves his mug of coffee on the coffee table before going down the three steps, feet hitting the sand, toes wriggling into it.

"Morning."

"So, you're really up to teaching us without any kind of charging?"

The blue eyed one, Harry, really doesn't seem to want to let go, seriously. He's hung up on something, seemingly certain that Dougie will try and drain something out of them. He's got other things to think about, to be honest.

"Sure. I've got boards in the back, here, but my wetsuits won't fit you. Can do with your swimming shorts, though. You just might lose them if the waves get wilder."

He smiles, and Danny grins as well, even Harry chuckles when Danny elbows him in the ribs.

"Yeah, yeah, that's fine."

"Okay, come on then, let's grab boards for you."

Dougie leads them around the house, grabbing his coffee as they go. He opens up the garage door and steps back to let Danny and Harry go inside.

"Fuck me, that's a lot of boards."

Dougie grins, pushing past them to run his hand over a few of his favourites.

"Pick any one you like. My baby's up on the deck, so these are all free."

They both step in more firmly; Dougie watching them with an amused eye, seeing that the set of Harry’s shoulders is slightly more relaxed than it was the day before. Oh, he’ll get over it if they have a few lessons together, Dougie’s sure of it. He can understand mistrust, but he’s the kind of guy with whom it never lasts really that long. He doesn’t really know why.

He finishes his coffee and goes back inside to leave the mug by the sink, grabbing his wetsuit on the way. He needs to wash it, it still smells of salt water, and he’s afraid if he doesn’t rinse it soon enough, it’s going to start to crack at the shoulders, and George, his half best friend, half manager, will skin him alive for ruining yet another suit.

Not his fault he never thinks of doing that.

He pulls it on, rolling it at his hips as he goes back to the garage, seeing both Harry and Danny aren’t there anymore, and two boards are off as well. He smiles and goes back to the front of the house, seeing them here, observing the boards with slightly worried eyes.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

He grabs his own board, mentally promising her a good wax when they’re done, and motions towards the beach.

“Let’s go, gentlemen!”

“So, have either of you ever surfed before? And watching Point Break doesn't count.”

“We're virgins.”

Harry snorts and Dougie grins at Danny's words, pointing for them to put the boards down.

“Well we'll soon sort that out.”

He gets them through the necessary first lessons, about the strap and the need to be careful with your board when you wipe out, and then gets them to paddling on the beach, teaching them the first basic moves. Getting up on your board, teaching them each with a different leg, as he soon learns that Danny’s a leftie.

“Okay, well, today, we’re only going to go and paddle a bit, maybe try and get yourselves up on your boards. Just get a taste of how it feels in the water.”

Dougie puts on his wetsuit completely then, watching them get strapped to their boards, and then they’re off, Dougie going slowly to keep close to them, checking the incoming waves. He sits on his board and points out at the ocean.

“The whole game is to find the right wave, the one you’ll pick at the right time and will take you far enough. It’s mostly feeling, to be honest, but the thing is, you don’t have to try at every wave. Just go for it whenever you feel like it’s the right one.”

“Right, yeah, okay. I - argh!”

Danny capsizes halfway through his sentence, rolling sideways off his board, and Dougie can’t help but snigger, while Harry laughs loudly.

“Classic.”

“Fuck off, Judd.”

Danny flicks water off his hair, and Dougie licks his lips. He lets them bicker as he goes for a wave himself, paddling a little before positioning himself a second before it hits, and then he’s off, feeling as if he’s flying off the water, crouching low on his board, patting her for a second. It’s not a big wave and it’s soon finished, but, damn, it felt good.

The boys seem impressed but don’t say anything, and they go on with the lesson, Dougie teaching them as much as he can how to feel a wave. They won’t get it right away, and it’s going to take even longer for them to surf in any way gracefully, but they’re good enough. Dougie feels like they’re instinctive with some things in their lives.

After a few hours, the three of them are on the beach, and both Danny and Harry look absolutely knackered. It makes Dougie smile.

“So, um. Is this what you do?”

“What, teach surf lessons? Nah, this is just for fun. I went Pro a few years ago already, got a break between competitions so I'm home for a while.”

“I told you he was a pro.”

“Oh, stop sucking up.”

Dougie laughs, wriggling his toes in the sand, warm and comforting under his feet, the sun beating down on them, sparkling off the water in showers of diamonds as the waves crash onto the shore.

“What do you two do then? I take it you work together? Or you're just together?”

Danny bursts out laughing, and it’s loud and obvious and it makes Dougie grin despite himself. He thought right, because well, when Danny laughs, his whole body does. Harry punches him in the shoulder good-naturedly, shaking his head with a smile.

“Nah, not together. Too many complications. We work together. We’re kind of. In a band.”

So that would be why they got some sort of instinct to them. Dougie tilts his head, nodding. He could have seen them together, though. The fact that there wasn’t any offended sputtering at his question makes him slightly happy. He hates dealing with homophobic people. He’s had enough of his fair share of guys to feel offended himself.

“Any big?”

“Kinda. We were getting there.”

“What happened?”

Dougie unzips his wetsuit, pushing it down to his waist, rolling his shoulders as the sun hits them, and he sees both Danny and Harry checking out the tattoo on his right arm before he stretches back on the sand, propped up on his elbows as he talks.

“Our bassist walked out on us about a month ago.”

“Twat.”

“Danny's still bitter.”

Dougie gives Danny a soft smile, watching the clouds passing over the guy’s eyes.

“As I see.”

Harry nudges Danny’s shoulder, making him sit up straighter. He plays with the grains of sand at his feet, letting it run between his fingers, and Dougie notices how big they are. Like, really big. God.

“So you’re on holidays?”

“Yeah. Taking a break. Tom, the third member of our band came along with his bird. So we’re kinda stuck together. Danny’s kinda dumb, but I deal with it.”

Dougie snorts a laugh as Danny punches Harry on the arm, glowering at him.

“I'm not dumb, we just think at different speeds.”

“You can say that again.”

Danny makes a face, and Dougie has the almost irrepressible urge to pet his hair and give him a beer. He doesn’t, though, (almost irrepressible) just smiles at Danny when he rolls his eyes at Harry, mouthing a ‘whatever’.

“And it’s not that we’re not feeling good here, but we did promise to meet up with Tom for lunch, didn’t we?”

“Um, yeah.”

Danny turns to Dougie, looking at him with something that looks half like a pout and half like a smirk. Dougie’s a little confused.

“So, well, it was fun.”

“Door's always open if you want another lesson some time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you're not completely hopeless.”

Harry snorts, brushing off his legs as he stands up, tugging on Danny's arm to get him up too.

“Well, we might see you around then.”

Dougie nods but doesn’t move, watching them leaving the boards against the white wood railing of his porch, and he figures that anyway, they need some fixing up as well, those two. He goes back himself in the water, gives himself a good, hard session, and when he gets out of the water, it’s way past lunch time.