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Nick sighed, closing the door behind the last of his guests. Well, nearly the last of his guests. He slowly turned to face his living room, eyes carefully avoiding the mess piled up on his dining room table – Maybe if I just go to bed, Aimee will clean it in the morning, and the flat will be back to normal by the time I get home from work… Stop kidding yourself, Grimshaw – and settling on the teenager draped over his couch.
Nick knew perfectly well that Harry would be lying across the couch, just as he had been when he’d turned to face the door, but seeing Harry always startled him a little bit. He let his eyes wander over his impossibly long legs, the planes of his torso covered only by a thin, white t-shirt, and finally up to his stupid face and those stupid pink cheeks.
He’d like to blame it on the mulled wine – or rather the mulled Jaeger bombs – but he knew full well that, even stone cold sober, the majority of the time he spent with Harry was spent fighting the uncontrollable urge to grab him by the face and crash their lips together. Most of the time he was successful because he knew that being careless about these types of things could be disastrous to Harry’s career, but sometimes it was just too difficult.
He shook his head, pulling himself out of a particularly delicious reverie - kissing Harry’s lips, still sugar sweet from the pudding, and feeling his tongue, slow and heavy with wine, moving in his mouth – just in time to catch Harry smirking at him from the couch, as if knowing full well what Nick’s mind had been up to.
“Oi, popstar, off ya go. Some of us have got work in the morning, you know,” he said.
Harry just grunted and flopped over onto his side. “Can’t drive, too much wine,” he murmured into the couch cushion. And it seemed genuine enough until his eyes flashed up at Nick mischievously, and he added, “I’ll just sleep in your bed.”
Nick sighed and moved toward the couch, picking up a couple discarded plates from the coffee table as an excuse for closing the distance between them. However, he promptly set them back down again in almost exactly the same spot. “Can’t do that. Last thing we need is another picture in the Sun of you leaving my house in the morning looking all smiley and disheveled.”
And suddenly, just like that, Nick was thinking about Harry’s bedhead. Still curled up on the couch, or making tea in various states of undress – and, oh, waking up suddenly at the sound of Nick’s alarm, looking around groggily, and then promptly snuggling back down into the sheets, an arm thrown carelessly across Grimmy’s chest. He really was unbearably fond of the boy sitting across from him.
Harry just looked at him from under his eyelashes, no particular expression set in his eyes, as if he was used to this tactic winning people over without having to put any real effort into it.
Nick sat down on the end of the couch, chuckling, “I’m twenty-eight, not seventeen. You’re gonna have to work a little harder than that, Styles. How about I call a cab?”
Harry resettled his weight, stretching out his legs so that his feet ended up in Grimmy’s lap. He seemed to have entirely disregarded the question about the cab, but the “work harder” bit had clearly left an impression because Harry suddenly took a special interest in one of the candy canes that had been lying on the table.
Seeing Harry hollow out his cheeks around the candy stick was arousing almost to the point of being dizzying, and Nick had to remind himself to breathe, so he could at least try to seem nonplussed.
“Quit being a twat,” Nick said. And judging by the quick, almost imperceptible flash of hurt in Harry’s eyes, perhaps his feigned disdain had come across a bit too real. Harry didn’t bother to remove the candy cane, but now it was just sort of sadly hanging out of the side of his mouth.
Grimmy knew that if they stayed seated on this couch much longer, he would be defeated. The America trip promising a stretch of Harry-less days in his near future. The comfortable weight of Harry’s legs in his lap a persistent reminder of how close, close, close he was to the person he wanted most in the world.
He could try to play the grown-up card all he wanted, but his brain kept slipping away to tangling his hands in Harry’s curls, burying his face in Harry’s neck, and taking Harry’s plump bottom lip, still sticky from the candy cane, between his teeth.
For God’s sake.
It would be so easy, he knew – too easy – to take Harry by his stupid, giant hand and pull him into the bedroom. So easy to slip both of their shirts off and to feel the heat of Harry’s chest pressed flush against his. So easy to tangle their tongues together, like he knew they were both aching to do. So easy to dip his tongue into the hollows of Harry’s collarbones and to feel the shivers that would run through his body.
So easy to catch Aimee’s judging eyes in the morning, asking him without any words what he was doing taking a teenager into his bed over and over again, far too frequently to explain away as a drunken lapse in judgment. So easy for Harry to be photographed on his way out in the morning, oblivious of how much being in a relationship with a man a decade older than him could affect his public image.
Nick stood up suddenly. “Put your coat on, popstar, I’ll drive you home. Let me just pop into the loo first.”
Harry looked slightly disappointed, but he sat up and placed the candy cane onto the stack of dirty plates before defeatedly looking for his coat.
The car ride was mostly silent, with Nick staring at the road, and Harry slumped in his seat looking out the passenger window. When Nick pulled up in front of the house, Harry turned to him, “Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I’ll drop round to pick up my car in the morning.”
But as he reached for the door, Nick stopped him by placing a hand on his knee. “Don’t you think I should make sure you get inside okay? Y’know, considering you were too drunk to drive yourself home and all?”
Harry’s eyes simultaneously lit up and became darker. And suddenly, Nick was hyper aware of how close they were. His hand resting heavily on Harry’s knee, their elbows barely brushing. It was much too much to remain in the cramped car with all of the tension, and he knew that if they didn’t get out soon, they probably wouldn’t even make it into the house before they undressed each other.
So he quickly opened his door, walking around the car to open Harry’s too – never let it be said that Nick Grimshaw wasn’t a gentleman.
As soon as Harry was out of the car, he was attached to Nick’s side, still disbelieving that Grimmy had actually given in to him.
They were crowded in the doorway as Harry searched through his coat pockets one-handed for his keys, his other hand linked with Nick’s. Just the familiar feeling of Harry’s hand in his drove away any qualms that Nick had been having about bedding a teenage pop sensation for the umpteenth time this month.
And then the door was open, and then it was closed, and Nick found himself pressed against it, Harry moving his mouth sloppily and enthusiastically against his. And, oh God, his lips still tasted faintly of peppermint and wine, and it was almost enough to take the breath right out of him. He had to gather himself twice before he was finally able to grab Harry by the shoulders and bring his lips to his ear to whisper, “Hey, slow, we’ve got the whole night still.”
Harry nuzzled into his touch, and sighed, “Sorry I guess I’m just worried you’re gonna change your mind again.”
Nick felt a sudden pang of guilt at Harry’s honesty. All of his confliction about their relationship – or whatever it was – must have been infuriatingly confusing for Harry, to whom this all seemed abundantly simple.
In response, Nick placed his lips back on top of Harry’s so that they were barely touching, and led Harry’s hand to the crotch of his pants, where he was already half-hard (Just from kissing, like some sort of horny teenager, he thought to himself). Harry let out a breathy laugh, half amused and half aroused, and Nick felt his lips curl into a smile.
“Bedroom?” Harry mumbled, lips still pressed to Nick’s.
Nick just hummed in response, and Harry led him by the hand, through the halls he knew almost as well as his own, to Harry’s unmade bed. Nick pushed off a pile of laundry and sat on the edge, kicking his shoes off. Before he knew it, Harry pushed him back, lips hovering just above his.
Nick arched his neck, so his lips would be pressed against Harry’s. Harry had one hand cupping Grimmy’s face as he licked, hot and sweet, into his mouth. He trailed warm, wet kisses across Grimmy’s jaw and down his neck, eliciting a soft sigh.
“Too many clothes,” Harry whispered into his neck, tugging at the hem of Nick’s shirt.
Nick sat up to pull his shirt off in one swift motion, pulling Harry’s off too before settling back down onto the bed.
Harry was laying half on top of Nick, and Nick was pressing quick kisses across the newly exposed flesh, across his collarbones and onto his shoulder. He reached a hand up to softly trace the outline of the sparrows tattooed on Harry’s chest, whispering, “Have I mentioned lately how much I like these?”
Harry moved his leg, so that he was straddling Nick’s lap, taking a moment to smirk down at him before swiftly bending at the waist to press a kiss onto Nick’s shoulder, dragging his tongue through the hollow above Nick’s clavicle. Grimmy sighed and tilted his head back, exposing the stretch of his neck. Harry accepted this invitation eagerly, kissing up Nick’s neck until their mouths were pressed together once again. Grimmy ran his hands down Harry’s back, reveling at the goosebumps they left in their wake, and settled them on his hips.
At that point, Harry ground his hips down into Nick’s, earning a quiet moan in response. Things always moved too quickly once their hips were locked together like this.
Partly because they hardly saw each other anymore, and when they did see each other there were always people around, and when they were alone, Nick was always doing everything in his power to prevent them from fucking.
But also partly because Harry was still, after all, an eighteen year old boy. And with the way Grimmy was unabashedly grinding his hips back up into Harry’s, he might as well have been a teenager too.
And sure enough, Harry soon broke their fervent kiss to breathlessly whisper, “Please,” and to move his hips in a small circle.
Nick toyed with the idea of making him wait, but figured that all of his mixed signals earlier in the evening had been enough teasing for the both of them. So he took Harry by the arms, rolling so that he was poised over him.
“I’m gonna suck you off,” Grimmy mumbled, lips still pressed against Harry’s. Harry’s only response was a choked little moan that made Grimmy want to devour him.
Grimmy got up, the tangle of legs making his ascent less graceful than he would have liked, and sank to his knees, hooking his hands under Harry’s knees and pulling him to the edge of the bed. He ran his hand once, painfully slowly, over the front of Harry’s jeans before undoing the fly and pulling them down.
“Jesus, could your jeans get any tighter?” Nick asked, struggling. Harry lifted his hips off and yanked his jeans and pants down past his knees, and then used his feet to remove them completely.
This left Grimmy in the perfect position to marvel at Harry. His curls splayed out on the mattress, his lips puffy from kissing, his cheeks and chest flushed pink with arousal, and his dick resting hard and heavy on his taut stomach.
“Eager, are we?” Nick had been aiming for coy, but mostly just ended up sounding breathless.
“Little bit. Yours too, yeah?” Harry replied, gesturing to Nick’s trousers, which were feeling uncomfortably tight. He rose just long enough to undress and then settled back onto his knees.
He kissed up and down Harry’s thighs for what felt like an unbearably long time, Harry squirming impatiently beneath him, before taking Harry’s cock in his hand and licking one long stripe from the base to the tip.
Harry let out a heavy exhale of relief at the long-awaited contact. Nick took the tip of Harry’s cock in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head. Harry immediately started to rock his hips upward, desperate to feel the wet heat of Nick’s mouth around him.
Nick obliged almost immediately, sliding his mouth down to the middle of Harry’s dick and wrapping his hand around the part that wasn’t in his mouth. Nick started slowly bobbing his head and twisting his hand in time, prompting a sweet, “Oh” to leave Harry’s lips.
The contrast between how innocent Harry sounded and how decidedly not innocent the scenario was was too much for Nick, and he quickly shoved his free hand between his own legs to stroke his length.
Nick tried to keep the pace slow, drawing out their orgasms, but Harry’s hips were rocking with quick and shallow thrusts to meet Nick’s mouth, and Harry’s hands were in Nick’s hair, and Harry was making these soft sounds, like he’d been waiting for ages for this to happen – and Nick just wanted to give him everything.
So Nick came up for a deep breath and then slid back down until he felt his nose press against Harry’s belly. Any discomfort at having a cock slide down the back of his throat was quickly forgotten as soon as Harry hissed his name and tightened his grip in Grimmy’s hair.
“Fuck,” Harry said, and then repeated it again twice more. Nick could feel Harry struggling not to thrust upwards, so he lifted his mouth, Harry’s dick leaving his lips with a slight pop.
And with one hand working Harry’s cock and the other working his own, Grimmy leaned forward and said, “S’okay, I want you to fuck my mouth.”
“Fuck. Grimmy.” Harry’s hips rocked up off the bed and into Grimmy’s touch just at the thought of it.
Grimmy slid back down, and Harry let out a drawn out moan. It didn’t take long for his thrusts to become short and quick, his hands tightening in Grimmy’s hair, and a string of meaningless syllables falling from his lips. He pulled Grimmy’s head toward him one last time and suddenly he was coming down Nick’s throat.
Grimmy sputtered a little but ultimately managed to swallow before climbing back onto the bed and straddling Harry’s chest, hand still working quickly on his cock.
“Let me,” Harry nearly begged, replacing Nick’s hand with his own. “Want you to come on my face,” Harry said simply, like he was talking about the weather or the band’s next single.
Grimmy groaned and tilted his head back, suddenly feeling infinitely closer, his hips rocking mindlessly into Harry’s fist.
“God, you’re filthy, aren’t you?” Grimmy asked breathlessly, but Harry only smiled up at him, hand still working deftly.
And soon, far too soon, Nick was coming in hot spurts across Harry’s mouth and cheeks.
He dragged his fingers across Harry’s face, then tucked them into Harry’s mouth, so he could taste. Harry sucked them in obligingly, his eyelids fluttering, and making the remnants of arousal churn in Nick’s belly.
Nick sank down onto the bed, and Harry was immediately at his side, his head tucked against Nick’s shoulder.
“It can be like this all the time, you know,” Harry said, pulling the blankets over them.
“I wish, popstar,” Nick replied, nuzzling his face into Harry’s sweat dampened curls.
The next morning, Nick slipped quietly out of Harry’s house, figuring that Harry could use a lie in, consider it was his on his only morning off for weeks. And later, during the show, when everyone was taking the mick about Grimmy having a toiletries bag with him at work, Nick silently praised his past self for letting Harry snooze.
But before the next song had even started, his phone lit up with a text, “You brought your toiletry bag for the ride to my house? Suspicious.”
Didn’t an overworked teenager have other things to do at half eight in the morning besides listen to a dumb radio show? But Grimmy was secretly smiling to himself and typing back, “Okay, maybe I knew you had me in your death grip the minute you put that candy cane in that sweet little mouth of yours. Why do you think I went in the loo on my way out? Can’t have my hair looking all mussed for the guests, yaknow.”