FIC: Manchester Tarts Have a Cherry in the Center (1D/Radio 1 RPF, Harry/Nick, Explicit, 6k)
I wrote another story! I was all "I'll just do a little 3k porny thing! Yeah!" No. Twice that long. Soz for all the porn. (Am I sorry, though?)
Available behind the cut or at AO3!
Title: Manchester Tarts Have a Cherry in the Center
Author: cyclogenesis
Rating: Explicit
Summary: Harry's just closing up at the bakery when someone he's got a rather big crush on stops by. Takes place before X Factor.
Disclaimer: This story is fiction!
Warnings: Contains underage content - Harry's fifteen in the canon timeline, but Nick doesn't know his exact age.
Word Count: 6095
Harry doesn’t register the first tap on the glass, too busy counting the remaining cream puffs from the day’s sales and wailing along with Rihanna on the radio, maybe even letting his hips sway along a bit, who can say? But then he catches an extra beat, dissonant and wrong, and he shuts his mouth halfway through a line, catching the source of the tap, a man peering in the window backlit by the early afternoon sunlight. The fellow waves, and Harry squints at him, trying to make out if it’s one of his friends come round to harass him for free pastries; he wipes his hands off on his apron and goes to the door for a closer look, then stops. Then stares.
“Are you closed?” calls Nick Grimshaw through the window. He taps at the sign tucked into the corner of the window, the one indicating that in fact they shouldn’t be closed for five minutes yet, even though Harry’s locked the door already.
Harry nods, then shakes his head, then glances at the clock, sort of nods again but - for god’s sake, what’s he going to do, tell Grimmy to fuck off down the street and check Tesco? Their pastries are an affront to sugar and butter. Also, god - fuck - fuck - Nick is handsome in person, and famous, and handsome, which Harry has known for a few years now, since he started watching him on the telly, but now he’s stood outside the door to Harry’s work like some sort of quiffed, curious fantasy. Harry digs into his pocket for the keys, and nearly drops them as he tries to get the door unlocked with shaking hands.
“Hiya,” Nick says once Harry’s struggled the door open and pulled it in a crack. He’s tall, and smiles just like he does on Sound, like whoever he’s talking to is his very best friend. Harry sways unconsciously closer, like his body wants to be in Nick’s space. “Am I too late to pick up some profiteroles?”
“No,” Harry says. It comes out a bit raspy, so he coughs, clears his throat, says it again. “No, come in. Sorry the door was locked, it’s near to closing. Boss is left on holiday, I’m just wrapping things up.” He locks the door behind Nick anyway, giving him a discreet once-over when Nick’s turned around and checking out the place. He’s well fit, which Harry had sort of figured, at least when watching telly in his room in the afternoons and having a wank thinking about getting proper famous, going on Sound and having Nick ask him all sorts of questions about music, and which celebrities he fancied. You was Harry’s favorite answer to the latter question; he liked to imagine Nick’s startled laugh, how his eyes would sweep over Harry’s body, how afterward he might take Harry out to one of those posh private London clubs, or just bend him over the table in the green room.
Harry saunters as quickly as he can behind the counter, hoping his apron’s hiding how his cock’s gotten half-hard. God, it’s like he’s trained himself, and now Grimmy’s actually here right in front of him, and it’s throwing his body into confusion. He was supposed to have a few years yet to get cool enough for this. “The coffee machines are shut off for the day, but we have loads of different kinds of pastries,” Harry tells him, leaning up next to the cash register. “You like sweet things?”
Nick laughs a little, and the flush that’s wanted to creep up Harry’s neck since he realized who was standing outside starts to climb. “I do enjoy a sweet thing,” he says, raising his eyebrows at Harry. “Any recommendations?”
“We’ve some nice cupcakes,” Harry says, ducking down to look at the shelves and hide his rising blush. “You fancy vanilla?”
“Could do,” says Nick. He’s peering in at the cupcakes as well, and their eyes meet through the glass. Harry swallows. “I’m not a very vanilla type of person, though. What’s the pink one there, is it strawberry?”
“Raspberry,” Harry says. “Chocolate next to it, chocolate with caramel icing next to that one. Then vanilla with vanilla icing, and vanilla with chocolate icing. Would you like to sample something?”
“I wouldn’t mind having a taste,” Nick muses. “How about a bit of your favorite?”
Harry very nearly blurts out that Nick’s his favorite, his brain still half-convinced this is a slightly more creative fantasy than usual, that any moment the porno music’s going to kick in over the speakers and then he and Nick will be licking icing off each other’s fingertips. Oh, thank god for this loose apron. Harry grabs for the last raspberry cupcake, takes it out and sets it on a plate, cuts it neatly in four. “Have a piece,” Harry says, pushing the plate toward Nick.
Nick takes a quarter, eats it in two bites and then licks pink icing from his thumb.
Harry stares at him.
“’S good,” Nick says. A little red crumb clings to the corner of his mouth. Harry watches intently as he licks it away. “Are they all this delicious?”
“Yeah,” says Harry, his voice gone embarrassingly hoarse again. He looks away, busies himself glancing around the cabinets, looking over the selection. “Manchester tart?”
Nick leans his elbow on the counter, props his head up on his hand. “That’s a bit of a forward thing to call me, innit? Don’t judge a book by its cover and all that.”
Harry barks out a laugh, sudden and loud, covers his mouth with his hand. Once he’s started he can’t seem to stop though, nervous giggles spilling out from behind his hand until he just lets them free, hides his eyes instead. “Oh god,” he says once he’s gotten himself somewhat under control. “You’re awful. I meant the dessert, you know I meant the dessert.”
“Like to think of myself as more of a full-course meal, really,” says Nick. He fluffs his hair a bit, but gives Harry a wide, easy grin. Harry’s fantasies abruptly go from Nick bending him over the counter to being Nick’s boyfriend and like, falling asleep with him at night, making each other laugh. Nick looks contemplative. “Or a fruit tart, if we’re being stereotypical. How about you?”
“Just a tart,” Harry says. He flutters his eyelashes at Nick. It’s just so hard not to flirt with him, Harry can’t help himself, and anyway Nick’s not discouraging it. “You don’t live around here, do you?”
Nick shakes his head. “No, no, otherwise I’m sure I’d come here often.” He winks at Harry, and Harry’s glad his body isn’t capable of exploding into a shower of butterflies and hearts, because wow. “Just on my way up to Oldham to visit my parents, except I left early for once in my life and there was no traffic, so I had extra time. Thought I’d get off the M6 for a bit and see if there were any good antique shops in the local villages. But then I heard the siren call of a boy singing along with Rihanna, and I just had to investigate.”
“The glass isn’t as thick as I thought, then,” Harry says. He pushes the cupcake plate closer to Nick again, an excuse to lean farther across the counter. “Didn’t sirens make men get shipwrecked on the rocks?”
“You’re awfully smart for someone who’s…how old are you?” Nick asks. He pops another cupcake quarter in his mouth, takes his time with the icing, pink sugar shining on his thumb. Harry is fully hard in his trousers, and if he wakes up before this wet dream is over, he is going to be very, very upset.
Harry swallows. “Old enough,” he says. He’s never gotten anywhere by being shy with someone he wanted. Why start now?
“Old enough to wreck me on the rocks?” Nick asks. He blinks at Harry, the corner of his mouth still twitching upwards like he wants to smile, but he’s serious.
Harry can’t speak, can hardly breathe; Nick’s so close, looking at him straight on, and Harry wants to strip himself bare, let Nick touch him, let Nick do whatever he wants. Harry curls his hand to a fist on the counter, splays his fingers out again, needing to touch something, feel anything that can ground him. His fingertips brush the side of Nick’s hand, and Harry lets the tremble turn to a caress. “Come to the back room,” Harry says before he loses his nerve.
Nick nods, pushes away from the counter and follows when Harry leads, back through the doorway and into the baking room, the walls lined with ovens and racks, sacks of flour and sugar. There’s a little bed, too, for the bakers on first shift to have a lie-down if they need, and Harry bites his lip, shuts the door behind them and gestures to it, relieved when Nick sits down there. “Was there something you wanted to show me?” Nick asks, his voice soft.
It’s warm back there, the heat from the ovens never fully dissipating, a cinnamon-sugar smell in the air so strong it’s almost dizzying. Harry smells that way for hours after work, like a cinnamon roll his mom tells him before ruffling his curls and asking him again if he’s gotten taller. He is, but slowly. He’s not a kid. He’s had sex and everything, with a couple of girlfriends, girls that he still talks to, still calls friends. It’s not like he’s inexperienced.
Harry takes his apron off, and there’s no hiding how hard he is. He couldn’t hide it if he tried, not with the way Nick’s looking at him, like he’s waiting for the catch as much as Harry is, waiting for how this’ll be revealed to be a joke some way or another. Harry takes his shirt off too, baring his chest, the curve of his tummy, baby fat still clinging on helped along by his assisting with quality control, taking the funny-shaped pastries home to his family, scoffing scones for breakfast. Nick’s a fully-grown man and Harry still looks like a kid in some ways, but he isn’t one. Nick doesn’t look at him like he’s a kid, and Harry likes it.
“Tell me what you want, love,” Nick says. He reaches for Harry, slips his fingers through Harry’s belt loops and pulls him forward so Harry steps between his legs. “I’m not ordinarily one for copping off with bakery boys, more the clubbing type myself if I’m looking to pull. You do this often?”
“No,” says Harry. He looks down at Nick, touches the curve of Nick’s jaw since it seems he’s allowed, feels the rasp of Nick’s stubble with his thumb. He’s so hard in his pants that he aches. He’s never kissed a boy before. “I really don’t.”
Harry drifts closer, leans his knee against the edge of the bed and Nick lets him go, moves farther back onto the bed so it’s easy, almost devastatingly so, for Harry to straddle Nick’s lap, settle in with his hands slipped around Nick’s neck. It feels good, warm with Nick between his thighs. He can feel that Nick’s hard, as hard as he is. When he grinds down, Nick digs his fingers into the bare skin of Harry’s waist, and Harry moans, leaning in helplessly for a kiss.
“Will you tell me your name, at least?” Nick gasps at the last second, Harry’s face just an inch from his, so close that Harry can feel his breath.
Harry shudders, so close to what he wants, swaying in so their mouths almost catch. “Harry,” he says, his voice scraped raw like there’s sugar in his throat. “My name’s Harry.”
“Hiya Harry,” Nick says, and that’s it, Harry can’t hold back anymore; he kisses Nick, rolls his body against his, opens for Nick’s tongue and groans in gratitude when he gets it. He tries to hold onto the kiss, keep it as long as he can but he’s overwhelmed already, breath caught in his throat so he has to pull away and try for air. He doesn’t succeed too well in getting it, especially not when Nick goes for his throat, licking there like he likes the taste of Harry’s skin. All Harry can do is hold on, his hips still moving in a helpless grind against Nick’s torso, trying for friction on his cock. He wonders what Nick will give him, what he might have the courage to ask for. Harry wants everything.
Nick hitches Harry closer by his thighs, and before Harry really knows it Nick’s got them turned, Harry’s back hitting the bed and Nick looking down at him, smiling that same Manchester tart smile, a bit cheeky like he’s used to having boys under him like this, legs open around his waist. “Did you want to know my name as well, or is that superfluous?” He drags a finger down Harry’s cheek, and Harry turns to bite at it, still trying to catch his breath. “I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you with information.”
“I -“ Harry starts, but then - what if Nick leaves. What if Nick takes him for a starfucker and leaves him there after he finds out Harry knew who he was all along, what if Nick assumes this was just Harry wanting to be fucked by someone famous. It’s not that, it’s Nick, Harry’s fancied him since he was thirteen because he’s clever and funny and attractive, cool in a way that Harry doesn’t think he could ever be, and Harry can’t do anything that’d make Nick walk away, not now. “Yeah, I want to know your name,” Harry says, a little ashamed of himself for the lie.
“Cheers,” Nick says, lips quirking in a little smile. “It’s Nick. Lovely to meet you. How about we get the rest of the way undressed?”
“Yes, god,” Harry bursts out, grabbing at the buttons of Nick’s shirt as Nick helpfully unlaces Harry’s trainers, gets them tossed to the floor before going for the zip and button of his trousers. It’s not Harry’s best work, he’s clumsy at this, shifting around on the small bed to get rid of the rest of his clothes as Nick shuffles out of his own, but then it’s just - done, Nick’s stripped down to his pants but Harry’s own are tossed aside, and he’s lying there completely naked on his back, legs spread for Nick in between, cock hard and aching.
“Christ, look at you,” Nick says. For the first time Nick seems genuinely out of his depth, like he didn’t expect things to actually go this far. Harry can’t feel the same way, pushes any feeling like that down because if he thinks too hard about this he’ll start to shake, second-guess himself, and he doesn’t want that, not now. He wants Nick, and he can have Nick. “You’re gorgeous,” Nick says, licks his lips.
“Please,” Harry says. He sits up a little, enough that he can reach Nick, drag him in for a kiss with a hand on the back of Nick’s neck. Nick grants it to him, kissing him back hard and letting himself be pulled down on top of Harry, just the way Harry likes it. Nick fits them together easily, cups the curve of Harry’s arse in his hand and hitches him up close, Harry’s bare cock dragging against Nick’s through his pants until Harry reaches down, grapples with his waistband. “Take these off,” Harry mumbles against Nick’s mouth, tries to work them down but then gets distracted by the slick head of Nick’s cock against his fingertips, the way Nick pushes into his grip. “Let me see your cock.” He blushes, saying it, but it’s warm enough that maybe the blush won’t be noticed. He avoids Nick’s eyes anyway, stares down between them, edging Nick’s pants down so he can get a look.
Nick laughs a little, but complies, kicking them off and inhaling sharply when Harry curls his hand around his cock, squeezes it. “There you are, then,” Nick says. “What do you intend to do with it?”
Oh, Harry has all sorts of intentions. “Suck it,” Harry says, and Nick’s hips twitch forward in his grip. Suddenly aware that his phrasing could be taken poorly he adds, “If you’ll let me. Please.”
“Yeah, that’d be all right,” Nick says, sounding like he lost his breath somewhere in there. Harry flashes him a brilliant grin. He’s great at going down on girls, or so he’s been told; sucking cock seems like it’ll be more of a challenge, but he knows his way down a body. He tips Nick gently over onto his back, runs his hands down Nick’s torso, rubs over his hipbones. The chest hair is a novelty, as Harry doesn’t have much of his own, so he lets his fingers play a bit there, delighting in it. Bodies are so lovely and cool, he’s grateful whenever he gets to see a person’s body, touch them like this. God, Harry loves sex.
Nick props himself up on an elbow, his mouth crooked in a smile as he watches Harry touch him. Something on Nick’s face makes Harry wonder if he’s touched this way very often, just for the joy of it. Maybe Nick isn’t used to a lot of foreplay. That’d be a shame. Harry kisses Nick’s hipbone, bites down a little bit on it, and Nick reaches for him, rubs his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone, strokes his hand through Harry’s curls.
Then Harry can’t really resist anymore; he’s got Nick Grimshaw’s cock right there in his face and he wants it in his mouth. He swallows at the sight of it, all thick and hard lying against Nick’s stomach. It looks awfully big, bigger than he’d thought when he first touched it. Harry’s certainly thought a lot about sucking cock, thought about getting fucked too - even thought about sucking this cock, Nick’s cock, Nick fucking him, but god, it’s. Really thick.
Harry takes Nick’s cock in hand, opens his mouth wide, and goes down.
“Christ, Harry,” Nick says, his head falling back to rest on the pillow. Harry wants to grin around his cock but there’s just too much of it, too much cock in his mouth for him to focus on anything but sucking it. He knows what he likes, knows it feels good when it’s taken in deep, hard suction and lots of tongue, but god, it’s not easy. He’s sending his ex-girlfriends muffin baskets in the morning.
Nick doesn’t seem to mind his lack of finesse, keeps his hand soft in Harry’s hair, not tugging or guiding even though Harry doesn’t reckon he’d mind either. It seems so loud, the wet sucking sounds he’s making around Nick’s cock, helpless with how it stretches his jaw wide. His throat hurts a bit already, getting sorer each time he forces himself to swallow down more of it, gagging even though his lips barely meet his fist curled around the base of Nick’s cock. It’s a lot, but not too much. Harry finds that he likes it, and when he looks up, judging by Nick’s rapt expression, it seems Nick likes it too.
“Shall I come in your mouth?” Nick asks, and Harry groans around his mouthful of cock, his hips jerking and sending him forward enough that he chokes himself a little on it and has to pull off, his eyes watering. He sort of wants to die of embarrassment on the spot, Nick’s so much older and more experienced than him and was probably born a good cocksucker and hasn’t ever choked on it in his life. Nick pats his cheek, sits up a little and looks at him, so sweetly concerned that Harry’s embarrassment vanishes only to be replaced by boyfriend fantasies that might in fact be even more embarrassing. Oh, god. “Y’all right? Not into swallowing?”
“Nngh,” Harry says with feeling, his throat raw. He presses a hand against his own cock, trying valiantly not to come at the thought of Nick finishing in his mouth, making Nick come that way, swallowing all of it. Nick’s sat up fully, petting his shoulder, and Harry turns blindly toward it, nuzzling against Nick’s hand until Nick cups his cheek. “Fuck me,” Harry gasps.
“Oh,” says Nick. He blinks at Harry like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s seeing. “Are you sure?”
“Mm-hmm,” Harry says, and crawls up the small bed, gets down on his back again and waits until Nick’s moved before he spreads his legs open, Nick sat up between them and looking Harry over.
“Do I want to know if you’ve done this before?” Nick asks. He stares at Harry’s body, but his eyes are back on Harry’s face by the time he’s finished the question. Harry just shrugs, tries not to squirm too much when Nick touches him, runs his knuckles down the trembling curve of Harry’s belly, grips his cock for too brief a moment before touching Harry’s thighs, spreading them wider with his big hands. He strokes over Harry’s inner thighs, thumbs teasing inward, and Harry lifts his hips, tilts his arse up so it’s easier for Nick to touch him where he needs, where he wants.
Harry’s panting a little, can’t help himself, knows he must be flush-cheeked and glassy-eyed already. Sex always wrecks him, he can never hide when he’s just gotten off, his mouth too red and speech too slow. It’s worse like this - maybe worse isn’t the word, but it’s different, the way Nick’s looking down at him, the warm pressure of Nick’s fingertip stroking at his hole, god, Harry wants it so bad he feels like he’s drowning, sugar and warmth in all his senses, the taste of Nick’s cock still in his mouth and Nick’s hands on his body, fuck. “Please,” Harry begs, raising his arse, getting his legs splayed over Nick’s thighs and grasping for Nick’s hand, pressing his fingers harder against his hole, inviting.
It all feels too good, the friction of Nick’s leg hair against his own, Nick’s skin so hot, his thick fingertips pressing against Harry. Nick takes his fingers away, and Harry whimpers, too far gone to feel ashamed about it, reaching needily for Nick, trying to hitch himself further onto Nick’s lap so Nick has to still him with a hand spread on his thigh. “Steady on, love,” Nick says, squeezes Harry’s thigh, and Harry settles, watching quietly as Nick grabs for his jeans, fumbles through until he pulls out a condom and what looks like a little thing of lube. “Clubbing supplies,” Nick says with a wry smile.
Harry barely manages one back, curling his fingers in the sheets because it makes no sense for him to want to go out clubbing with Nick solely for the purpose of wrapping himself around Nick’s body like a jealous kitten and hissing at anyone that tries to get too close. Harry’s a perfectly reasonable boy, he is, knows this is just a one-off shag in the godforsaken back room of his fucking bakery job. He has no claim on Nick, doesn’t deserve one, and anyway possessiveness is empirically silly and Harry is much more mature than that, certainly. He’s progressive and all that, isn’t thinking about other men Nick’s done this with, other boys.
“Still with me?” Nick asks, and Harry nods, reaches out to grasp Nick’s knee, feel just a bit more of him. “Tell me to stop if you need me to,” Nick says, and then he leans down and kisses Harry again, licks into Harry’s mouth as he strokes a wet fingertip over Harry’s clenching little hole and then slides it in easy as anything, like it’s meant to be there.
Just like that Harry’s down again, everything in him centered on Nick’s touch, Nick’s tongue slipping into his mouth, Nick’s finger stroking into him, a thick fucking presence that just makes Harry want to beg for more. Harry curls his hands around the back of Nick’s neck, rubs at the soft skin under his ears and Nick groans then, losing his focus, his tongue slicking over Harry’s upper lip, finger curling inside Harry. When Nick looks at him again it’s through lidded eyes, and he stares at Harry, eyes flicking over his face like he’s trying to memorize it as he pulls his finger almost all the way out before going back in with two.
Harry takes it, welcomes it, his lips parted, tongue out a little waiting for Nick’s kiss again, arching up to reclaim it when he doesn’t receive it fast enough and taking Nick’s startled breath for his own, getting a firm grip on Nick’s shoulders for leverage so he can better shove his arse back onto Nick’s fingers. It hurts, makes Harry dig his fingernails into Nick’s shoulder blades, a little whimper escaping his mouth, but the pain opens something up in him, something that burns slow and demands more. He scrapes his teeth over Nick’s lower lip and bites down, jams his arse back onto Nick’s fingers and writhes until Nick grunts against his mouth and feeds a third finger into his greedy arse, fighting his way in with a harder push until Harry opens up for it with a helpless moan of Nick’s name, his body going lax under Nick, accepting what Nick’s giving him.
When Nick pulls back for breath he looks as far gone as Harry feels, his quiff drooping and starting to curl a little, a flush high on his cheeks, green eyes bright. Nick twists his fingers deep in Harry’s arse, screwing him open, and rasps out, “Gonna fuck you, Harry.”
Harry can’t nod fast enough, agreeing utterly with Nick’s proposal, adding, “Now, please,” when Nick take a half-second too long to grab for the condom. Nick just looks at Harry like he wants to eat him alive, so Harry makes a picture of himself to encourage that, reaching down to grab behind his knees and get himself properly splayed open, his cock achingly hard and leaking at the tip, all sweaty and flushed pink down to his inner thighs. Nick doesn’t take his eyes off Harry as he rolls on the condom, a neat trick that Harry hopes to learn someday right up until Nick grabs his thighs and drags him up like a rag doll, getting him into just the position that he wants, and then all Harry hopes is to feel Nick’s cock pushing into him.
Nick doesn’t make him wait long for that, spreads his arse cheeks and rubs the slicked head of his cock over Harry’s open little hole until it catches and he can push. He goes slow, and thank god for it, because somewhere between Harry going from being a friendly little shop boy to being spread out on a bed begging for a cock up his arse Harry’d managed to forget just how thick that cock was. He’s recalling that detail now though, now that he’s being split open by it. Harry’s not small for his age but he’s not a full-grown man either, and it hurts, taking a cock as big as Nick’s, hurts the same way it did swallowing it down. Too much. Just enough. Harry wouldn’t stop him for anything.
Nick goes so slow, opens Harry so wide, that it takes Harry a moment to come back to himself once Nick’s stopped moving. Even then he doesn’t quite believe it, looking at Nick through wet eyelashes and reaching down to feel it, one hand seeking under himself. His nails catch on the hot skin of Nick’s thigh and then he fumbles inward, rubs at the stretched skin of his arsehole, feels the base of Nick’s cock where it’s sunk all the way in him, drags the backs of his fingers over Nick’s tight balls. “Fuck,” Harry says, the word feeling torn out of him.
“Yeah,” Nick says, looking a bit overwhelmed himself. “Still good?” He pulls out the tiniest bit, thrusts back in like he can’t help the movement.
“’S a lot,” says Harry, closing his eyes and rocking back onto Nick’s cock. “You’re big.” He shudders, lets himself feel it, then looks at Nick again. “Go on, fuck me.”
Nick’s hands tighten on his hips, and Harry inhales a deep breath - it’s not enough to brace him for Nick’s thrusts though, and the first makes him cry out, reach back to grab for the bedposts. Nick slows down a bit, not going at him as hard, and Harry shakes his head, wraps his legs around Nick’s waist and bears down on Nick’s cock, relishing how full he feels, stuffed with cock, purely fucked. “God, do it,” Harry begs, wraps his fingers round the bed posts and lets Nick do all the work. He always thought girls were lucky when they got to lie back and enjoy it, and it’s just as good as he thought it would be like this, getting fucked, getting to just feel it.
His cock slaps against his belly and even that feels good, a little sting of pain magnifying the delicious ache in his balls, the need to come so very near to overwhelming him. He licks his lips, staring up at Nick, watching Nick fuck him like he’s watching him in porn or something, a Nick Grimshaw sex tape, but fuck that, this is Nick Grimshaw actually fucking him and Harry’ll be damned if he treats this like an episode of Sound to wank to in his room after school. He releases the bed posts and reaches greedily for Nick, grabbing at his upper arms and startling a laugh out of Nick as he drags him down for a kiss.
Nick goes with it, still fucking Harry with hard, deep thrusts, letting Harry lead the kiss, all hot tongues and bumping teeth. Harry’s so close, pushing his arse back onto Nick’s cock, fucking himself just as roughly as Nick’s fucking him, all it takes is Nick reaching for his cock - literally just reaching for it, Harry sees that Nick means to touch his dick and that’s it, he bucks his hips and comes all over himself.
He’s still trembling from it when Nick drags his fingertips through the mess, getting his fingers all wet with Harry’s come. Harry can barely focus, feels like one big raw nerve, broken open beneath Nick and grateful for it, but he opens his mouth in case Nick wants to feed it to him, lifts his chin a little, expectant.
“No, this is for me,” Nick says, and licks at his fingertips, so hot that Harry’s head thuds back against the pillow, his whole body tensing up with the need to come again even though he just did thirty seconds ago, christ, who gave Nick Grimshaw the right to just stroll into Harry’s bakery and be all charming and eat raspberry cupcakes and then give Harry the best sex of his life? Harry’s young and it shouldn’t ought to feel like he’s already set the sexual high bar for himself and there’s nowhere to go but down. Nick kisses him then, adding sexy insult to obscenely hot injury, and Harry bites down on Nick’s lower lip as an act of revenge for Nick being better than probably the next several-or-more people that Harry will sleep with. Honestly, the nerve.
And then of course Nick comes, digging his fingers into Harry’s ribs and shoving deep into him, god, Harry’s going to be sore after this and he’ll really have to do some great time management so he can wank as much as possible before the ache goes away. At least it’s a weekend. Harry curls his fingers into Nick’s hair and tugs him down for kiss after kiss, trying to memorize the exact way that Nick shakes against him. He might want to cry. He probably won’t, but if he did, it would only be because this is the best he’s ever felt.
Nick slumps down against him, and Harry pulls away to gasp for breath, hides his face in the curve of Nick’s throat and tries not to cling too obviously. If he never lets go, Nick won’t notice, right? They could just stay here, they could live in the bakery forever. There’s food. Harry could turn the coffee machine back on.
“God, you’re really something, Harry,” Nick says. He squeezes Harry’s side, gently pulls out of him and lies down beside him, close on the small bed. Harry’s sore, and he always wants to be sore, just like this.
“You too,” Harry says. It hurts a little to talk, even. He touches Nick’s face, strokes his finger down Nick’s cheek. Kisses Nick once more, because who knows if he’ll ever get to again.
Nick chuckles, and Harry closes his eyes, tries to take it in, tuck it somewhere in himself where he can keep it forever. “Didn’t really count on this detour,” Nick says. “Glad I decided to stop in your little village.”
“Is that what you boys are calling it these days?” Harry mutters, but then he smiles, laughing when Nick does.
Nick bumps a shoulder against his. “It was your singing what brought me here, you’ve a good voice you know, even above the radio and through window glass. I work in - ah, music things, so I hear a lot.” Nick sits up, climbs over Harry and tosses the condom in the trash, starts to pick up his clothes. “What do you do when you’re not seducing customers?”
“Heyyy,” Harry says. He kicks out at Nick, but lightly, and Nick smiles at him, tugs on one of his curls. Harry tries not to look too pleased about it, starts to shuffle around for his clothes as well. “Well I have a band that I sing in. I dunno, it’s fun.”
“A band, eh?” Nick pulls his jeans on, and Harry stares unabashedly, sighing a little when Nick tucks his cock away. “You play around here?”
“Sometimes,” Harry says evasively, because admitting to playing school parties wouldn’t really be in keeping with this whole of-age charade he’s got going. “You’re taking some pastries with you, aren’t you?” He does up his shoelaces, follows Nick back out.
“I suppose I ought to, since I’m going to be a few hours late. A Manchester Tart, maybe?”
“Haha,” says Harry, even though he would in fact hop into a box and go along with Nick if Nick asked him. That’s probably not what’s on though. “I’ll just pack you up a bunch of things, I can’t have a late purchase on the till anyway.”
“Free pastries? Best day ever,” Nick says. He leans up against the counter, back where he was when he first came in, and smiles at Harry. Harry tries to hide how smitten he is, but it probably doesn’t work. He gets out a big box and fills it up pretty indiscriminately, trying not to ask for Nick’s number or something foolish like that. Nick lives in London, anyway. It would never work. Harry’s fifteen, and he would probably, at some point, have to mention that if they met again. Harry’s just going to have to take the memories and masturbate until his dick falls off. It’ll be fine.
“Well,” Harry sighs, once he’s got a boxful of calories ready to Nick to take away with him, out of Harry’s life forever. “I suppose I ought to let you go.”
“Don’t sound so dire about it,” Nick says. He touches a finger to Harry’s chin. “I’ve had a lovely time with you.”
Harry tries not to melt into his touch too obviously. “I had a lovely time with you too.” No, it’s fine, he can do this. He can come out from behind the counter and let Nick out, he can let Nick leave. His hands barely shake at all when he grabs the keys. “Maybe I’ll see you again someday.”
Nick nods, lets himself be led to the door. “Maybe I’ll hear your band.” He smiles, and gives Harry one last kiss, long and lingering, then pulls back. “Or hey, you’ve got the looks and the charisma. Audition for X Factor when they come through Manchester. Couldn’t hurt to try, right?”
“Yeah,” says Harry, the doorbell jingling as he gets the door open and Nick steps out, “it couldn’t hurt to try.” And he smiles back. And he lets Nick go, for now.
Available behind the cut or at AO3!
Title: Manchester Tarts Have a Cherry in the Center
Author: cyclogenesis
Rating: Explicit
Summary: Harry's just closing up at the bakery when someone he's got a rather big crush on stops by. Takes place before X Factor.
Disclaimer: This story is fiction!
Warnings: Contains underage content - Harry's fifteen in the canon timeline, but Nick doesn't know his exact age.
Word Count: 6095
Harry doesn’t register the first tap on the glass, too busy counting the remaining cream puffs from the day’s sales and wailing along with Rihanna on the radio, maybe even letting his hips sway along a bit, who can say? But then he catches an extra beat, dissonant and wrong, and he shuts his mouth halfway through a line, catching the source of the tap, a man peering in the window backlit by the early afternoon sunlight. The fellow waves, and Harry squints at him, trying to make out if it’s one of his friends come round to harass him for free pastries; he wipes his hands off on his apron and goes to the door for a closer look, then stops. Then stares.
“Are you closed?” calls Nick Grimshaw through the window. He taps at the sign tucked into the corner of the window, the one indicating that in fact they shouldn’t be closed for five minutes yet, even though Harry’s locked the door already.
Harry nods, then shakes his head, then glances at the clock, sort of nods again but - for god’s sake, what’s he going to do, tell Grimmy to fuck off down the street and check Tesco? Their pastries are an affront to sugar and butter. Also, god - fuck - fuck - Nick is handsome in person, and famous, and handsome, which Harry has known for a few years now, since he started watching him on the telly, but now he’s stood outside the door to Harry’s work like some sort of quiffed, curious fantasy. Harry digs into his pocket for the keys, and nearly drops them as he tries to get the door unlocked with shaking hands.
“Hiya,” Nick says once Harry’s struggled the door open and pulled it in a crack. He’s tall, and smiles just like he does on Sound, like whoever he’s talking to is his very best friend. Harry sways unconsciously closer, like his body wants to be in Nick’s space. “Am I too late to pick up some profiteroles?”
“No,” Harry says. It comes out a bit raspy, so he coughs, clears his throat, says it again. “No, come in. Sorry the door was locked, it’s near to closing. Boss is left on holiday, I’m just wrapping things up.” He locks the door behind Nick anyway, giving him a discreet once-over when Nick’s turned around and checking out the place. He’s well fit, which Harry had sort of figured, at least when watching telly in his room in the afternoons and having a wank thinking about getting proper famous, going on Sound and having Nick ask him all sorts of questions about music, and which celebrities he fancied. You was Harry’s favorite answer to the latter question; he liked to imagine Nick’s startled laugh, how his eyes would sweep over Harry’s body, how afterward he might take Harry out to one of those posh private London clubs, or just bend him over the table in the green room.
Harry saunters as quickly as he can behind the counter, hoping his apron’s hiding how his cock’s gotten half-hard. God, it’s like he’s trained himself, and now Grimmy’s actually here right in front of him, and it’s throwing his body into confusion. He was supposed to have a few years yet to get cool enough for this. “The coffee machines are shut off for the day, but we have loads of different kinds of pastries,” Harry tells him, leaning up next to the cash register. “You like sweet things?”
Nick laughs a little, and the flush that’s wanted to creep up Harry’s neck since he realized who was standing outside starts to climb. “I do enjoy a sweet thing,” he says, raising his eyebrows at Harry. “Any recommendations?”
“We’ve some nice cupcakes,” Harry says, ducking down to look at the shelves and hide his rising blush. “You fancy vanilla?”
“Could do,” says Nick. He’s peering in at the cupcakes as well, and their eyes meet through the glass. Harry swallows. “I’m not a very vanilla type of person, though. What’s the pink one there, is it strawberry?”
“Raspberry,” Harry says. “Chocolate next to it, chocolate with caramel icing next to that one. Then vanilla with vanilla icing, and vanilla with chocolate icing. Would you like to sample something?”
“I wouldn’t mind having a taste,” Nick muses. “How about a bit of your favorite?”
Harry very nearly blurts out that Nick’s his favorite, his brain still half-convinced this is a slightly more creative fantasy than usual, that any moment the porno music’s going to kick in over the speakers and then he and Nick will be licking icing off each other’s fingertips. Oh, thank god for this loose apron. Harry grabs for the last raspberry cupcake, takes it out and sets it on a plate, cuts it neatly in four. “Have a piece,” Harry says, pushing the plate toward Nick.
Nick takes a quarter, eats it in two bites and then licks pink icing from his thumb.
Harry stares at him.
“’S good,” Nick says. A little red crumb clings to the corner of his mouth. Harry watches intently as he licks it away. “Are they all this delicious?”
“Yeah,” says Harry, his voice gone embarrassingly hoarse again. He looks away, busies himself glancing around the cabinets, looking over the selection. “Manchester tart?”
Nick leans his elbow on the counter, props his head up on his hand. “That’s a bit of a forward thing to call me, innit? Don’t judge a book by its cover and all that.”
Harry barks out a laugh, sudden and loud, covers his mouth with his hand. Once he’s started he can’t seem to stop though, nervous giggles spilling out from behind his hand until he just lets them free, hides his eyes instead. “Oh god,” he says once he’s gotten himself somewhat under control. “You’re awful. I meant the dessert, you know I meant the dessert.”
“Like to think of myself as more of a full-course meal, really,” says Nick. He fluffs his hair a bit, but gives Harry a wide, easy grin. Harry’s fantasies abruptly go from Nick bending him over the counter to being Nick’s boyfriend and like, falling asleep with him at night, making each other laugh. Nick looks contemplative. “Or a fruit tart, if we’re being stereotypical. How about you?”
“Just a tart,” Harry says. He flutters his eyelashes at Nick. It’s just so hard not to flirt with him, Harry can’t help himself, and anyway Nick’s not discouraging it. “You don’t live around here, do you?”
Nick shakes his head. “No, no, otherwise I’m sure I’d come here often.” He winks at Harry, and Harry’s glad his body isn’t capable of exploding into a shower of butterflies and hearts, because wow. “Just on my way up to Oldham to visit my parents, except I left early for once in my life and there was no traffic, so I had extra time. Thought I’d get off the M6 for a bit and see if there were any good antique shops in the local villages. But then I heard the siren call of a boy singing along with Rihanna, and I just had to investigate.”
“The glass isn’t as thick as I thought, then,” Harry says. He pushes the cupcake plate closer to Nick again, an excuse to lean farther across the counter. “Didn’t sirens make men get shipwrecked on the rocks?”
“You’re awfully smart for someone who’s…how old are you?” Nick asks. He pops another cupcake quarter in his mouth, takes his time with the icing, pink sugar shining on his thumb. Harry is fully hard in his trousers, and if he wakes up before this wet dream is over, he is going to be very, very upset.
Harry swallows. “Old enough,” he says. He’s never gotten anywhere by being shy with someone he wanted. Why start now?
“Old enough to wreck me on the rocks?” Nick asks. He blinks at Harry, the corner of his mouth still twitching upwards like he wants to smile, but he’s serious.
Harry can’t speak, can hardly breathe; Nick’s so close, looking at him straight on, and Harry wants to strip himself bare, let Nick touch him, let Nick do whatever he wants. Harry curls his hand to a fist on the counter, splays his fingers out again, needing to touch something, feel anything that can ground him. His fingertips brush the side of Nick’s hand, and Harry lets the tremble turn to a caress. “Come to the back room,” Harry says before he loses his nerve.
Nick nods, pushes away from the counter and follows when Harry leads, back through the doorway and into the baking room, the walls lined with ovens and racks, sacks of flour and sugar. There’s a little bed, too, for the bakers on first shift to have a lie-down if they need, and Harry bites his lip, shuts the door behind them and gestures to it, relieved when Nick sits down there. “Was there something you wanted to show me?” Nick asks, his voice soft.
It’s warm back there, the heat from the ovens never fully dissipating, a cinnamon-sugar smell in the air so strong it’s almost dizzying. Harry smells that way for hours after work, like a cinnamon roll his mom tells him before ruffling his curls and asking him again if he’s gotten taller. He is, but slowly. He’s not a kid. He’s had sex and everything, with a couple of girlfriends, girls that he still talks to, still calls friends. It’s not like he’s inexperienced.
Harry takes his apron off, and there’s no hiding how hard he is. He couldn’t hide it if he tried, not with the way Nick’s looking at him, like he’s waiting for the catch as much as Harry is, waiting for how this’ll be revealed to be a joke some way or another. Harry takes his shirt off too, baring his chest, the curve of his tummy, baby fat still clinging on helped along by his assisting with quality control, taking the funny-shaped pastries home to his family, scoffing scones for breakfast. Nick’s a fully-grown man and Harry still looks like a kid in some ways, but he isn’t one. Nick doesn’t look at him like he’s a kid, and Harry likes it.
“Tell me what you want, love,” Nick says. He reaches for Harry, slips his fingers through Harry’s belt loops and pulls him forward so Harry steps between his legs. “I’m not ordinarily one for copping off with bakery boys, more the clubbing type myself if I’m looking to pull. You do this often?”
“No,” says Harry. He looks down at Nick, touches the curve of Nick’s jaw since it seems he’s allowed, feels the rasp of Nick’s stubble with his thumb. He’s so hard in his pants that he aches. He’s never kissed a boy before. “I really don’t.”
Harry drifts closer, leans his knee against the edge of the bed and Nick lets him go, moves farther back onto the bed so it’s easy, almost devastatingly so, for Harry to straddle Nick’s lap, settle in with his hands slipped around Nick’s neck. It feels good, warm with Nick between his thighs. He can feel that Nick’s hard, as hard as he is. When he grinds down, Nick digs his fingers into the bare skin of Harry’s waist, and Harry moans, leaning in helplessly for a kiss.
“Will you tell me your name, at least?” Nick gasps at the last second, Harry’s face just an inch from his, so close that Harry can feel his breath.
Harry shudders, so close to what he wants, swaying in so their mouths almost catch. “Harry,” he says, his voice scraped raw like there’s sugar in his throat. “My name’s Harry.”
“Hiya Harry,” Nick says, and that’s it, Harry can’t hold back anymore; he kisses Nick, rolls his body against his, opens for Nick’s tongue and groans in gratitude when he gets it. He tries to hold onto the kiss, keep it as long as he can but he’s overwhelmed already, breath caught in his throat so he has to pull away and try for air. He doesn’t succeed too well in getting it, especially not when Nick goes for his throat, licking there like he likes the taste of Harry’s skin. All Harry can do is hold on, his hips still moving in a helpless grind against Nick’s torso, trying for friction on his cock. He wonders what Nick will give him, what he might have the courage to ask for. Harry wants everything.
Nick hitches Harry closer by his thighs, and before Harry really knows it Nick’s got them turned, Harry’s back hitting the bed and Nick looking down at him, smiling that same Manchester tart smile, a bit cheeky like he’s used to having boys under him like this, legs open around his waist. “Did you want to know my name as well, or is that superfluous?” He drags a finger down Harry’s cheek, and Harry turns to bite at it, still trying to catch his breath. “I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you with information.”
“I -“ Harry starts, but then - what if Nick leaves. What if Nick takes him for a starfucker and leaves him there after he finds out Harry knew who he was all along, what if Nick assumes this was just Harry wanting to be fucked by someone famous. It’s not that, it’s Nick, Harry’s fancied him since he was thirteen because he’s clever and funny and attractive, cool in a way that Harry doesn’t think he could ever be, and Harry can’t do anything that’d make Nick walk away, not now. “Yeah, I want to know your name,” Harry says, a little ashamed of himself for the lie.
“Cheers,” Nick says, lips quirking in a little smile. “It’s Nick. Lovely to meet you. How about we get the rest of the way undressed?”
“Yes, god,” Harry bursts out, grabbing at the buttons of Nick’s shirt as Nick helpfully unlaces Harry’s trainers, gets them tossed to the floor before going for the zip and button of his trousers. It’s not Harry’s best work, he’s clumsy at this, shifting around on the small bed to get rid of the rest of his clothes as Nick shuffles out of his own, but then it’s just - done, Nick’s stripped down to his pants but Harry’s own are tossed aside, and he’s lying there completely naked on his back, legs spread for Nick in between, cock hard and aching.
“Christ, look at you,” Nick says. For the first time Nick seems genuinely out of his depth, like he didn’t expect things to actually go this far. Harry can’t feel the same way, pushes any feeling like that down because if he thinks too hard about this he’ll start to shake, second-guess himself, and he doesn’t want that, not now. He wants Nick, and he can have Nick. “You’re gorgeous,” Nick says, licks his lips.
“Please,” Harry says. He sits up a little, enough that he can reach Nick, drag him in for a kiss with a hand on the back of Nick’s neck. Nick grants it to him, kissing him back hard and letting himself be pulled down on top of Harry, just the way Harry likes it. Nick fits them together easily, cups the curve of Harry’s arse in his hand and hitches him up close, Harry’s bare cock dragging against Nick’s through his pants until Harry reaches down, grapples with his waistband. “Take these off,” Harry mumbles against Nick’s mouth, tries to work them down but then gets distracted by the slick head of Nick’s cock against his fingertips, the way Nick pushes into his grip. “Let me see your cock.” He blushes, saying it, but it’s warm enough that maybe the blush won’t be noticed. He avoids Nick’s eyes anyway, stares down between them, edging Nick’s pants down so he can get a look.
Nick laughs a little, but complies, kicking them off and inhaling sharply when Harry curls his hand around his cock, squeezes it. “There you are, then,” Nick says. “What do you intend to do with it?”
Oh, Harry has all sorts of intentions. “Suck it,” Harry says, and Nick’s hips twitch forward in his grip. Suddenly aware that his phrasing could be taken poorly he adds, “If you’ll let me. Please.”
“Yeah, that’d be all right,” Nick says, sounding like he lost his breath somewhere in there. Harry flashes him a brilliant grin. He’s great at going down on girls, or so he’s been told; sucking cock seems like it’ll be more of a challenge, but he knows his way down a body. He tips Nick gently over onto his back, runs his hands down Nick’s torso, rubs over his hipbones. The chest hair is a novelty, as Harry doesn’t have much of his own, so he lets his fingers play a bit there, delighting in it. Bodies are so lovely and cool, he’s grateful whenever he gets to see a person’s body, touch them like this. God, Harry loves sex.
Nick props himself up on an elbow, his mouth crooked in a smile as he watches Harry touch him. Something on Nick’s face makes Harry wonder if he’s touched this way very often, just for the joy of it. Maybe Nick isn’t used to a lot of foreplay. That’d be a shame. Harry kisses Nick’s hipbone, bites down a little bit on it, and Nick reaches for him, rubs his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone, strokes his hand through Harry’s curls.
Then Harry can’t really resist anymore; he’s got Nick Grimshaw’s cock right there in his face and he wants it in his mouth. He swallows at the sight of it, all thick and hard lying against Nick’s stomach. It looks awfully big, bigger than he’d thought when he first touched it. Harry’s certainly thought a lot about sucking cock, thought about getting fucked too - even thought about sucking this cock, Nick’s cock, Nick fucking him, but god, it’s. Really thick.
Harry takes Nick’s cock in hand, opens his mouth wide, and goes down.
“Christ, Harry,” Nick says, his head falling back to rest on the pillow. Harry wants to grin around his cock but there’s just too much of it, too much cock in his mouth for him to focus on anything but sucking it. He knows what he likes, knows it feels good when it’s taken in deep, hard suction and lots of tongue, but god, it’s not easy. He’s sending his ex-girlfriends muffin baskets in the morning.
Nick doesn’t seem to mind his lack of finesse, keeps his hand soft in Harry’s hair, not tugging or guiding even though Harry doesn’t reckon he’d mind either. It seems so loud, the wet sucking sounds he’s making around Nick’s cock, helpless with how it stretches his jaw wide. His throat hurts a bit already, getting sorer each time he forces himself to swallow down more of it, gagging even though his lips barely meet his fist curled around the base of Nick’s cock. It’s a lot, but not too much. Harry finds that he likes it, and when he looks up, judging by Nick’s rapt expression, it seems Nick likes it too.
“Shall I come in your mouth?” Nick asks, and Harry groans around his mouthful of cock, his hips jerking and sending him forward enough that he chokes himself a little on it and has to pull off, his eyes watering. He sort of wants to die of embarrassment on the spot, Nick’s so much older and more experienced than him and was probably born a good cocksucker and hasn’t ever choked on it in his life. Nick pats his cheek, sits up a little and looks at him, so sweetly concerned that Harry’s embarrassment vanishes only to be replaced by boyfriend fantasies that might in fact be even more embarrassing. Oh, god. “Y’all right? Not into swallowing?”
“Nngh,” Harry says with feeling, his throat raw. He presses a hand against his own cock, trying valiantly not to come at the thought of Nick finishing in his mouth, making Nick come that way, swallowing all of it. Nick’s sat up fully, petting his shoulder, and Harry turns blindly toward it, nuzzling against Nick’s hand until Nick cups his cheek. “Fuck me,” Harry gasps.
“Oh,” says Nick. He blinks at Harry like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s seeing. “Are you sure?”
“Mm-hmm,” Harry says, and crawls up the small bed, gets down on his back again and waits until Nick’s moved before he spreads his legs open, Nick sat up between them and looking Harry over.
“Do I want to know if you’ve done this before?” Nick asks. He stares at Harry’s body, but his eyes are back on Harry’s face by the time he’s finished the question. Harry just shrugs, tries not to squirm too much when Nick touches him, runs his knuckles down the trembling curve of Harry’s belly, grips his cock for too brief a moment before touching Harry’s thighs, spreading them wider with his big hands. He strokes over Harry’s inner thighs, thumbs teasing inward, and Harry lifts his hips, tilts his arse up so it’s easier for Nick to touch him where he needs, where he wants.
Harry’s panting a little, can’t help himself, knows he must be flush-cheeked and glassy-eyed already. Sex always wrecks him, he can never hide when he’s just gotten off, his mouth too red and speech too slow. It’s worse like this - maybe worse isn’t the word, but it’s different, the way Nick’s looking down at him, the warm pressure of Nick’s fingertip stroking at his hole, god, Harry wants it so bad he feels like he’s drowning, sugar and warmth in all his senses, the taste of Nick’s cock still in his mouth and Nick’s hands on his body, fuck. “Please,” Harry begs, raising his arse, getting his legs splayed over Nick’s thighs and grasping for Nick’s hand, pressing his fingers harder against his hole, inviting.
It all feels too good, the friction of Nick’s leg hair against his own, Nick’s skin so hot, his thick fingertips pressing against Harry. Nick takes his fingers away, and Harry whimpers, too far gone to feel ashamed about it, reaching needily for Nick, trying to hitch himself further onto Nick’s lap so Nick has to still him with a hand spread on his thigh. “Steady on, love,” Nick says, squeezes Harry’s thigh, and Harry settles, watching quietly as Nick grabs for his jeans, fumbles through until he pulls out a condom and what looks like a little thing of lube. “Clubbing supplies,” Nick says with a wry smile.
Harry barely manages one back, curling his fingers in the sheets because it makes no sense for him to want to go out clubbing with Nick solely for the purpose of wrapping himself around Nick’s body like a jealous kitten and hissing at anyone that tries to get too close. Harry’s a perfectly reasonable boy, he is, knows this is just a one-off shag in the godforsaken back room of his fucking bakery job. He has no claim on Nick, doesn’t deserve one, and anyway possessiveness is empirically silly and Harry is much more mature than that, certainly. He’s progressive and all that, isn’t thinking about other men Nick’s done this with, other boys.
“Still with me?” Nick asks, and Harry nods, reaches out to grasp Nick’s knee, feel just a bit more of him. “Tell me to stop if you need me to,” Nick says, and then he leans down and kisses Harry again, licks into Harry’s mouth as he strokes a wet fingertip over Harry’s clenching little hole and then slides it in easy as anything, like it’s meant to be there.
Just like that Harry’s down again, everything in him centered on Nick’s touch, Nick’s tongue slipping into his mouth, Nick’s finger stroking into him, a thick fucking presence that just makes Harry want to beg for more. Harry curls his hands around the back of Nick’s neck, rubs at the soft skin under his ears and Nick groans then, losing his focus, his tongue slicking over Harry’s upper lip, finger curling inside Harry. When Nick looks at him again it’s through lidded eyes, and he stares at Harry, eyes flicking over his face like he’s trying to memorize it as he pulls his finger almost all the way out before going back in with two.
Harry takes it, welcomes it, his lips parted, tongue out a little waiting for Nick’s kiss again, arching up to reclaim it when he doesn’t receive it fast enough and taking Nick’s startled breath for his own, getting a firm grip on Nick’s shoulders for leverage so he can better shove his arse back onto Nick’s fingers. It hurts, makes Harry dig his fingernails into Nick’s shoulder blades, a little whimper escaping his mouth, but the pain opens something up in him, something that burns slow and demands more. He scrapes his teeth over Nick’s lower lip and bites down, jams his arse back onto Nick’s fingers and writhes until Nick grunts against his mouth and feeds a third finger into his greedy arse, fighting his way in with a harder push until Harry opens up for it with a helpless moan of Nick’s name, his body going lax under Nick, accepting what Nick’s giving him.
When Nick pulls back for breath he looks as far gone as Harry feels, his quiff drooping and starting to curl a little, a flush high on his cheeks, green eyes bright. Nick twists his fingers deep in Harry’s arse, screwing him open, and rasps out, “Gonna fuck you, Harry.”
Harry can’t nod fast enough, agreeing utterly with Nick’s proposal, adding, “Now, please,” when Nick take a half-second too long to grab for the condom. Nick just looks at Harry like he wants to eat him alive, so Harry makes a picture of himself to encourage that, reaching down to grab behind his knees and get himself properly splayed open, his cock achingly hard and leaking at the tip, all sweaty and flushed pink down to his inner thighs. Nick doesn’t take his eyes off Harry as he rolls on the condom, a neat trick that Harry hopes to learn someday right up until Nick grabs his thighs and drags him up like a rag doll, getting him into just the position that he wants, and then all Harry hopes is to feel Nick’s cock pushing into him.
Nick doesn’t make him wait long for that, spreads his arse cheeks and rubs the slicked head of his cock over Harry’s open little hole until it catches and he can push. He goes slow, and thank god for it, because somewhere between Harry going from being a friendly little shop boy to being spread out on a bed begging for a cock up his arse Harry’d managed to forget just how thick that cock was. He’s recalling that detail now though, now that he’s being split open by it. Harry’s not small for his age but he’s not a full-grown man either, and it hurts, taking a cock as big as Nick’s, hurts the same way it did swallowing it down. Too much. Just enough. Harry wouldn’t stop him for anything.
Nick goes so slow, opens Harry so wide, that it takes Harry a moment to come back to himself once Nick’s stopped moving. Even then he doesn’t quite believe it, looking at Nick through wet eyelashes and reaching down to feel it, one hand seeking under himself. His nails catch on the hot skin of Nick’s thigh and then he fumbles inward, rubs at the stretched skin of his arsehole, feels the base of Nick’s cock where it’s sunk all the way in him, drags the backs of his fingers over Nick’s tight balls. “Fuck,” Harry says, the word feeling torn out of him.
“Yeah,” Nick says, looking a bit overwhelmed himself. “Still good?” He pulls out the tiniest bit, thrusts back in like he can’t help the movement.
“’S a lot,” says Harry, closing his eyes and rocking back onto Nick’s cock. “You’re big.” He shudders, lets himself feel it, then looks at Nick again. “Go on, fuck me.”
Nick’s hands tighten on his hips, and Harry inhales a deep breath - it’s not enough to brace him for Nick’s thrusts though, and the first makes him cry out, reach back to grab for the bedposts. Nick slows down a bit, not going at him as hard, and Harry shakes his head, wraps his legs around Nick’s waist and bears down on Nick’s cock, relishing how full he feels, stuffed with cock, purely fucked. “God, do it,” Harry begs, wraps his fingers round the bed posts and lets Nick do all the work. He always thought girls were lucky when they got to lie back and enjoy it, and it’s just as good as he thought it would be like this, getting fucked, getting to just feel it.
His cock slaps against his belly and even that feels good, a little sting of pain magnifying the delicious ache in his balls, the need to come so very near to overwhelming him. He licks his lips, staring up at Nick, watching Nick fuck him like he’s watching him in porn or something, a Nick Grimshaw sex tape, but fuck that, this is Nick Grimshaw actually fucking him and Harry’ll be damned if he treats this like an episode of Sound to wank to in his room after school. He releases the bed posts and reaches greedily for Nick, grabbing at his upper arms and startling a laugh out of Nick as he drags him down for a kiss.
Nick goes with it, still fucking Harry with hard, deep thrusts, letting Harry lead the kiss, all hot tongues and bumping teeth. Harry’s so close, pushing his arse back onto Nick’s cock, fucking himself just as roughly as Nick’s fucking him, all it takes is Nick reaching for his cock - literally just reaching for it, Harry sees that Nick means to touch his dick and that’s it, he bucks his hips and comes all over himself.
He’s still trembling from it when Nick drags his fingertips through the mess, getting his fingers all wet with Harry’s come. Harry can barely focus, feels like one big raw nerve, broken open beneath Nick and grateful for it, but he opens his mouth in case Nick wants to feed it to him, lifts his chin a little, expectant.
“No, this is for me,” Nick says, and licks at his fingertips, so hot that Harry’s head thuds back against the pillow, his whole body tensing up with the need to come again even though he just did thirty seconds ago, christ, who gave Nick Grimshaw the right to just stroll into Harry’s bakery and be all charming and eat raspberry cupcakes and then give Harry the best sex of his life? Harry’s young and it shouldn’t ought to feel like he’s already set the sexual high bar for himself and there’s nowhere to go but down. Nick kisses him then, adding sexy insult to obscenely hot injury, and Harry bites down on Nick’s lower lip as an act of revenge for Nick being better than probably the next several-or-more people that Harry will sleep with. Honestly, the nerve.
And then of course Nick comes, digging his fingers into Harry’s ribs and shoving deep into him, god, Harry’s going to be sore after this and he’ll really have to do some great time management so he can wank as much as possible before the ache goes away. At least it’s a weekend. Harry curls his fingers into Nick’s hair and tugs him down for kiss after kiss, trying to memorize the exact way that Nick shakes against him. He might want to cry. He probably won’t, but if he did, it would only be because this is the best he’s ever felt.
Nick slumps down against him, and Harry pulls away to gasp for breath, hides his face in the curve of Nick’s throat and tries not to cling too obviously. If he never lets go, Nick won’t notice, right? They could just stay here, they could live in the bakery forever. There’s food. Harry could turn the coffee machine back on.
“God, you’re really something, Harry,” Nick says. He squeezes Harry’s side, gently pulls out of him and lies down beside him, close on the small bed. Harry’s sore, and he always wants to be sore, just like this.
“You too,” Harry says. It hurts a little to talk, even. He touches Nick’s face, strokes his finger down Nick’s cheek. Kisses Nick once more, because who knows if he’ll ever get to again.
Nick chuckles, and Harry closes his eyes, tries to take it in, tuck it somewhere in himself where he can keep it forever. “Didn’t really count on this detour,” Nick says. “Glad I decided to stop in your little village.”
“Is that what you boys are calling it these days?” Harry mutters, but then he smiles, laughing when Nick does.
Nick bumps a shoulder against his. “It was your singing what brought me here, you’ve a good voice you know, even above the radio and through window glass. I work in - ah, music things, so I hear a lot.” Nick sits up, climbs over Harry and tosses the condom in the trash, starts to pick up his clothes. “What do you do when you’re not seducing customers?”
“Heyyy,” Harry says. He kicks out at Nick, but lightly, and Nick smiles at him, tugs on one of his curls. Harry tries not to look too pleased about it, starts to shuffle around for his clothes as well. “Well I have a band that I sing in. I dunno, it’s fun.”
“A band, eh?” Nick pulls his jeans on, and Harry stares unabashedly, sighing a little when Nick tucks his cock away. “You play around here?”
“Sometimes,” Harry says evasively, because admitting to playing school parties wouldn’t really be in keeping with this whole of-age charade he’s got going. “You’re taking some pastries with you, aren’t you?” He does up his shoelaces, follows Nick back out.
“I suppose I ought to, since I’m going to be a few hours late. A Manchester Tart, maybe?”
“Haha,” says Harry, even though he would in fact hop into a box and go along with Nick if Nick asked him. That’s probably not what’s on though. “I’ll just pack you up a bunch of things, I can’t have a late purchase on the till anyway.”
“Free pastries? Best day ever,” Nick says. He leans up against the counter, back where he was when he first came in, and smiles at Harry. Harry tries to hide how smitten he is, but it probably doesn’t work. He gets out a big box and fills it up pretty indiscriminately, trying not to ask for Nick’s number or something foolish like that. Nick lives in London, anyway. It would never work. Harry’s fifteen, and he would probably, at some point, have to mention that if they met again. Harry’s just going to have to take the memories and masturbate until his dick falls off. It’ll be fine.
“Well,” Harry sighs, once he’s got a boxful of calories ready to Nick to take away with him, out of Harry’s life forever. “I suppose I ought to let you go.”
“Don’t sound so dire about it,” Nick says. He touches a finger to Harry’s chin. “I’ve had a lovely time with you.”
Harry tries not to melt into his touch too obviously. “I had a lovely time with you too.” No, it’s fine, he can do this. He can come out from behind the counter and let Nick out, he can let Nick leave. His hands barely shake at all when he grabs the keys. “Maybe I’ll see you again someday.”
Nick nods, lets himself be led to the door. “Maybe I’ll hear your band.” He smiles, and gives Harry one last kiss, long and lingering, then pulls back. “Or hey, you’ve got the looks and the charisma. Audition for X Factor when they come through Manchester. Couldn’t hurt to try, right?”
“Yeah,” says Harry, the doorbell jingling as he gets the door open and Nick steps out, “it couldn’t hurt to try.” And he smiles back. And he lets Nick go, for now.