Chapter Text
October 2014
The launch for the single is packed and raucous. Because Ed came up from nothing, and Harry makes friends like other people make cups of tea, the crowd is a bizarre mix of total nobodies – i.e. not Z-listers, but genuinely not-famous people – and dazzling superstars.
Their collaboration had had everyone wetting their knickers with delight, and that was just the press. Sugarscape swooned, and the NME did its Billy Idol sneer and called them a ‘killer commercial combination’. They were going to be huge. Maybe not as huge as 1D, but still pretty big. Ed had written most of the songs, but their first single was co-written. Nick had the advance taster from the record company, one of hundreds on a mailing list (not from Harry, like he used to, he’d thought mournfully, then he’d pulled himself together). Even though the title and lyrics had given him pause (it was called Hide Your Love and was very obviously a song about coming out) he’d loved it. He wondered whether he’d ever told Harry how much he loved his voice. He was pretty sure he hadn’t. He must have figured several platinum records and arenas full of screaming girls told Harry all he needed to know about his talent. He’d also worried about the song’s lyrics for ages and whether it was the right move, whether the public would be put off, and then he’d realised that Harry’s career was none of his business anymore, if it ever had been.
They wanted to keep the launch as low-key as possible so it’s just in some basement in Soho. Yeah, right, good idea lads, Nick thinks. Ed’s surrounded, Harry’s impossible to get to. Nick gets a drink and goes to find someone else to talk to. After some shouted pleasantries with a few industry bods, he finds Annie at the back. She’s managed to find one of the few chairs in the place and is having an edge-of-the-seat conversation with some kid with a pair of headphones round his neck and a Macbook on his lap. She looks up when he comes over.
‘Hey, babes. Come and meet Alex,’ she says nodding over at her friend. ‘He’s DJ-ing here later. Say something nice. He’s bricking it.’
Nick leans over to shake hands and says, ‘It’s only Harry and Ed.’ He looks around himself theatrically and leans forward. ‘You can play anything and they’ll be impressed.’
‘Harsh words, man,’ says Alex laughing. ‘I feel better already.’ He puts his headphones back on and goes back to the glow of the screen.
‘Budge over,’ Nick says to Annie. ‘Let me rest me tired legs.’
‘No room, mate,’ but she spreads her arms, drink in one hand, and pats her lap with the other. Nick takes her up on her invite, plumping himself down carelessly.
‘Oof, you fat bastard. Have you put on weight?’
‘Dunno.’ Then he coos, ‘Maybe I’m pregnant.’
‘That’d be the immaculate conception, for sure.’
‘Heeeyyy.’
‘Heeeyyy,’ she mimics. Then: ‘Spoken to Harry yet?’
‘Hair’s looking particularly hedgey tonight, darling,’ he evades, sticking a finger through one of her curls. She tells him to fuck off amiably, batting his hand away. He’s glad she’s here.
Later, the crowd thins a bit, and Nick’s thinking of going, but Harry seems to have disappeared. Ed doesn’t know where he is, no-one does. The cloakroom says his stuff’s still there, so he can’t have gone far. Nick could leave. He’s sure Harry would understand, but it feels wrong somehow.
Feels wrong somehow, mocks his subconscious nastily. Nick tells his subconscious to shut. up.
Okay, so he wants to see Harry, because he’s got the feeling he’s not going to get many more chances after this. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling so apocalyptic about it, but he does. Maybe Harry’s text-silence had rattled him more than he wants to admit. He starts poking about: the stalls in the gents; the kitchens (Harry loves nothing better than hanging out with the kitchen staff at showbiz parties); an empty function room upstairs. Nothing. When he gets back down to ground level and rounds a corner, he sees a fire exit at the end of the hallway he hadn’t spotted before, and as he approaches he can see it’s ajar, wedged open with its own panic-bar. Bingo.
He pushes it open gingerly. It scrapes loudly against the concrete floor outside, probably alerting half the local population to his presence and Harry too, if he’s out here. Which he is. Bopping the right toe of his £900 boots against the wall, fag in hand, and looking every bit the sulky rich teenager he isn’t anymore. He looks up when Nick appears and curls his lip.
‘Hello Nick Grimshaw,’ he says, a little sardonically. Harry doesn’t do sardonic very often.
‘Hello Harry Styles,’ Nick replies mildly. ‘What are you up to? Apart from smoking ineptly.’
Harry ignores the dig and shrugs. ‘Not much.’ He takes a drag on the cigarette. Nick realises from his movements – heavier and more dinosaur-like than usual – that he’s pretty drunk.
‘Why aren’t you in there?’ Harry gestures with the cigarette. ‘Shouldn’t you be networking or summat?’
‘Shouldn’t you?’
Harry shrugs. ‘Don’t need to.’
Wow, petulant too.
‘Look. I was gonna go. I came to…’
‘Bored already?’
‘No, there’s just not much point…’
‘You could have come talk to me.’
‘I’m talking to you now,’ says Nick patiently. He’s not totally sure what’s going on with Harry, but it’s probably best to keep it simple. ‘It was insane in there, Haz. You were surrounded.’
‘So you’re going now.’
‘Yeah Harry, but I’ll…’
‘You’ll what? Ring me? Invite me out for a drink? Oh no, wait…’ he says with heavy sarcasm.
And Nick’s heart breaks a tiny bit because Harry's right. He had been going to say 'I'll call you'. He’d completely forgotten they weren’t supposed to be friends, and that they couldn’t see each other like normal. It had flown out of his head the minute he’d seen Harry, which he knows is why he made the decision in the first place. But Harry remembered and he’d made Nick remember too: he’d given Harry up. Again. It was his choice.
Nick longs for him suddenly, as if he’s not standing right in front of him being a bit of an arse, as if it’s already some point in the future and he’s not seen him for months. Maybe we can be friends, he thinks. Maybe we can just go for a drink. And if Harry wants to come home with him after the pub, maybe they can do that too. Maybe Nick’ll take what he can get.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s all right,’ says Harry, voice like steel. ‘I get it. I get that I’m just an embarrassment to you now.’
Nick’s blind-sided. This is new. Then he thinks madly: had Harry somehow heard what he said to that DJ kid? It was a fucking joke, he wants to say.
‘What?’ he blurts.
Harry’s looking shrewdly at him.
‘You haven’t said anything about my song.’
‘I love it,’ he says simply.
‘Do you?’ Harry lopes over and peers at him.
Nick leans back a little. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘No,’ Harry decides. ‘No you don’t. You’re lying.’
‘What? I’m not lying,’ Nick says, genuinely stung. ‘Why would I lie to you?’
Harry is visibly pissed off and gearing up to saying something he’s possibly going to regret. Nick wants to tell him not to say it, whatever it is. But of course he can’t and Harry just ploughs ahead.
‘You don’t really like my songs,’ Harry says. ‘They’re embarrassing. Cheesy pop songs. Bit of a joke.’
‘Oh my god, are you kidding? Since when have I been scared of a bit of pop music?’
Harry’s looking mutinously at him and though yes, he’s a bit drunk, this has obviously been saved up, something real that’s bothered him for a while. Anger lights up in Nick, burning away whatever sadness he’d felt earlier. Harry wants a row? He’s got one.
‘Okay, honestly? Embarrassed? How dare you. I’d play your song even if Radio 1 had blacklisted it, but they didn’t, did they? They stuck it straight onto the A-list the second it was released. Of course they did. You know why? Because it’s really good.’ He’s talking to Harry like he’s an idiot but he doesn’t care. ‘I’m proud of you, Harry, I always have been. Of everything you do. I’m proud of your honesty. I’m proud of the fact that you’ve let none of the mad stuff that’s happened to you turn you into a wanker.’ Harry’s looking a bit taken aback now, maybe even sorry, but Nick’s not finished. ‘I do love your song. I think it’s a great pop song and I love your voice in it. I’ve always loved your voice, by the way, in case you ever wondered.’
Harry is smiling now, a funny little lopsided smile.
‘When you can tell it’s me singin’ ’ he says.
Nick nods seriously.
‘Yes, Harold. When I can tell it’s you singing, I love your voice.’
‘You’d have been stuffed if Ed had been singing too,’ Harry goes on. ‘It’d have been “It’s Zayn!” “No! It’s Niall!” “Oh, wait. That’s Harry. That’s definitely Harry.”’
‘Hey, not fair,’ Nick says, smile building. ‘I could tell, eventually.’
‘When you were watching the videos.’
‘Pictures helped, yeah, definitely.’
They’re both smirking at each other now, and their bickering is like putting on an old coat, and Nick counts it as a save, until they fall silent and Harry’s grin fades a little.
‘So if I’m not some embarrassing kid you don’t want to be seen with... why don’t you want to see me? Are you pissed off with me?’
Nick sighs.
‘Pissed off? No Haz, it’s not… shit…’ He drags a hand through his hair. Maybe he’s not going to get out of this with any dignity intact after all. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’
~
They go to Bar Italia, coffee machines deafening in the background and neon bright overhead. Highlights of AC Milan playing some other team are on the crappy TV and no-one bats an eyelid at them. Double espresso and a glass of tap-water for Harry, black Americano for Nick. They hide themselves at a tiny table in the back, knees touching. Harry drains nearly the whole glass of water in one go before putting it down and burping softly. Then he drags over the sugar dispenser and up-ends it four times into his coffee. Nick makes a face.
‘That’s disgusting.’
‘So you always say,’ says Harry, stirring the coffee. ‘Said,’ he corrects himself. ‘Say,’ he finally decides on.
Nick feels inexpressibly sad all of a sudden. Harry’s not built for this complicated shit. Harry just wants to love his friends and for them to love him back.
‘I’m sorry,’ Nick says, realising it’s the second time that night he’s said it.
‘It’s all right, Grimmy. It’s only a bit of sugar.’
‘No. I meant.’ Nick unwraps one of his hands from around his cup and spreads it into an awkward fan. ‘I’m sorry for all of this. That I made you think I didn’t even like you.’
‘What else was I supposed to think?’ Harry says, blowing across his coffee. ‘You don’t wanna be friends wimme, you don’t want ‘owt else.’
His Cheshire always breaks out when he’s had a few. He gingerly takes a sip of his coffee.
‘I don’t mean to be confusing. I just.’ Nick leans his cheek on his hand and lets out a breath. ‘Fuck, this is hard.’
‘Tellin’ me. You don’t want owt to do wimme. But hey!’ Harry’s face lights up tiredly. ‘It’s all right, cos you think I’m great!’ He hiccups and puts the coffee down. ‘Thanks for that, by the way,’ he adds. ‘Was a nice speech.’
‘Welcome.’
Harry settles sideways on the chair, his back to the wall, eyes half-flicking to the football. He’s not looking at Nick now, which might make this easier.
‘Okay. Here’s the thing,’ Nick says. ‘It’s really hard for me to be around you. Because I think all those things about you. Because I’m so proud of you. Because I … like you as much as I do. Do you get it?’
Harry shakes his head, eyes still on the football. Nick suddenly gets the feeling he’s being deliberately obtuse. Fuck. Why had he thought it was a good idea to have this conversation now? At 2am, in the middle of the noisiest fucking café in London, with Harry not exactly sober? You really pick your moments, don’t you Grimshaw?
‘Because it was nice while it lasted,’ he says tartly, his patience gone. He can’t be bothered to be careful anymore. ‘But it was what it was. It was a fling…’
Harry jerks his head towards Nick.
‘It was not a fucking fling and you know it.’
‘… a hot fling,’ Nick presses on, ignoring Harry. ‘That was hot partly because we had to keep it a secret.’
‘Bollocks.’
‘But we’ve moved on now. Or you’ve moved on, but I still have stupid feelings that I can’t…’
Harry’s fully turned back to Nick now, football forgotten.
‘I sent you that text! I said, “not just friends”.’
‘I know! I don’t just want sex from you Harry.’
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he feels completely exposed. Christ, what did it matter now?
‘And it took you two weeks,’ Nick rants on, because apparently this had been bothering him too. ‘Ooh, spontaneous, Styles. Eager. You must really have wanted it. If it took weeks to think you may as well fuck your old…’
‘Shut up,’ hisses Harry. ‘Shut the fuck up.’
Nick clamps his mouth shut, breathing hard through his nose and Harry’s eyes flash green and fully awake.
‘You don’t know anything,’ he says. His mouth is working, tense. ‘I came back to London. I came out. I came to your birthday for fucks sake. I thought that’d be enough for you to get the message, but obviously not. So let me spell it out for you, Nick. In words of one syllable.’ And he punctuates each word by poking the top of the formica table with his index finger. ‘I. Came. Back. For. You. Did you honestly not get that?’
Nick feels like Road Runner, treading air over the drop that’s just opened up below him. He’s going to look such a fool when he hits the bottom.
‘I know I didn’t say it before,’ Harry goes on. ‘Which was maybe a bit stupid, but. You’ve just been so weird, Nick. Jumpy and ready to run off. Pulling away from me. Not even flirting, just looking bored and tired. I wasn’t sure of you anymore. I thought you might be angry with me. So I thought I’d try for what I could get, and it turns out you wouldn’t even give me that.’
Harry looks baffled and sad.
‘My cunning plan worked then,’ Nick says bleakly.
‘Nearly.’ Harry shakes his head at Nick.
Nick can’t take Harry’s expression right at that moment, and looks down at his cup, his fingers propped either side of it. He tries to arrange his feelings and work out what he’s thinking and fails. All that comes to him is that on a scale of one to incredibly stupid he’s broken the measure. Why the bloody hell Harry would want to be with anyone like that is beyond him at the moment.
And then Harry’s hand appears in his line of vision and gently takes hold of Nick’s fingers, tugging them away from his cup. Nick looks up and watches, strangely detached, as Harry draws Nick’s hand towards himself. He covers it with both of his – warm and dry, Nick registers distantly – and smoothes it between them like it’s a small animal. Then he turns it over and leans down to kiss the palm before lifting it to his cheek, holding it there. Nick trails his thumb automatically over Harry’s cheekbone.
‘You fucking dickhead,’ Harry says quietly. They smile wearily at each other.
~
They get a cab and from force of habit they each sit on their own side, like they used to in the old days, a hand splayed on the seat between them, almost-but-not-quite touching. When they pull up outside Nick’s flat he sits forward with his hand on the door-handle and says to his knees, ‘I’m not gonna invite you in. I think we should take this slowly. So let’s… I’ll ring…’
‘I think that’s a crap idea,’ Harry interrupts gently. ‘I’m really tired. I want to come in with you.’
‘Um,’ says Nick, still looking at his knees. ‘Ok.’
They get in and say hello to Ruby. Nick leaves Harry to settle her back in her blanket and pads through to the bedroom and turns on the lamps. Harry follows, dumping his jacket on the chair in the corner and hauling his shirt over his head. Then he goes through to the bathroom and rummages in the cupboard where Nick keeps spare toothbrushes (and floss and abandoned shampoo.) After stripping to his pants and t-shirt, Nick joins him, and they brush together for a minute or two, catching each other’s eye in the mirror, as if they do this every night. Harry finishes first and when Nick switches off the bathroom light and goes back through to the bedroom, Harry’s in bed, lying on his side, watching him.
‘Bloody hell,’ Nick says, nervously breaking the silence. ‘Maybe we should just skip the next twenty years and get some twin beds now.’
Harry doesn’t say anything, just lifts the covers and looks at Nick, and Nick feels something powerful roll through him, something that makes him genuinely speechless. He gets into bed, and they lie on their sides, facing each other, a pillow each. They used to do this too sometimes. Just lie there and chat. It wasn’t all impatient grabbing (though it was mostly). Nick reaches out to ruffle Harry’s hair, running his palm across the soft brush, feeling it tickle.
‘This is still weird,’ he says. ‘Does it feel weird?’
‘A bit. Getting used to it.’
‘When did you get it done?’
‘’Bout a month after the tour ended,’ Harry says, reaching out to stroke his thumb across Nick’s bottom lip. ‘Liam did it the first time actually. I didn’t want to tell anyone.’
‘Seriously? What did Lou say?’
Harry grins sheepishly. ‘She went mental.’
‘I bet she did.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, I do. Suits you.’ Nick takes Harry’s chin between his thumb and index knuckle. ‘You and your amazing face,’ he says, half-joking, half perfectly serious, like he always did.
Harry moves forward then and presses his mouth softly against Nick’s. Neither of them move for a while, just feeling it. Then one of them shifts a little, Nick doesn’t know who, and suddenly they swim towards each other across the few inches of space that separates them to hold each other and press their mouths urgently together and Nick is dizzy with having missed Harry and got him back and he breaks away, a little breathless, and drops his forehead onto Harry’s shoulder. He can feel Harry idly stroking the back of his head.
‘Y’okay?’
He nods against Harry’s shoulder and takes a shaky breath.
‘Just knackered.’
Harry gathers him closer and Nick burrows into him.
‘Let’s go sleep.’
~
Light.
It’s light waking him, not noises or alarms.
Not blinding, but lighter than usual. In fact it’s as light as it ever gets in his bedroom, with the thick blinds. It must be the weekend. Sunday? Maybe.
He’s lying on his back. He feels heavy, warm. He doesn’t move yet. What’s he wearing? T-shirt and pants. That’s normal. There’s something different though. Something’s changed. He’s not in the middle of the bed, he’s off to the right a bit. There’s a clue. He looks at the ceiling for a little while. Then he hears a noise, one he didn’t make. The door’s shut so it’s not the dog.
There it is again. A long inhaling breath, someone sleeping.
Nick turns towards the sound automatically and as he does, everything from the night before comes falling back into his head: where he was, who he was with, the conversation they’d had. By the time he’s lying on his side, looking at the dark-haired head on the other pillow, and the bare shoulders and back, he’s remembered everything.
Harry. It’s Harry. Harry is here again, in his bed.
Out of rusty old habit, out of desire, because he simply can’t help it, because he can, he reaches for Harry’s shoulder and feels the warm skin under his palm. He smoothes it down the shoulder blade and inches closer, sliding his hand down Harry’s side, tucking his knees against the backs of Harry’s, feeling Harry move his body in his sleep to take Nick’s. Harry snuffles a bit, and Nick drops his face into the crook of Harry’s neck and breathes in. There was never a time when he was with Harry that he didn’t do this. It’s automatic, like breathing. He lies there for a little while, feeling how their bodies fit together, his hand resting on Harry’s hip. Harry hasn’t woken, his breathing still deep and regular. If he’s sleeping as heavily as Nick, it’ll probably take a bomb to wake him. Nick doesn’t mind. He’s got all day.
He scoots away and sits up, dragging his t-shirt over his head and tossing it over the side, then lies back and slides his underwear off, treading it out of the end of the bed. Then he turns back to Harry and curls up against him again, feeling all Harry’s lovely skin against his, expecting to fall back to sleep.
Five minutes later he’s still awake. And a little bit bored. He runs the tip of his nose idly along Harry’s shoulder then back again to the nape of his neck where he places a gentle kiss. There’s no hair to nuzzle into anymore – it had held the intense smell of Harry even after he’d washed it – but there are other nice things. Nick had never paid much attention to the bones at the top of Harry’s spine for instance, which he does now. He follows them down Harry’s back, dragging his mouth softly over the knobs and Harry shifts in his sleep again, letting out a small sigh. Nick doesn’t know why he’s doing this when Harry can’t feel it. Is he trying to wake him? Probably. Sorry Harry, Nick thinks.
He also just – he hasn’t had a chance to do this in a long time. He’s not sure if he ever has, so he’s taking it.
He moves out from Harry’s spine to his shoulder blades, breathing in his skin, dropping kisses where he feels like it. He’s still got one hand on Harry’s hip, lying with his head resting on the other arm stretched above his head. It’s surprisingly comfy, and doesn’t require much movement. He’s going to have to shift down at some point though, because he wants to get at the two dimples in the small of Harry’s back. If Nick’s less familiar with the top of Harry’s spine, he is intimate with those dimples. He’s itching for a reunion. Meanwhile Harry shifts again, makes another noise, and Nick tries to feel bad for waking him but he just can’t. The dimples await. He starts moving down, pushing the duvet down as he slides down the bed. Somewhere around Harry’s hip he starts alternating the kisses with gentle bites – making Harry’s sleep-breaths turn whimpery – because he’s never been able to resist the plumpness Harry always has around there. It’s less plump now, but there’s still something to bite into.
Nick’s feet are threatening to dangle off the bottom of the bed but he doesn’t care because he’s found what he’s after and is fitting his thumbs in the dimples briefly before lowering his face towards them to feel them with his mouth. And judging from the way he’s pushing back against Nick and the noises he’s making, Nick’s pretty sure Harry’s awake now.
Ah, what a shame, he thinks insincerely. He nibbles his way back to Harry’s hip and starts making his way over the top, sliding his arm over Harry’s legs to stroke his thighs idly. He props his chin on Harry’s hipbone and sees what he can see.
Hi, he thinks. Hi.
Harry is gorgeously hard, his cock swollen and almost swaying, touching his belly, and just as Nick’s contemplating exactly what he’s going to do with it, he feels a hand tangling in his hair and hears a long, husky ‘Mmmmmm.’S’nice,’ somewhere above him.
‘Hiya,’ he says, his own voice a little croaky from sleep still. He feels Harry’s hand tighten in his hair and he starts to roll over under him. Nick ends up lying between Harry’s thighs looking up at him over his unignorable dick. ‘Sorry for waking you.’
‘No you’re not,’ Harry slurs out around a knowing smile.
‘No,’ Nick agrees. ‘I’m not.’ He dips his head to run the tip of his nose up the underside of Harry’s cock and Harry gives another approving hum. Nick shuffles his way up on his elbows, careful not to touch anything before placing his tongue hotly against the head of Harry’s cock, for maximum impact. He can taste the sweet tang of salt there already.
‘Aa-ah,’ Harry stutters out and Nick feels Harry’s hand tighten in his hair. ‘You better be going somewhere with that.’
‘Might be,’ says Nick, taking his mouth away and moving further up. ‘Might just tongue your belly-button for a while,’ he adds and does just that. ‘That all right?’
Harry growls out a ‘no’ and Nick sniggers. Wow, what happened to his new maturity?
‘Or maybe I’ll just…’ he says and moves back down to take Harry whole into his mouth and throat, all the way down, and Harry gasps, and all the stupid jokes are knocked out of Nick. His eyes water a bit, partly because Harry’s nearly taken his hair out by the roots, partly because he hasn’t sucked cock like this in a while and partly because, well, it’s nice. It’s really nice to have Harry like this again. He lets out his own involuntary moan and Harry pushes up into his mouth as if he’s trying to chase the sound and Nick has to hold Harry’s hips down so he doesn’t choke.
‘Sorry,’ says Harry breathlessly. ‘It’s just. Fuck.’
Yeah, fuck. Nick drags his mouth up, making full use of his tongue, and then sinks back down and Harry moans and pushes up again. Nick’s holding him so he doesn’t get very far, but as long as he can control it he’ll let Harry fuck his mouth. Harry knows it, because he takes his hands off Nick’s head and out of the corner of his eye Nick sees them winding into the sheets instead. They find a messy rhythm, and Nick thinks that the sound of Harry’s shaky breaths as he holds himself back, remixed by Calvin and set to a backing track would be number one in seventy-four countries for the next three years. He closes his eyes and sucks and listens. He spreads himself across the bottom half of Harry’s body, arms winding up his sides, knees coming up under Harry’s thighs pushing Harry deeper into his mouth because Nick’s throat is bottomless for Harry.
Harry’s started on the high-pitched stuff when Nick feels a tug on his hair.
‘Hey,’ Harry pants. ‘Come up. Come here. Gonna come otherwise.’
Nick pulls off long enough to say ‘That’s sort of the point, Styles,’ his voice a little wrecked, and goes back to what he was doing.
‘Nooo,’ Harry says in that five-year-old, you’re-not-doing-it-properly voice which Nick supposes would be disturbing if he stopped to think about it. ‘Not yet. Want you here, with me. Want us to come together.’
Nick slides off again, Harry’s cock shining with spittle and pre-come, and says ‘Ah, that’s sweet, Hazza.’
‘Yeah,’ he pulls on Nick’s hair again, enough to make Nick bring his hand up to clamp onto Harry’s wrist to stop him doing it again. ‘So come here.’
Nick lets out a big martyrish sigh and starts crawling up Harry until he’s caging him on all fours. Harry pushes his hips up towards Nick and their cocks brush lightly against each other, sparking.
‘Here,’ Harry insists, making it into two separate words. Hee. Yer.
‘Needy,’ scolds Nick.
‘Yeah, I am,’ says Harry feelingly. ‘I haven’t had you in so long. Fucking give.’ He grabs at Nick’s hips, pulling him down.
‘Aw, babes,’ Nick says lowering himself, his necklace swinging and brushing against Harry’s chest. ‘When you put it like that.’ But 'that' trails off into an ‘…aaah,’ as his cock slides against Harry’s, and he thrusts reflexively while Harry grabs Nick’s arse and pushes up against him. God, young Styles has the best ideas sometimes.
‘Mmm, yeah,’ Harry murmurs as Nick sinks between Harry’s thighs and ruts helplessly against him. He props himself on his forearms and drops his face down to Harry’s, their mouths coming together open, smash bang, teeth pinching, tongues deep inside, matching their thrusts, doing what their bodies should be doing, and right then Nick can’t wait to fuck Harry, the thought giving an extra roll to his thrusts making them both moan. They have to do this first though, come and come quickly, as it’s not gonna be long for either of them and they can’t waste something as logistically complicated as fucking on something this frantic and fast. Harry is pushing up against Nick urgently, making frustrated little noises, and Nick matches his rhythm perfectly, desperate to give Harry what he needs, and the rubbing is almost painful, but luckily there’s enough pre-come from both of them to slick their way.
They stop kissing, just holding their faces near each other, transfixed as they move against each other. Nick can already feel his orgasm boiling up from his toes, and he knows Harry’s close too. As if to confirm it, he gasps out ‘Gonna come,’ his fingers digging deep into the tender flesh of Nick’s arse before his face crumples – mouth turning down and forehead creasing – and he goes still. Then it’s like his whole body pulses and Nick feels warmth spread between them, covering his dick. He doesn’t make much noise, Nick notes, just an effortful sigh, and that’s new, and Nick tucks that away for future reference. He shuffles his knees up so he can sit over Harry, straddling his thighs and using Harry’s come to wank himself off. Harry is idly fingering a nipple with one hand and pinching gently at his softening dick with the other, his face is flushed full red, and his eyes, when he opens them to look at Nick, are glassy with banked lust.
He’s filth, and he’s Nick’s.
His orgasm slams through him, making him tip over and hold himself above Harry on one hand as he strokes the last of his come out onto Harry’s stomach. Harry raises his fingers to Nick’s mouth and dabbles them inside his lips and Nick catches them, sucking them in as he comes down. He’s breathing hard and he sits back on his heels, taking hold of Harry’s wrist and sliding their fingers together. He brings Harry’s hand to his mouth to kiss Harry’s knuckles. Harry reaches up with his other hand and opens and closes it in a grabby little gesture, and Nick lies down beside Harry so they face each other, like they did last night, only dirtier, stomachs sticky with come, thighs sliding together, fingers touching faces, uncomplicatedly happy.
‘Hey,’ they say. ‘Hey.’
~
The cold is getting sharper and the leaves are beginning to fall. Nick’s wearing a scarf and wishing for gloves, his hands shoved in his pockets, watching Harry throw a stick for Ruby. It’s a month or so later and they’re in Heaton Park, home for the weekend. They’ve just had lunch with Anne in town, who’d squeezed them both unusually hard when they said goodbye, and possibly had a shinier eye than was strictly normal. No mysteries who Harry took after in that family.
Harry and Ruby hare about for a while before running back to Nick. Ruby jumps up and Nick bends down and lets her lick his face. Harry bangs his big football-manager gloves together.
‘Freezing, eh?’
Nick straightens up, Ruby still jumping at his knees, and says, ‘Give me one of them,’ and reaches out to draw one of Harry’s hands towards him to start tugging the glove off.
‘Heeeeyy,’ says Harry, but lets Nick pull it off anyway. Nick puts it on (it’s warm from Harry’s hand) and beams.
‘Thanks, Haz. You’re a treasure.’ He pats Harry’s cheek with his newly gloved hand.
‘Too right I am,’ Harry says and catches Nick’s wrist to pull him closer. They kiss, Nick feeling the rough leather of Harry’s glove against his cheek. Harry’s mouth is whipped cream on hot chocolate, hot and cold at once. They pull apart and stand there for a little while, grinning at each other like fucking idiots.
They walk back, bumping each other off the path, putting their non-gloved hands in each other’s pockets, and decide to go for a cheeky beer before heading up to Nick’s mum and dad’s where they’re due for their tea. They find somewhere near the park, a tired gastro-pub with big windows and sofas and bookcases. There’s hardly anyone in, which suits them fine. Harry spots a pile of scuffed boardgames on one of the shelves and Nick rolls his eyes when he makes a beeline for them. Nick comes back from the bar with their drinks to find Ruby settled under the table and Harry setting up the Scrabble board.
‘Jesus, you’re addicted. I thought you’d have got weaned off that when you were away.’
‘Shut up and play, Grimshaw. I won the dice toss. I’m going first.’
‘I’m not even sitting down yet,’ Nick complains. Harry’s already spelling out his first word. Nick looks down at the board.
‘D I C K’
‘Starting small, I see Styles,’ he says, taking a swig from his Budvar. ‘You’ll never get anywhere with a little one like that.’
Harry shakes his head. ‘You did not just say that.’
Nick puts down the bottle. ‘All right, let’s be having you. Time for the professionals.’
He sets up his letters and looks at what he’s got. It’s a dream come true. He uses Harry’s ‘K’ to spell out F U C K E R which hits a double-word score as well.
‘Right. This is on, you bastard,’ Harry says, wriggling forward on the sofa to hunch over his letter tray.
Harry’s forehead creases as he moves the letter tiles around in their stand, glancing at the board every now and then. Ruby shifts restlessly at his feet and he reaches down to scratch her neck. He picks up his bottle to take a drink and looks up, catching Nick watching him.
'I love you,' Nick says. He thought he'd been going to say 'Hurry up, loser.'
Harry pauses with his beer halfway back to the table, then smiles a big smile at Nick.
‘Yeah,’ he agrees, putting the bottle down, and they look at each other for a little while before Harry goes back to his letters.
Nick looks around at the pub. The barman is at the end of the bar, a paper flattened out in front of him, lime and soda sweating beside him; a woman sitting by the window with a pint, checking her phone; an old bloke, all red face and iron-grey hair, is staring at the telly, nearly empty Guinness in front of him.
Nick spots a Sun lying on the next table over. At the top of the sidebar on the front page he can see a blurry picture of him and Harry walking down a street together, the picture catching the moment in their arm swing where it looks like they’re holding hands, with the headline ‘Harry Back With Old Flame?’. For a minute he can’t even think when the picture might have been taken, then he remembers – last Thursday, Gloucester Avenue. He thinks about pointing it out to Harry and then doesn’t. He thinks about them kissing in the park and wonders if there were any paps out there, freezing in their cars with their elephant-gun lenses who caught them, or even just some twat with a smartphone and a Twitter account. Good luck to them, thinks Nick, and takes another sip of his beer, and watches Harry spell out his next word on the board.