One Direction Fic | This Is All Ours | Harry/Nick Grimshaw | 8,000+ words | NC-17
This Is All Ours
Harry Styles/Nick Grimshaw [unrequited Harry/Louis] | ~8,500 words | NC-17
Harry and Nick start hooking up. It’s just friends.
Happy Holidays, ericaplease!
Many many thanks to fitofpique for betaing even though she's not even in this fandom, ♥.
“This is a bit stupid,” Harry says, pulling back enough that he can swallow. His lips feel almost numb from how long they’ve been kissing, like the skin has been stretched smooth and rubbed raw.
“Yeah,” Nick says. He turns his face away a little to clear his throat, and then looks up at Harry again. He’s lying on his back, fingers pressed to the small of Harry’s back underneath his t-shirt. Harry’s mostly been doing a good job at not humping Nick’s thigh where their legs are tangled together, but he thinks he might want to put his hands in Nick’s pants.
It’s dark in Nick’s bedroom, just past two in the morning and the night has truly set in. Nick doesn’t have to get up in the morning because it’s Saturday - well, Sunday now, but still it’s probably not great to set his sleep cycle off this much.
He decides against mentioning that he’s been thinking of Nick’s sleep cycle. Christ.
“What part?” Nick asks, pressing his lips together and then poking his tongue through to wet them. It was probably just a reflex, but it has Harry looking at his mouth again.
“Hm?” Harry says as he starts to lean down. It’s hard to hold himself up on the bed and he’s just got himself braced with one elbow, the rest of his body draped along the long stretch of Nick, who’s all warm and solid and really easy to kiss.
“What part is stupid?” Nick asks.
“I don’t know,” Harry says, opening his mouth against Nick’s. Nick’s face is rough and Harry’s lips are going to be so chapped tomorrow, but he doesn’t want to stop kissing. One of the pillows slides to the floor. Nick’s got this unnecessarily complicated bed, with a stack of throw pillows and the regular pillows and a duvet and then another blanket, and Harry likes the idea of making a mess of it.
Nick sucks on his tongue and Harry squirms, rocking against Nick’s thigh and exhaling sharply through his nose. His cock is going to be just as chafed as his lips, but he doesn’t care.
“What part is stupid?” Nick asks again when they pull apart.
Even in the dark, Harry can see how red his mouth is, all swollen from kissing. He smells really good, and Harry ducks his head to bury his face in Nick’s neck. He’s a bit drunk, but just enough that it seemed like a good idea to follow Nick into his bedroom instead of bunking in the guest room like usual. Drunk enough to start playing with the hem of Nick’s t-shirt and angle their faces together, to make sure they were sharing in the same pillow. Nick kissed him first, but Harry’s the one who made it happen.
“Don’t usually do this with mates,” Harry murmurs against Nick’s skin. His whole body is tight and hot, but he still gets that reflexive swooping feeling in his stomach when he thinks about the last time he made out with one of his mates.
“Why not?” Nick asks, blinking up at Harry in the dark. “It’s easier than pulling a stranger, and you don’t have to worry about them thinking it’s more than it is.”
“Not everyone spends as much time making out with their friends as you do,” Harry says. Most of Harry’s friends are older and married, or straight or gay in the way that rules him out. He knows a lot of people, but mostly he’s got clear lines in his head - people he wants to try to sleep with, people he’d date if he could convince them it would be a good idea, friends. Nick has always just been a friend but, now that they’re lying in bed together, Harry’s not really sure why.
“Not everyone is as smart as I am,” Nick agrees. “But that’s their loss, isn’t it?”
“So, I guess-”
“You go ahead and finish rubbing one out on my hip,” Nick says. “But I want poached eggs in the morning.”
Harry’s cheeks flush, and he can feel the warmth spread all the way down his neck. “I‘m not rubbing off on you,” he mutters. One day he’ll stop being easy for people who embarrass him.
“You are,” Nick says, pulling Harry down with the spread of his fingers on Harry’s back. “That’s alright, be a love and squirm a little further up.”
“Just mates?” Harry asks, even as he’s pull himself forward, sliding into the v of Nick’s legs so his hip’s resting on the hard line of Nick’s cock.
“Just mates,” Nick says.
--
Harry wakes a few hours later. It’s daylight and Nick is snoring quietly on the pillow beside him. The room’s spinning a little bit. He goes to the bathroom and then staggers his way back to Nick’s bedroom, finding Nick blinking blearily at him over the edge of the duvet.
“Should I head home now?” Harry asks, perching on the side of the bed. “Let you get some sleep?”
“I can sleep when you’re here,” Nick says.
“You sure?” Harry asks.
“Yeah, you’ve got to stay to make me eggs in the morning,” Nick says. He tugs at Harry’s arm until Harry slides back under the covers and then keeps tugging until Harry’s curled up behind him. Harry wraps his arm around Nick’s waist and hides his grin in Nick’s shoulder when he exhales heavily, sagging back into Harry’s arms.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Nick says, his voice heavy with sleep. “There’s nothing wrong with being the little spoon.”
Harry sleeps until the sun rises and he can’t sleep any more the way his head’s still spinning. Then he gets up, slowly dresses, kisses Nick on the forehead, and lets himself out.
--
“Love ‘em and leave ‘em,” Nick says, late Sunday afternoon, when Harry answers his phone.
“Well, you know,” Harry says. He’s sitting on his couch, his laptop just kicking to screensaver. It’s late in the afternoon. He should put some clothes on and think about leaving his flat, go for a run. Maybe take a shower.
“I do,” Nick agrees. “Which is why I was surprised that you were the one sneaking out in the night.”
“It was morning,” Harry says, “and I said goodbye. You just slept through it.”
“Nice,” Nick says.
“We’re good, right?” Harry asks. Nick’s the first person he’s slept with who’s a friend, an actual friend. Like if they’re not good, they’ll have to sort it out, because losing the friendship isn’t an option. He’s not sure that this plan is quite as foolproof as Nick claims it is.
“Yeah,” Nick says. “You want to come out tonight?”
“Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”
“Britain’s hardly going to be able to get themselves up without me on a Monday morning.”
“Nick says, wake yo’self up.”
“Aww, you listen,” Nick says, sounding genuinely pleased, probably in spite of himself. “So, are we going out or what?”
“Where should I meet you?” Harry asks, phone still in hand as he starts walking toward the shower.
--
Nick’s a bit more talk than game on a Sunday night, even though they do manage to polish off the better half of a bottle of vodka, and it’s hardly half nine before he’s saying that he needs to get home to bed. Harry follows him out. They’re in the studio in the morning, and Harry sings a bit better when he’s got sleep, so. Whatever. It’s easier not to have Liam clucking at him.
Except that they share a cab and somehow Harry follows Nick into his flat when the cabbie stops and then they’re kissing and Harry is pulling his kit off and going for the zip of Nick’s trousers and when he sinks to his knees, Nick says, “You owe me eggs this time. I haven’t forgotten.”
“Yeah, alright.” Harry pulls Nick’s cock out of his boxers and opens his mouth, wet and soft, around the head of Nick’s cock. Nick touches his face a lot, petting at his hair before catching himself and moving his fingers away. Harry doesn’t mind though, wouldn’t tell Nick to stop even if he were to pull a bit, but it’s nice this way. Nick’s big hands, his fingers trailing along Harry’s jaw, touching the edge of his mouth where he’s opening wide for the thick length of Nick’s cock.
He swallows when Nick comes and then follows Nick into the bedroom, where Nick strips him all the way bare and lays him out on the bed.
“It’s better than pulling a stranger, right?” Nick asks. “It’s easier like this. Less lonely.”
Having sex isn’t ever exactly lonely, but Harry knows what Nick means. The difference between how easy this is and the inevitable awkwardness of trying to navigate intimacy with a stranger.
“Easier,” Harry agrees, pulling at Nick’s t-shirt until he shrugs it off, climbing onto the bed, climbing on top of Harry.
“And then eggs tomorrow, right?” Nick asks.
“You’re just doing this for the breakfast, aren’t you?” Harry asks. He has to go into the studio first thing but not nearly as early as Nick has to be up.
“Are you saying that I could get breakfast if I didn’t put out first?” Nick asks.
“Nope,” Harry says, pushing at Nick’s shoulder and squirming until Nick finally wraps a hand around his erection, drops his head down. “No eggs without orgasms. Fair’s fair.”
“As long as it’s fair,” Nick says, and then he opens his mouth and sucks Harry down.
--
“It’s all fluffy,” Nick says. “You said you knew how to do this.”
“Stop doubting me,” Harry says, hip checking Nick away from where he’s peering over Harry’s shoulder into the pot of boiling water. The egg is spreading around in the water a bit, sure, but it’s also going to poach itself eventually. Harry is almost entirely sure. Somewhat.
Harry can feel Nick’s t-shirt against the bare skin of his back. He’s kind of hungover, so his lips and tongue are dry, and his mouth is a little sore from sucking Nick’s cock last night. He presses the back of his hand to his lips and wonders if they look as raw and red as they feel.
“Maybe I want scrambled instead,” Nick says, twisting the words around in his mouth like he does when he’s on the radio. Nick is chipper in spite of how early it is. That’s the main problem with him now that he’s doing the morning show: he doesn’t wake up foggy after a night of drinking like a normal person anymore. He does complain loudly about the state of his headache and how dry his eyes are and why didn’t Harry remind him to take out his contacts last night and couldn’t they have had a glass of water before bed and, “stop,” Harry says. “No one is allowed to complain this much after getting a blowjob. You’re supposed to be all smug.”
Nick drapes his arms over Harry’s shoulders, backing him up against the counter. He looks pointedly down at the bare stretch of Harry’s chest, leering.
“I’m smug,” Nick says, softly, clasping his hands at the nape of Harry’s neck and fiddling with Harry’s hair with his thumbs.
Harry grins, angling his hips toward Nick. He’s pretty good at morning afters - just got to get out of bed fast enough that the other person doesn’t try to initiate morning sex, then distract them with food long enough to pop out before discussing anything more serious than how they like their eggs. Unless the sex was really good and he does want to stick around for a morning shag. Then the trick is to slip to the bathroom, gargle with water and toothpaste, and slide back into bed. Usually they’re both still naked, and it’s easy to go from naked to naked and having sex.
Harry had been a bit undecided about how to deal with this morning after, because Nick’s not a hook up, but he’s also exactly a hook up. Luckily, Nick has it sorted. He gets them both out of bed, dresses himself but doesn’t insist on Harry putting anything on, and makes sure they’ve both got cups of tea while Harry’s cooking.
When the pot of water boils over onto Nick’s pristine and basically unused stove, Harry realizes that it would be almost impossible to have a talk. He feels quite proud of them both, and sits Nick down at the table with a somewhat unhinged poached egg.
--
“You look right pleased,” Niall says. He’s sitting on a couch at the back of the studio with a guitar on his lap.
“No one else is here yet?” Harry asks, flopping down beside him. He went back to his own flat after seeing Nick off to work, sprawled on his bed and managed to sleep maybe another half hour before his alarm went off and he had only enough time to change out of last night’s clothes before running out the door.
“No,” Niall says, just as Liam bursts through the door yelling, “Sorry I’m late.” It’s two minutes past.
“So,” Niall says, nudging Harry with his elbow but leaving his hand pressed flat to the body of his guitar.
“A needle pulling thread,” Harry says.
Niall chortles, and Harry tucks himself just behind him so they’re pressed close together but he’s not in the way of the guitar.
“You pulled?” Niall asks.
“Guess so,” Harry says.
“And now I get your morning after sex cuddles,” Niall says.
“I’ve got a whole lot of love,” says Harry. He headbutts Niall’s shoulder.
“Shove over,” Liam says, walking over to them now that he’s unloaded his coat and bag.
Harry’s sandwiched in between Niall and Liam, kicking sharply at Liam’s shin every time he tries to move, when Louis walks into the studio.
“What’s this then?” he asks, sliding his coat off his shoulders and dropping it to the floor.
“Harry’s got a whole lotta love,” Niall says.
Harry kicks Liam hard when he starts to pull back suspiciously.
“Please tell me you showered this morning,” Liam says.
“Yeah,” Harry says. He brushed his teeth, because Nick came in his mouth and not on his body, so that’s basically the same as a shower. If Liam has a problem cuddling with Harry when Harry’s had sex the night before then he’s just going to have to rethink the last two years of friendship.
“Where’s Zayn?” Louis asks, because once he’s here that means it’s time for them to start. “Has anyone talked to him today?”
Zayn’s still asleep when they call, so Harry has another half hour to putter around the studio while they wait. He puts on the kettle and fiddles with his phone while he waits for it to boil. He’s got four new texts, none of them from Nick. But, when he checks twitter, Nick’s posted a picture of the streaky egg water on Instagram.
Louis comes up beside him and grabs the kettle just as it clicks off, using most of the boiling water to make himself a cup of tea.
“What’s that?” Louis asks, staring shamelessly over Harry’s shoulder at his phone.
“Poached some eggs,” Harry says. He clicks his phone to black and tucks it in his pocket, picking up the kettle and pouring the rest of the water into his glass. Hot water is better than cold for his vocal chords, so he drinks mugs of it even though it makes him feel like a nun. Or maybe because it does. He likes feeling virtuous sometimes. Other than breakfast, the last thing he swallowed was a mouthful of jizz, which makes him secretly pleased, and he hides his smile with the mug of steaming water, looking over the rim at Louis.
“Oh, okay then,” Louis says, because they’ve known each other for too long for Harry to be able to hide anything from him. Especially when he’s not even trying.
“Okay,” Harry echoes.
“Cheeky,” says Louis, and Harry bites the inside of his cheek to try to get his dimples under control.
Louis moves so that he’s standing beside Harry, the both of them leaning back against the wall. He reaches up to tangle his fingers in Harry’s hair, pulling harder than he needs to when he runs his hand through Harry’s curls. Harry tilts his head back into Louis’s hand and closes his eyes.
He thought he was in love with Louis for about three minutes when they first met, which is embarrassing to think about now. Like, in love, like in actual love, like he thought he loved Louis, even though they never even kissed. Except that one night at the end of X Factor when Harry was lying in Louis’s bed, his head resting against the zipper of Louis’s onesie. He wasn’t wearing anything except boxers, and Louis was so warm and cozy and he’d had a shower earlier so his hair was soft against his forehead. Harry didn’t think anything about leaning up to kiss him until Louis was giggling against his lips, turning his head away so that Harry had to settle back onto his chest.
“Such a charmer,” Louis teased, kindly. “Don’t even know how to turn it off.”
Harry pretended to fall asleep quickly afterward, and Louis actually fell asleep soon after that. Harry felt his stomach grow tighter and tighter as he realized for the first time that Louis didn’t see the same inevitable conclusion - that it wasn’t inevitable at all, that Harry wouldn’t always get everything he wanted, no matter how badly he wished and worked for it.
They were voted off X Factor the next week, and Louis held him when he cried. And then Zayn was there, and Harry cried against his shoulder and pretended that he was only upset about losing the show.
“So what are you smiling about then?” Louis asks.
Harry blinks his eyes open and pretends that he’s not half hard just from Louis’s fingers combing sharply through his hair. A little bit of hot water sloshes over the rim of his mug and Harry concentrates on steadying his hand.
“Did you pull that model you’ve been chasing?” Louis asks.
“No,” Harry says. “Haven’t seen her in a while.”
“But you’re smiling this morning.”
“I’m smiling a lot of mornings.”
Louis shakes his head, tugging hard enough that Harry’s head tilts backwards before he moves his hand away entirely.
“I’m a happy guy,” Harry finishes, even slower than usual because he’s worried that his voice will crack. It comes out alright.
“Come on,” Louis finally says after staying pointedly silent just long enough to make Harry squirm. “Zayn’s here.”
“Okay,” Harry says, shaking his hair into his face and breathing out slowly before he pushes it away again.
He grabs his phone out of his pocket and texts Nick, I want a do over, i forgot to put vinegar in the water to stop the egg from going wonky.
--
Harry wonders if he should spend some time not having sex with Nick, but what’s the point? They’re here for the fall and then it’s the holidays and the world tour and Harry’s a big fan of just letting things happen. If it’s working to shag Nick, then he might as well continue shagging Nick.
“How do you have proper lube?” Nick asks, holding up the bottle and eyeing it.
“Same as how I have everything,” Harry says. “I went to the store and bought it.”
“But what if someone caught actual Harry Styles buying what is, I’m sure, intended to be a marital aid?”
Harry leans in and drops his voice to a whisper. “I think they’ve figured out that I’m having sex. Cat might already be out of the bag on that one.”
“And what do you use this for?” Nick asks.
“I guess mostly just during sex,” Harry says. “I’m a bit strange like that.”
“You know what I’m asking,” Nick says with a small sound of frustration, dropping the bottle and using his body to pin Harry to the mattress.
Harry gives a squirm, testing the grip of Nick’s hands around his wrists. It’s pretty tight. Excellent.
“Well, sometimes I use it when I’m jacking off,” Harry says. “Makes everything all wet.” He opens his thighs against the weight of Nick’s hips baring down. “Sometimes I use it when I’m putting my dick inside of people, make it easier to take.” He can feel Nick grinding down slowly. “Sometimes I use it when people are fucking me.” He schools his face so he’s just half-smiling when he blinks up at Nick. “You know, just the usual things.”
Nick’s gone all red, flushed dark across his cheeks. His quiff is drooping and starting to tangle against his forehead. He looks like he wants to swallow Harry whole, which is exactly what Harry was going for. Harry feels his smile stretch all the way out and then Nick’s leaning down and biting at his lips, pushing his tongue into Harry’s mouth, this slick, blunt slide. He’s still smiling when Nick grabs for the bottle again, but he rolls onto his hands and knees and ducks his head, so maybe Nick won’t notice how pleased Harry is, how needy he feels already.
Nick drips lube onto Harry’s hole and then pushes it around with his fingers while Harry drops to his elbows, his knees slipping further and further apart. When Nick eases his dick inside, Harry’s thighs start to shake with the effort of not sliding all the way down onto the mattress. The heavy press of Nick behind him - Harry feels like he’s pinned, like Nick’s got him all spread out and, if he can just hold still, Nick will give him everything he needs.
Nick twists his hips: fast, deep thrusts that catch and flare all the way up Harry’s spine. Harry moans but, with the way Nick’s fucking him, his breath comes out uneven, this choppy, drawn-out pleading sound. It hurts just enough for Harry to push back against it, them going at it this rough, Nick shoving into him this deep. He squirms his hand under his body and catches his cock, gripping tightly. There’s not enough room to move his wrist and jerk off properly, but he holds his cock while Nick takes him hard, and comes, shaking, into his own hand. Nick keeps going, all the way through it and then beyond. Harry lets go of his cock and lets himself go numb, trying to remember to clench down until finally Nick ruts into him frantically, grinding in deep and panting against the back of Harry’s neck, his hips jerking in the aftershocks.
Eventually Nick pulls out, holds himself up long enough to wrap the condom in a piece of tissue, give Harry the chance to roll over, and then flops down mostly on top of him. Harry trails his fingers down Nick’s back and feels him shiver.
“You’re a bit of a menace, Styles,” Nick says from where his face is smooshed into Harry’s chest.
Harry hums, and he can feel Nick’s lips curl into a smile, feel him press his mouth to Harry’s chest, kissing softly.
He waits until they’re both less flushed and overheated before he presses his dick, hard enough now that Nick will be able to feel it, against Nick’s hip and says, “I want to go again,” a bit embarrassed but wanting it badly enough to ask anyway.
He thinks that maybe Nick is going to roll his eyes and tease him for asking for too much, but he just sucks in a breath and lifts his head to capture Harry’s mouth, kissing him wet and deep until they’re both all the way hard, before reaching for another condom.
Harry feels his eyes roll back when Nick slides in again. He’s still slick and open and it’s so good that the pleasure goes sharp. His mouth drops open and he knows he’s making way too much noise, but Nick doesn’t tell him to be quiet, so he lets go, gasps and pleads even though Nick’s already giving it to him hard, like there’s this inexhaustible supply of wanting inside of him just waiting to come out.
“Nick,” Harry says, voice breaking. Nick drops his head and catches Harry’s mouth, sucks on Harry’s tongue. He’s got Harry’s legs folded back, his elbows holding Harry’s knees. Harry kisses him frantically, thinks, Nick, Nick, Nick, until finally Nick fucks the orgasm out of him and he starts shaking so badly that Nick has to let his legs down.
“Sleep over tonight,” Nick says, suddenly, even though his cock is still hard and he hasn’t finished pulling off the condom so he can jerk himself off.
“Yeah,” Harry says, and it sounds like another moan.
--
Zayn’s house has an awful lot of Star Wars merch for someone who is technically a heartthrob, but Harry doesn’t mention it, sitting himself in this weird black bubble chair and staring at Perrie, who’s sat on the couch with the dog. He wants that dog. He wants the dog to walk over and sit on his lap and then he wants to put it in his pocket and bring it home with him. As soon as he can figure out how to get it away from Perrie, he’s going to make that happen.
“Are you checking out Zayn’s girlfriend?” Liam asks suspiciously from where he’s sitting, somewhat beside Harry, on a low stool.
“No,” Harry says, slowly.
“You’re staring. And your face is doing this - hungry thing.”
Harry sighs, and shakes his head.
“Don’t be weird,” Liam advises, which is a lot to take given that Liam is literally the weirdest person that Harry knows. And Harry knows a lot of people. Liam is undoubtedly the weirdest. He brought Zayn a housewarming gift of egg holders wearing little workmen costumes - like a plumber egg cup and a policeman egg cup and a firefighter egg cup - and these cheeky spears with cartoon faces, all big bubble eyes and bright red grins and sharp metal ends, for holding corn on the cob. Corn and eggs aren’t even complementary food groups.
Harry didn’t bring a housewarming gift, because he’s going to take Zayn out for drinks sometime. Zayn’s all set up with a house and a puppy and a girlfriend - the greatest gift anyone could ever give him is a lad’s night out on the town. Liam doesn’t understand that because he's the weirdest, but Harry does.
He curls his lips back and makes a face at Liam in lieu of answering.
Niall brought a whole tray of fairy cakes with fluffy pink frosting and is currently chewing on the his fourth one, and it’s still a better housewarming gift than mismatched, personified food implements.
Technically, Louis’s gift might be the best. He got a massive Le Creuset pot, which made Zayn grin and knock his head against Louis’s, hugging him from the side and saying, “Thanks, bro,” until Louis went pink and ducked away.
Perrie’s still got the dog and, with Liam so close, Harry texts Nick instead of making his move. I feel like i’m looking into the future and there’s a lot of cookware. What’s a French oven ?
I’m having diet coke and a microwave potato, Nick texts back. Nick’s got three rubber spatulas but absolutely no cooking spoons. “Why would you need different spoons for cooking than for eating?” Nick asked, when Harry pointed this out to him. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
Eventually Liam goes to the kitchen, and Perrie seems sufficiently distracted watching whatever movie is playing in the background.
Harry wiggles his fingers and whispers so, so quietly - just mouthing the words, really, “Puppy. Come here, puppy.” Dogs have really good hearing, so Harry knows it heard, but it’s still just sitting there all cuddled into Perrie’s lap. Harry rubs his fingers together, reaches his palm forward. “Puppy. Hatchi.”
“Stop doing what you’re doing,” Louis says, coming in from the kitchen and slapping Harry upside the head as he passes.
“I’m not doing anything,” Harry says, frowning. He rubs the back of his head.
“Zayn wants you to baste or something,” Louis says. “If you’re quite finished, you can go help him instead.”
“I was just sitting there,” Harry grumps, but he gives up his seat and goes to help Zayn.
His phone buzzes again, another text from Nick. I looked it up and french ovens are nothing about sex unless your turned on by cast iron. Weirdo.
Harry can imagine Nick’s voice as he wrote the text. What a waste of a Google search, he’d grumble. The soft, nasally way he giggles.
“What are you smiling about?” Zayn asks, passing Harry a wooden spoon so he can stir the chickpea marsala.
“Just thinking,” Harry says.
“Harry’s being quirky,” Louis yells from the other room. “Ignore him.”
“Hey,” Harry says slowly, opening the bottle of beer that Zayn passes to him. There’s nothing quirky about trying to get every single thing that he wants. That’s just good planning.
“Can you add the tomatoes?” Zayn asks, chopping carrots on a wooden cutting board.
Harry eases the tomatoes into the pot, the can already open and ready for him on the counter, and then he stirs carefully, trying to break up the larger chunks of tomato without crushing the chickpeas.
“I’m taking you out next time we’ve got a free night,” Harry says when Zayn comes over and throws one arm around him so they can stare into the pot together.
“Okay,” Zayn says, but Harry knows it won’t actually be as easy as that to get him out of the house when it actually comes down to it.
Zayn slides his hand down Harry’s back, all warm and familiar and comforting.
From the living room, Perrie yells, “Zayn, we’re out of crisps.” When Zayn grabs another bag out of the cupboard, Harry reaches for his phone and texts, Might have to hide at yours for a couple of days. Will bring a dog in compensation.
Mi casa su whatever my phone isn’t autocorrecting that and i cant remember latin.
Youll also have to protect me from lil mix.
Those girls are scrappy, Nick texts back, I will require eggs.
It’s a kind of a sweet way to ask for a blowjob, Harry thinks, and wipes at his face to hide his grin when he hears Zayn coming back into the kitchen.
--
Whatever confusing mess of feelings Louis stirred up in Harry’s stomach, it was fine until everyone else started noticing. It was kind of funny to like someone who didn’t like him back - like, hey, this is what all the sad love songs are about. Now he understood, he was part of the lonely hearts club or whatever.
But Louis withdrawing and going pinched in the face every time someone brought up the Larry rubbish wasn’t fine. Harry pretends he doesn’t hear when people yell questions about it, shrugs easily when they’re asked about it in interviews, never brings it up with Louis.
When he sees the article in the gossip rag about him and Nick, he gets the same nervous swoopy feeling in his stomach but ten times worse. Nick’s got one of those careers where he gets a little bit of attention for not a lot of hassle, so it’s just Harry bringing the stupidity into his life. If Louis isn’t getting asked about Harry, he’s getting asked about carrots, but Nick mostly just gets to talk about music. Harry would be jealous of him but, when it comes down to it, he wants all the attention no matter the price.
He thinks that he’s going to just go on as usual, not mention it to Nick, not mention it to anyone, just let the rumours spin themselves around until they burn out, but the next time he and Nick are together, kicking back on Nick’s velvet wingback sofa and watching the Great British Bake Off while they eat Chinese takeout, Nick says, “Got asked about you like thirty times more than usual this week. Maybe forty times. Maths isn’t my strongest skill, so it’s a good thing I did that business focus.”
“Sorry,” Harry says, putting his sweet and sour pork on the table gingerly. He tries to focus on the telly again but his stomach is dancing, and he stands and walks around to the other side of the coffee table before he realizes that standing in the middle of the room will only make this more awkward.
“What’s happening?” Nick asks, standing as well. “What’s going on here, what are we doing?”
“There’s the stupid article in Sugarscape about us, and you’re probably going to start getting asked about it in interviews all the time but I don’t-” Harry mostly does a really good job of acting nonchalant in front of Nick, but now that they’re shagging he can feel these little cracks starting to show. Like he’s not just worried about ruining their friendship anymore, now he’s worried about Nick. It’s not as easy as it once was to keep everything calm and easy, even though it is still easy. Harry’s the one who’s not calm.
“Harry,” Nick says, running his hands up Harry’s shoulders to rest on either side of his neck. “It’s fine, I don’t care.”
“It’s just that they’re going to make a fuss about it and blow it up into some big thing.”
“I don’t care,” Nick says again, giving Harry an easy smile. “It doesn’t matter if people ask if I’ve got a boyfriend - I’m already out, and if weren’t you, it’d be someone else.”
“Yeah, but we’re actually-” Together? Fooling around? Doing the things they say we’re doing? Harry realizes he doesn’t know how to finish the sentence and swallows heavily.
“But they don’t know that,” Nick says. “It doesn’t matter, it’s just people talking.”
“Really?” Harry asks, skeptically, because Nick seems genuinely unfazed. Not just like he’s pretending that things will be fine, which is more what Harry expected, but like he truly isn’t bothered.
“Sure,” Nick says, easily, drawing Harry in for a bit of a cuddle, standing beside the coffee table while someone on the telly wails about a ruined quiche.
“Okay.” His face is smushed into Nick’s shoulder and Nick isn’t that much taller, but it seems like he is right now, his arms around Harry while Harry curls in. He seems taller and warmer and he still smells really good. He genuinely isn’t mad.
“You still watching that?” Harry asks, the telly droning on in the background.
“I was,” Nick says, but he lets Harry drag him into the bedroom anyway.
--
Harry’s got love bites all down the side of his pec, creeping up toward his clavicle. He doesn’t know how Louis even notices, because the highest one is still mostly covered by the collar of his t-shirt, but he does.
“Big night,” Louis says.
Harry shrugs, tempted to pull back but standing still under his gaze.
Louis curls his lip and presses on the mark, fingers digging into the bruise. It throbs and Harry curls away, covering his chest with the palm of his hand to protect it.
“I thought you were with Nick last night,” Louis says, still looking at Harry’s chest appraisingly.
“I was.”
Louis says, “Mh,” and then turns away. He heads over to where Liam is trying to wrestle one of the amps across the studio (while the studio tech yells at him to just leave it for someone else to take care of) and jumps on his back, taking them both down in a mess of kicking limbs.
Harry leaves his hand where it is until he can’t feel anything but his own touch on his skin.
--
Lad’s night with Zayn turns into a bit of a fiasco because Zayn brings Perrie and then invites Louis, who brings Eleanor, and Harry’s plan was not to be the fifth wheel on a double date, what is wrong with Zayn anyway? So he invites Nick, who invites Pixie and Aimie, and it’s not really a lad’s night at all, but Zayn has made some choices that Harry is just going to have to accept.
“You used to be better at this,” Harry moans to Zayn, who’s sharing a chair with Perrie and also sharing a gin and tonic with Perrie and no one will let Harry order Jägerbombs.
“Not really,” Zayn says.
It’s a fair point.
“You used to be better at this,” Harry says to Louis. At least Louis has his own beer, but he’s also wearing a turtleneck.
Louis gives him a nasty look but doesn’t say anything, probably because Eleanor is stroking her hand up his arm and he’s being soothed in spite of himself. Harry glares right back, but Louis doesn’t seem to notice. He turns to try to get a conciliatory look from Nick, but Nick is huddled in the back of the booth, deep in conversation with Pixie and Aimie, as if he doesn’t already talk to them a million times a day. No one is paying attention to Harry and this is the exact opposite of what he was hoping for when he suggested this whole thing.
He stalks off to the bar and drinks his vodka tonic there, pulling the bowl of lemon garnishes towards himself and chewing on the rinds.
He’s probably a little teary and red-faced from too much lemon and more vodka than tonic, but he can still see a couple girls making eyes at him, the blonde from down the bar and the woman three seats over. He could probably tempt the bartender as well, if he put in even a cursory effort.
He looks back at their table. Louis is kissing Eleanor’s neck, but Nick makes eye contact, raising one eyebrow questioningly, so Harry stuffs another slice of lemon into his mouth, gives Nick a lackluster yellow smile, and doesn’t talk to anyone.
The vodka tonics come in really small glasses, so Harry has another, then another, then he has to go to the bathroom, which is all the way at the other end of the pub and a bit hard to find if he’s being honest.
Someone else walks in when he’s washing his hands, and Harry looks up with half a smile on his face before he realizes that it’s Louis.
“What are you in a sulk about?” Louis asks, immediately sharp.
“I‘m not,” Harry says, turning off the tap.
“Everyone thinks you’re being ridiculous.”
“Maybe everyone didn’t have to come out on lads night,” Harry says, trying to keep his voice mild.
“Sorry we don't all hate relationships as much as you do,” Louis snaps.
“That’s not fair,” Harry says, because he actually likes being in a relationship rather a lot. It’s just that lately it’s been a long string of flings that could have worked but didn’t. That’s not the same as - whatever Louis is insinuating. “I date people.”
He should have just left it, because now Louis is narrowing his eyes. “Right,” he says, “how could I forget. You’re all settled down with Nick now.”
“What do you know about it?” Harry asks, his voice coming out flat and hard. Louis doesn’t know the first thing about him and Nick.
“What do I know about you when you’ve got a crush?” Louis taunts. “Gee, that’s a tough one.”
Harry can feel himself go bright red. He never thought there was much point to being subtle about what he wanted, but - this. Having someone throw it back in his face. This is why he shouldn’t give everything away.
He can feel anger twisting around in his stomach, which isn’t a great place for it because he skipped dinner and is full of vodka and lemon. Everything is sharp and bitter. He’s backed against the edge of the sink, but he takes a step forward and says, “Jealous?”
Louis laughs once, loudly. He crosses his arms and says, “Don’t need to be, do I?”
“I’m not sixteen anymore,” Harry says, shocked by how angry he feels. He’s not good at this, never fights, but he wishes suddenly, desperately, that he could say something right now that would hurt Louis.
“Right,” Louis says, taking a step forward. “You’re all grown up now, playing house with a thirty year old. Except you’re still here with me.”
This would be a really good time to storm off. Or even to just slink out awkwardly. To be anywhere other than here right now would be great, but Harry’s frozen. Louis is close enough to touch at this point, and Harry still hasn’t learned how to put space between them.
He watches Louis’s mouth twist and tries not to breathe too loudly. Louis is looking at him, all his attention focused laser sharp on Harry, and Harry doesn’t know what he’s going to do but it seems like-
The door opens and Harry hears, “Oh.” He turns his head and catches the look on Nick’s face, exposed and sad and resigned for the half a moment it takes him to school his features into a tight smile.
Nick says, “Sorry, lads,” and steps back, letting the door close quietly behind him.
Harry turns back to Louis, who’s already taken three steps in the opposite direction, and is blinking furiously.
“Well, shit,” Harry says. He grabs a paper towel, dries his hands. He thinks that maybe he’ll be disappointed, because the moment has so clearly been ruined, but his chest has gone hollow. He leaves Louis in the toilet without saying another word and searches for Nick in the pub, but he’s gone.
Harry sighs loudly as he sits down beside Zayn, who pets him comfortingly on the back of the neck. There are a couple of half empty glasses on the table that Harry considers drinking from, but he thinks maybe he should sober up instead. He needs to not be here when Louis comes back. He needs to find Nick.
“I’m off,” he says, waiting for Zayn to slide his hand away before he stands. He hails a taxi and says Nick’s address and thinks maybe he should text to tell Nick he’s coming - what if Nick isn’t actually at home? - but he doesn’t. Just sits silently in the car and finally takes a deep breath when he gets to Nick’s flat and Nick buzzes him up.
Nick’s still dressed the same, standing at the door, combing his fingers through his hair to poof up his quiff.
“Tonight was a bit rubbish,” Harry says as he sags against the door frame. “Can I sleep over?”
Nick doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t look convinced, but he moves away from the door to let Harry inside.
“Got in a bit of a row with Louis,” Harry says, following Nick into the kitchen and helping himself to a glass from the cupboard. He fills it up with water, downs it, and then thinks maybe it’s not that he needs to sober up. Maybe it’s just that he needs more alcohol.
Nick looks tired.
“This isn’t a good idea,” he says, like maybe he can read Harry’s mind, wondering about the bottle of white in Nick’s fridge. Harry knows it’s there because he was with Nick when he bought it, and he knows Nick hasn’t drank it because they’ve been together all three nights since.
“What?” Harry asks.
“We don’t have to have a whole scene,” Nick says. “It’s okay.”
“Are you - breaking it off?” Harry asks, choked. “That’s not okay. I’ll make a scene.”
“You don’t even like me,” Nick says, “it’s just that it’s been easy.” He doesn’t even sound mad, just a bit embarrassed.
“Yes, I do,” Harry says.
“I know you, Styles,” Nick says. “You’ve not been pining.”
“Because you’re here,” Harry says. “Why would I be pining for someone who’s right here?”
“I know how this goes,” Nick says. “It’s easy and I’m safe and it doesn’t mean anything. You just want someone who won’t go running to the press. Which is a bit of a blunder on your part, because I do have a radio show, you know. Well listened to. I wouldn’t even have to find a magazine to print my story.”
“What’s your story?”
“It’s not a very good one,” Nick says. “Fell for this cheeky pop star. Joke’s on me.”
“Nick,” Harry says, shuffling over and wrapping his arm around Nick’s waist.
“You must have this conversation with people three times a day,” Nick says, twisting his mouth to one side, turning to face Harry and putting space between them. He makes his voice lower, imitating Harry as he says, “‘I know I’ve been giving you the shag of your life, but it doesn’t mean anything.’”
“Stop,” Harry says. “I’m not like that. You know I’m not like that.”
“I don’t know,” Nick says. “I don’t know what you say and who you’ve been - sleeping with.”
“I haven’t been sleeping with anyone,” Harry says. “I’m over at your place all the time.” He means, so you should know this already, but Nick says, “I’m blocking your game.”
“You’re getting all my game,” Harry corrects.
“What about Louis?” Nick says, and Harry feels a bit sick because this is the first time he’s actually talked about it in a real way. Not in a stupid interview but with someone who actually knows him.
“Eleanor gets all his game,” Harry says. “And you get all of mine. And everything else is just non-existent history.”
Nick actually looks a bit distressed before he smoothes it into an ironic smile, giving Harry a nod that’s easy to read because, yeah, they’re standing in the middle of Nick’s kitchen, having a row about … emotions or whatever, and it’s never been like this with them before.
“Maybe it’s not always easier as friends,” Nick says, running his fingers through his quiff and hiding half of his face with his wrist.
“Maybe we’re not actually friends,” says Harry. He doesn’t know why Nick is always rattling on about that except that, when it comes down to it, most of the self-deprecating things Nick says aren’t actually jokes. He’s all talk, especially with things he doesn’t really think he’s ever going to get.
“That’d be pretty stupid too,” Nick says. “You’re about to start a tour. Don’t know much about this kind of thing, but I don’t think people usually begin relationships just before leaving on a world tour.”
“People don’t usually get to host the Radio One Breakfast Show,” Harry says, reaching for Nick again. This time Nick doesn’t pull away. “People don’t usually do a lot of things that we do. Doesn’t mean we don’t know how to make it work.”
“Doesn’t mean we do though,” Nick says, but Harry can feel him softening, curling in so that he can press his palm to the small of Harry’s back.
“Yeah, we do,” Harry says, stubborn and confident, and then he kisses Nick in the middle of Nick’s barely functional kitchen.
He pulls back, finally, but not far enough to disturb Nick’s hand creeping up the back of his shirt.
“You’re saying yes, right?” he asks. “No more bollocks about just mates.”
“I thought that sounded good,” Nick says, laughing. “I had it all thought out.”
“Being friends doesn’t sound good,” says Harry seriously. “Not all of your ideas are good ones. I really think you need to buy a chopping board instead of always using one of the dinner plates. And get some proper fucking spoons.”
“Yeah?” Nick says, pressing his grin to Harry’s cheek. He kisses Harry’s jaw, his neck, under his ear. Kisses him on the mouth again and says, “Strong suggestions, Styles.”
--
They’re flying to Germany, and Harry’s sitting beside Niall, but Louis comes over when Niall goes to the loo. He sits down beside Harry and curls his fingers around the edge of Harry’s blanket. Harry was like three seconds away from sleeping, or maybe he was sleeping a little bit because he has to force his head upright and his mouth closed.
He called Nick before landing, said goodbye again even though they’re only going to be gone for three days and Nick was the one who drove him to the airport. Nick answered on the first ring, and eventually admitting that he was still in the car in front of the airport.
“I don’t have any more pretzels,” Harry tells Louis. He’s already finished them.
“No-” Louis says. Then, “Wait, really?” because it was quite a huge bag.
“I was hungry, and I didn’t have lunch,” Harry whines. He noticed that Liam brought sour gummies, so he might try to steal some of those later.
Louis sighs and visibly steels himself before saying, “I’m sorry.” It’s one of the only times Harry’s ever heard Louis apologize. He didn’t even say sorry that time he hit Liam in the face with an apple and split his lip open. “About the other night. I don’t know why I did that. I’m a bit rubbish sometimes.”
“It’s fine,” Harry says. “I already know that you’re horrible. I love you anyway.” It’s easy to say because he does love Louis and but that’s not the same as being in love with him.
Louis looks happy, smiles brightly, a little surprised, like maybe apologizing wasn’t actually as bad as he thought it would be.
“I wasn’t jealous,” Louis says, shrugging one shoulder. “Well, just a bit.”
Harry spent a while thinking that making Louis jealous would be pretty sodding amazing, but now that it’s actually happened, he’s mostly just relieved that they’re not fighting.
“I’m a charmer,” Harry says easily, grinning. “It’s hard for me to turn it off.”
“Are you dating him?” Louis asks. “Like proper boyfriends?”
“Proper and official,” Harry says, swooshing his hair forward and then scooping it out of his eyes again, letting his blanket slide down from where he had it wrapped tightly around his shoulders.
“You’re smiling again,” Louis says.
“Sorry,” says Harry, trying to pull down the corners of his mouth.
“No, it’s good,” Louis says. “You look happy.”
“What’s Harry happy about now?” Niall asks, popping around the seat and sitting himself down on Harry’s lap.
Harry considers saying something silly, another non-answer, but instead he says, “I‘m dating Nick now. I just told Louis.”
“Wait,” Niall says, spinning around to look Harry in the face. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Harry says, steadying Niall, who’s now trying to climb over the back of the seat.
“Harry and Grimmy are together,” he yells to Liam and Zayn, who are sitting a few rows back.
“Stop,” Harry says, laughing, pulling Niall back onto his lap. He can hear whooping behind him.
“It’s good,” Niall says excitedly. “That’s what you’ve been wanting, right?”
“Yeah,” Harry says, stretching out his legs to accommodate Niall’s weight. “It’s exactly what I want.”
Harry Styles/Nick Grimshaw [unrequited Harry/Louis] | ~8,500 words | NC-17
Harry and Nick start hooking up. It’s just friends.
Happy Holidays, ericaplease!
Many many thanks to fitofpique for betaing even though she's not even in this fandom, ♥.
“This is a bit stupid,” Harry says, pulling back enough that he can swallow. His lips feel almost numb from how long they’ve been kissing, like the skin has been stretched smooth and rubbed raw.
“Yeah,” Nick says. He turns his face away a little to clear his throat, and then looks up at Harry again. He’s lying on his back, fingers pressed to the small of Harry’s back underneath his t-shirt. Harry’s mostly been doing a good job at not humping Nick’s thigh where their legs are tangled together, but he thinks he might want to put his hands in Nick’s pants.
It’s dark in Nick’s bedroom, just past two in the morning and the night has truly set in. Nick doesn’t have to get up in the morning because it’s Saturday - well, Sunday now, but still it’s probably not great to set his sleep cycle off this much.
He decides against mentioning that he’s been thinking of Nick’s sleep cycle. Christ.
“What part?” Nick asks, pressing his lips together and then poking his tongue through to wet them. It was probably just a reflex, but it has Harry looking at his mouth again.
“Hm?” Harry says as he starts to lean down. It’s hard to hold himself up on the bed and he’s just got himself braced with one elbow, the rest of his body draped along the long stretch of Nick, who’s all warm and solid and really easy to kiss.
“What part is stupid?” Nick asks.
“I don’t know,” Harry says, opening his mouth against Nick’s. Nick’s face is rough and Harry’s lips are going to be so chapped tomorrow, but he doesn’t want to stop kissing. One of the pillows slides to the floor. Nick’s got this unnecessarily complicated bed, with a stack of throw pillows and the regular pillows and a duvet and then another blanket, and Harry likes the idea of making a mess of it.
Nick sucks on his tongue and Harry squirms, rocking against Nick’s thigh and exhaling sharply through his nose. His cock is going to be just as chafed as his lips, but he doesn’t care.
“What part is stupid?” Nick asks again when they pull apart.
Even in the dark, Harry can see how red his mouth is, all swollen from kissing. He smells really good, and Harry ducks his head to bury his face in Nick’s neck. He’s a bit drunk, but just enough that it seemed like a good idea to follow Nick into his bedroom instead of bunking in the guest room like usual. Drunk enough to start playing with the hem of Nick’s t-shirt and angle their faces together, to make sure they were sharing in the same pillow. Nick kissed him first, but Harry’s the one who made it happen.
“Don’t usually do this with mates,” Harry murmurs against Nick’s skin. His whole body is tight and hot, but he still gets that reflexive swooping feeling in his stomach when he thinks about the last time he made out with one of his mates.
“Why not?” Nick asks, blinking up at Harry in the dark. “It’s easier than pulling a stranger, and you don’t have to worry about them thinking it’s more than it is.”
“Not everyone spends as much time making out with their friends as you do,” Harry says. Most of Harry’s friends are older and married, or straight or gay in the way that rules him out. He knows a lot of people, but mostly he’s got clear lines in his head - people he wants to try to sleep with, people he’d date if he could convince them it would be a good idea, friends. Nick has always just been a friend but, now that they’re lying in bed together, Harry’s not really sure why.
“Not everyone is as smart as I am,” Nick agrees. “But that’s their loss, isn’t it?”
“So, I guess-”
“You go ahead and finish rubbing one out on my hip,” Nick says. “But I want poached eggs in the morning.”
Harry’s cheeks flush, and he can feel the warmth spread all the way down his neck. “I‘m not rubbing off on you,” he mutters. One day he’ll stop being easy for people who embarrass him.
“You are,” Nick says, pulling Harry down with the spread of his fingers on Harry’s back. “That’s alright, be a love and squirm a little further up.”
“Just mates?” Harry asks, even as he’s pull himself forward, sliding into the v of Nick’s legs so his hip’s resting on the hard line of Nick’s cock.
“Just mates,” Nick says.
--
Harry wakes a few hours later. It’s daylight and Nick is snoring quietly on the pillow beside him. The room’s spinning a little bit. He goes to the bathroom and then staggers his way back to Nick’s bedroom, finding Nick blinking blearily at him over the edge of the duvet.
“Should I head home now?” Harry asks, perching on the side of the bed. “Let you get some sleep?”
“I can sleep when you’re here,” Nick says.
“You sure?” Harry asks.
“Yeah, you’ve got to stay to make me eggs in the morning,” Nick says. He tugs at Harry’s arm until Harry slides back under the covers and then keeps tugging until Harry’s curled up behind him. Harry wraps his arm around Nick’s waist and hides his grin in Nick’s shoulder when he exhales heavily, sagging back into Harry’s arms.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Nick says, his voice heavy with sleep. “There’s nothing wrong with being the little spoon.”
Harry sleeps until the sun rises and he can’t sleep any more the way his head’s still spinning. Then he gets up, slowly dresses, kisses Nick on the forehead, and lets himself out.
--
“Love ‘em and leave ‘em,” Nick says, late Sunday afternoon, when Harry answers his phone.
“Well, you know,” Harry says. He’s sitting on his couch, his laptop just kicking to screensaver. It’s late in the afternoon. He should put some clothes on and think about leaving his flat, go for a run. Maybe take a shower.
“I do,” Nick agrees. “Which is why I was surprised that you were the one sneaking out in the night.”
“It was morning,” Harry says, “and I said goodbye. You just slept through it.”
“Nice,” Nick says.
“We’re good, right?” Harry asks. Nick’s the first person he’s slept with who’s a friend, an actual friend. Like if they’re not good, they’ll have to sort it out, because losing the friendship isn’t an option. He’s not sure that this plan is quite as foolproof as Nick claims it is.
“Yeah,” Nick says. “You want to come out tonight?”
“Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”
“Britain’s hardly going to be able to get themselves up without me on a Monday morning.”
“Nick says, wake yo’self up.”
“Aww, you listen,” Nick says, sounding genuinely pleased, probably in spite of himself. “So, are we going out or what?”
“Where should I meet you?” Harry asks, phone still in hand as he starts walking toward the shower.
--
Nick’s a bit more talk than game on a Sunday night, even though they do manage to polish off the better half of a bottle of vodka, and it’s hardly half nine before he’s saying that he needs to get home to bed. Harry follows him out. They’re in the studio in the morning, and Harry sings a bit better when he’s got sleep, so. Whatever. It’s easier not to have Liam clucking at him.
Except that they share a cab and somehow Harry follows Nick into his flat when the cabbie stops and then they’re kissing and Harry is pulling his kit off and going for the zip of Nick’s trousers and when he sinks to his knees, Nick says, “You owe me eggs this time. I haven’t forgotten.”
“Yeah, alright.” Harry pulls Nick’s cock out of his boxers and opens his mouth, wet and soft, around the head of Nick’s cock. Nick touches his face a lot, petting at his hair before catching himself and moving his fingers away. Harry doesn’t mind though, wouldn’t tell Nick to stop even if he were to pull a bit, but it’s nice this way. Nick’s big hands, his fingers trailing along Harry’s jaw, touching the edge of his mouth where he’s opening wide for the thick length of Nick’s cock.
He swallows when Nick comes and then follows Nick into the bedroom, where Nick strips him all the way bare and lays him out on the bed.
“It’s better than pulling a stranger, right?” Nick asks. “It’s easier like this. Less lonely.”
Having sex isn’t ever exactly lonely, but Harry knows what Nick means. The difference between how easy this is and the inevitable awkwardness of trying to navigate intimacy with a stranger.
“Easier,” Harry agrees, pulling at Nick’s t-shirt until he shrugs it off, climbing onto the bed, climbing on top of Harry.
“And then eggs tomorrow, right?” Nick asks.
“You’re just doing this for the breakfast, aren’t you?” Harry asks. He has to go into the studio first thing but not nearly as early as Nick has to be up.
“Are you saying that I could get breakfast if I didn’t put out first?” Nick asks.
“Nope,” Harry says, pushing at Nick’s shoulder and squirming until Nick finally wraps a hand around his erection, drops his head down. “No eggs without orgasms. Fair’s fair.”
“As long as it’s fair,” Nick says, and then he opens his mouth and sucks Harry down.
--
“It’s all fluffy,” Nick says. “You said you knew how to do this.”
“Stop doubting me,” Harry says, hip checking Nick away from where he’s peering over Harry’s shoulder into the pot of boiling water. The egg is spreading around in the water a bit, sure, but it’s also going to poach itself eventually. Harry is almost entirely sure. Somewhat.
Harry can feel Nick’s t-shirt against the bare skin of his back. He’s kind of hungover, so his lips and tongue are dry, and his mouth is a little sore from sucking Nick’s cock last night. He presses the back of his hand to his lips and wonders if they look as raw and red as they feel.
“Maybe I want scrambled instead,” Nick says, twisting the words around in his mouth like he does when he’s on the radio. Nick is chipper in spite of how early it is. That’s the main problem with him now that he’s doing the morning show: he doesn’t wake up foggy after a night of drinking like a normal person anymore. He does complain loudly about the state of his headache and how dry his eyes are and why didn’t Harry remind him to take out his contacts last night and couldn’t they have had a glass of water before bed and, “stop,” Harry says. “No one is allowed to complain this much after getting a blowjob. You’re supposed to be all smug.”
Nick drapes his arms over Harry’s shoulders, backing him up against the counter. He looks pointedly down at the bare stretch of Harry’s chest, leering.
“I’m smug,” Nick says, softly, clasping his hands at the nape of Harry’s neck and fiddling with Harry’s hair with his thumbs.
Harry grins, angling his hips toward Nick. He’s pretty good at morning afters - just got to get out of bed fast enough that the other person doesn’t try to initiate morning sex, then distract them with food long enough to pop out before discussing anything more serious than how they like their eggs. Unless the sex was really good and he does want to stick around for a morning shag. Then the trick is to slip to the bathroom, gargle with water and toothpaste, and slide back into bed. Usually they’re both still naked, and it’s easy to go from naked to naked and having sex.
Harry had been a bit undecided about how to deal with this morning after, because Nick’s not a hook up, but he’s also exactly a hook up. Luckily, Nick has it sorted. He gets them both out of bed, dresses himself but doesn’t insist on Harry putting anything on, and makes sure they’ve both got cups of tea while Harry’s cooking.
When the pot of water boils over onto Nick’s pristine and basically unused stove, Harry realizes that it would be almost impossible to have a talk. He feels quite proud of them both, and sits Nick down at the table with a somewhat unhinged poached egg.
--
“You look right pleased,” Niall says. He’s sitting on a couch at the back of the studio with a guitar on his lap.
“No one else is here yet?” Harry asks, flopping down beside him. He went back to his own flat after seeing Nick off to work, sprawled on his bed and managed to sleep maybe another half hour before his alarm went off and he had only enough time to change out of last night’s clothes before running out the door.
“No,” Niall says, just as Liam bursts through the door yelling, “Sorry I’m late.” It’s two minutes past.
“So,” Niall says, nudging Harry with his elbow but leaving his hand pressed flat to the body of his guitar.
“A needle pulling thread,” Harry says.
Niall chortles, and Harry tucks himself just behind him so they’re pressed close together but he’s not in the way of the guitar.
“You pulled?” Niall asks.
“Guess so,” Harry says.
“And now I get your morning after sex cuddles,” Niall says.
“I’ve got a whole lot of love,” says Harry. He headbutts Niall’s shoulder.
“Shove over,” Liam says, walking over to them now that he’s unloaded his coat and bag.
Harry’s sandwiched in between Niall and Liam, kicking sharply at Liam’s shin every time he tries to move, when Louis walks into the studio.
“What’s this then?” he asks, sliding his coat off his shoulders and dropping it to the floor.
“Harry’s got a whole lotta love,” Niall says.
Harry kicks Liam hard when he starts to pull back suspiciously.
“Please tell me you showered this morning,” Liam says.
“Yeah,” Harry says. He brushed his teeth, because Nick came in his mouth and not on his body, so that’s basically the same as a shower. If Liam has a problem cuddling with Harry when Harry’s had sex the night before then he’s just going to have to rethink the last two years of friendship.
“Where’s Zayn?” Louis asks, because once he’s here that means it’s time for them to start. “Has anyone talked to him today?”
Zayn’s still asleep when they call, so Harry has another half hour to putter around the studio while they wait. He puts on the kettle and fiddles with his phone while he waits for it to boil. He’s got four new texts, none of them from Nick. But, when he checks twitter, Nick’s posted a picture of the streaky egg water on Instagram.
Louis comes up beside him and grabs the kettle just as it clicks off, using most of the boiling water to make himself a cup of tea.
“What’s that?” Louis asks, staring shamelessly over Harry’s shoulder at his phone.
“Poached some eggs,” Harry says. He clicks his phone to black and tucks it in his pocket, picking up the kettle and pouring the rest of the water into his glass. Hot water is better than cold for his vocal chords, so he drinks mugs of it even though it makes him feel like a nun. Or maybe because it does. He likes feeling virtuous sometimes. Other than breakfast, the last thing he swallowed was a mouthful of jizz, which makes him secretly pleased, and he hides his smile with the mug of steaming water, looking over the rim at Louis.
“Oh, okay then,” Louis says, because they’ve known each other for too long for Harry to be able to hide anything from him. Especially when he’s not even trying.
“Okay,” Harry echoes.
“Cheeky,” says Louis, and Harry bites the inside of his cheek to try to get his dimples under control.
Louis moves so that he’s standing beside Harry, the both of them leaning back against the wall. He reaches up to tangle his fingers in Harry’s hair, pulling harder than he needs to when he runs his hand through Harry’s curls. Harry tilts his head back into Louis’s hand and closes his eyes.
He thought he was in love with Louis for about three minutes when they first met, which is embarrassing to think about now. Like, in love, like in actual love, like he thought he loved Louis, even though they never even kissed. Except that one night at the end of X Factor when Harry was lying in Louis’s bed, his head resting against the zipper of Louis’s onesie. He wasn’t wearing anything except boxers, and Louis was so warm and cozy and he’d had a shower earlier so his hair was soft against his forehead. Harry didn’t think anything about leaning up to kiss him until Louis was giggling against his lips, turning his head away so that Harry had to settle back onto his chest.
“Such a charmer,” Louis teased, kindly. “Don’t even know how to turn it off.”
Harry pretended to fall asleep quickly afterward, and Louis actually fell asleep soon after that. Harry felt his stomach grow tighter and tighter as he realized for the first time that Louis didn’t see the same inevitable conclusion - that it wasn’t inevitable at all, that Harry wouldn’t always get everything he wanted, no matter how badly he wished and worked for it.
They were voted off X Factor the next week, and Louis held him when he cried. And then Zayn was there, and Harry cried against his shoulder and pretended that he was only upset about losing the show.
“So what are you smiling about then?” Louis asks.
Harry blinks his eyes open and pretends that he’s not half hard just from Louis’s fingers combing sharply through his hair. A little bit of hot water sloshes over the rim of his mug and Harry concentrates on steadying his hand.
“Did you pull that model you’ve been chasing?” Louis asks.
“No,” Harry says. “Haven’t seen her in a while.”
“But you’re smiling this morning.”
“I’m smiling a lot of mornings.”
Louis shakes his head, tugging hard enough that Harry’s head tilts backwards before he moves his hand away entirely.
“I’m a happy guy,” Harry finishes, even slower than usual because he’s worried that his voice will crack. It comes out alright.
“Come on,” Louis finally says after staying pointedly silent just long enough to make Harry squirm. “Zayn’s here.”
“Okay,” Harry says, shaking his hair into his face and breathing out slowly before he pushes it away again.
He grabs his phone out of his pocket and texts Nick, I want a do over, i forgot to put vinegar in the water to stop the egg from going wonky.
--
Harry wonders if he should spend some time not having sex with Nick, but what’s the point? They’re here for the fall and then it’s the holidays and the world tour and Harry’s a big fan of just letting things happen. If it’s working to shag Nick, then he might as well continue shagging Nick.
“How do you have proper lube?” Nick asks, holding up the bottle and eyeing it.
“Same as how I have everything,” Harry says. “I went to the store and bought it.”
“But what if someone caught actual Harry Styles buying what is, I’m sure, intended to be a marital aid?”
Harry leans in and drops his voice to a whisper. “I think they’ve figured out that I’m having sex. Cat might already be out of the bag on that one.”
“And what do you use this for?” Nick asks.
“I guess mostly just during sex,” Harry says. “I’m a bit strange like that.”
“You know what I’m asking,” Nick says with a small sound of frustration, dropping the bottle and using his body to pin Harry to the mattress.
Harry gives a squirm, testing the grip of Nick’s hands around his wrists. It’s pretty tight. Excellent.
“Well, sometimes I use it when I’m jacking off,” Harry says. “Makes everything all wet.” He opens his thighs against the weight of Nick’s hips baring down. “Sometimes I use it when I’m putting my dick inside of people, make it easier to take.” He can feel Nick grinding down slowly. “Sometimes I use it when people are fucking me.” He schools his face so he’s just half-smiling when he blinks up at Nick. “You know, just the usual things.”
Nick’s gone all red, flushed dark across his cheeks. His quiff is drooping and starting to tangle against his forehead. He looks like he wants to swallow Harry whole, which is exactly what Harry was going for. Harry feels his smile stretch all the way out and then Nick’s leaning down and biting at his lips, pushing his tongue into Harry’s mouth, this slick, blunt slide. He’s still smiling when Nick grabs for the bottle again, but he rolls onto his hands and knees and ducks his head, so maybe Nick won’t notice how pleased Harry is, how needy he feels already.
Nick drips lube onto Harry’s hole and then pushes it around with his fingers while Harry drops to his elbows, his knees slipping further and further apart. When Nick eases his dick inside, Harry’s thighs start to shake with the effort of not sliding all the way down onto the mattress. The heavy press of Nick behind him - Harry feels like he’s pinned, like Nick’s got him all spread out and, if he can just hold still, Nick will give him everything he needs.
Nick twists his hips: fast, deep thrusts that catch and flare all the way up Harry’s spine. Harry moans but, with the way Nick’s fucking him, his breath comes out uneven, this choppy, drawn-out pleading sound. It hurts just enough for Harry to push back against it, them going at it this rough, Nick shoving into him this deep. He squirms his hand under his body and catches his cock, gripping tightly. There’s not enough room to move his wrist and jerk off properly, but he holds his cock while Nick takes him hard, and comes, shaking, into his own hand. Nick keeps going, all the way through it and then beyond. Harry lets go of his cock and lets himself go numb, trying to remember to clench down until finally Nick ruts into him frantically, grinding in deep and panting against the back of Harry’s neck, his hips jerking in the aftershocks.
Eventually Nick pulls out, holds himself up long enough to wrap the condom in a piece of tissue, give Harry the chance to roll over, and then flops down mostly on top of him. Harry trails his fingers down Nick’s back and feels him shiver.
“You’re a bit of a menace, Styles,” Nick says from where his face is smooshed into Harry’s chest.
Harry hums, and he can feel Nick’s lips curl into a smile, feel him press his mouth to Harry’s chest, kissing softly.
He waits until they’re both less flushed and overheated before he presses his dick, hard enough now that Nick will be able to feel it, against Nick’s hip and says, “I want to go again,” a bit embarrassed but wanting it badly enough to ask anyway.
He thinks that maybe Nick is going to roll his eyes and tease him for asking for too much, but he just sucks in a breath and lifts his head to capture Harry’s mouth, kissing him wet and deep until they’re both all the way hard, before reaching for another condom.
Harry feels his eyes roll back when Nick slides in again. He’s still slick and open and it’s so good that the pleasure goes sharp. His mouth drops open and he knows he’s making way too much noise, but Nick doesn’t tell him to be quiet, so he lets go, gasps and pleads even though Nick’s already giving it to him hard, like there’s this inexhaustible supply of wanting inside of him just waiting to come out.
“Nick,” Harry says, voice breaking. Nick drops his head and catches Harry’s mouth, sucks on Harry’s tongue. He’s got Harry’s legs folded back, his elbows holding Harry’s knees. Harry kisses him frantically, thinks, Nick, Nick, Nick, until finally Nick fucks the orgasm out of him and he starts shaking so badly that Nick has to let his legs down.
“Sleep over tonight,” Nick says, suddenly, even though his cock is still hard and he hasn’t finished pulling off the condom so he can jerk himself off.
“Yeah,” Harry says, and it sounds like another moan.
--
Zayn’s house has an awful lot of Star Wars merch for someone who is technically a heartthrob, but Harry doesn’t mention it, sitting himself in this weird black bubble chair and staring at Perrie, who’s sat on the couch with the dog. He wants that dog. He wants the dog to walk over and sit on his lap and then he wants to put it in his pocket and bring it home with him. As soon as he can figure out how to get it away from Perrie, he’s going to make that happen.
“Are you checking out Zayn’s girlfriend?” Liam asks suspiciously from where he’s sitting, somewhat beside Harry, on a low stool.
“No,” Harry says, slowly.
“You’re staring. And your face is doing this - hungry thing.”
Harry sighs, and shakes his head.
“Don’t be weird,” Liam advises, which is a lot to take given that Liam is literally the weirdest person that Harry knows. And Harry knows a lot of people. Liam is undoubtedly the weirdest. He brought Zayn a housewarming gift of egg holders wearing little workmen costumes - like a plumber egg cup and a policeman egg cup and a firefighter egg cup - and these cheeky spears with cartoon faces, all big bubble eyes and bright red grins and sharp metal ends, for holding corn on the cob. Corn and eggs aren’t even complementary food groups.
Harry didn’t bring a housewarming gift, because he’s going to take Zayn out for drinks sometime. Zayn’s all set up with a house and a puppy and a girlfriend - the greatest gift anyone could ever give him is a lad’s night out on the town. Liam doesn’t understand that because he's the weirdest, but Harry does.
He curls his lips back and makes a face at Liam in lieu of answering.
Niall brought a whole tray of fairy cakes with fluffy pink frosting and is currently chewing on the his fourth one, and it’s still a better housewarming gift than mismatched, personified food implements.
Technically, Louis’s gift might be the best. He got a massive Le Creuset pot, which made Zayn grin and knock his head against Louis’s, hugging him from the side and saying, “Thanks, bro,” until Louis went pink and ducked away.
Perrie’s still got the dog and, with Liam so close, Harry texts Nick instead of making his move. I feel like i’m looking into the future and there’s a lot of cookware. What’s a French oven ?
I’m having diet coke and a microwave potato, Nick texts back. Nick’s got three rubber spatulas but absolutely no cooking spoons. “Why would you need different spoons for cooking than for eating?” Nick asked, when Harry pointed this out to him. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
Eventually Liam goes to the kitchen, and Perrie seems sufficiently distracted watching whatever movie is playing in the background.
Harry wiggles his fingers and whispers so, so quietly - just mouthing the words, really, “Puppy. Come here, puppy.” Dogs have really good hearing, so Harry knows it heard, but it’s still just sitting there all cuddled into Perrie’s lap. Harry rubs his fingers together, reaches his palm forward. “Puppy. Hatchi.”
“Stop doing what you’re doing,” Louis says, coming in from the kitchen and slapping Harry upside the head as he passes.
“I’m not doing anything,” Harry says, frowning. He rubs the back of his head.
“Zayn wants you to baste or something,” Louis says. “If you’re quite finished, you can go help him instead.”
“I was just sitting there,” Harry grumps, but he gives up his seat and goes to help Zayn.
His phone buzzes again, another text from Nick. I looked it up and french ovens are nothing about sex unless your turned on by cast iron. Weirdo.
Harry can imagine Nick’s voice as he wrote the text. What a waste of a Google search, he’d grumble. The soft, nasally way he giggles.
“What are you smiling about?” Zayn asks, passing Harry a wooden spoon so he can stir the chickpea marsala.
“Just thinking,” Harry says.
“Harry’s being quirky,” Louis yells from the other room. “Ignore him.”
“Hey,” Harry says slowly, opening the bottle of beer that Zayn passes to him. There’s nothing quirky about trying to get every single thing that he wants. That’s just good planning.
“Can you add the tomatoes?” Zayn asks, chopping carrots on a wooden cutting board.
Harry eases the tomatoes into the pot, the can already open and ready for him on the counter, and then he stirs carefully, trying to break up the larger chunks of tomato without crushing the chickpeas.
“I’m taking you out next time we’ve got a free night,” Harry says when Zayn comes over and throws one arm around him so they can stare into the pot together.
“Okay,” Zayn says, but Harry knows it won’t actually be as easy as that to get him out of the house when it actually comes down to it.
Zayn slides his hand down Harry’s back, all warm and familiar and comforting.
From the living room, Perrie yells, “Zayn, we’re out of crisps.” When Zayn grabs another bag out of the cupboard, Harry reaches for his phone and texts, Might have to hide at yours for a couple of days. Will bring a dog in compensation.
Mi casa su whatever my phone isn’t autocorrecting that and i cant remember latin.
Youll also have to protect me from lil mix.
Those girls are scrappy, Nick texts back, I will require eggs.
It’s a kind of a sweet way to ask for a blowjob, Harry thinks, and wipes at his face to hide his grin when he hears Zayn coming back into the kitchen.
--
Whatever confusing mess of feelings Louis stirred up in Harry’s stomach, it was fine until everyone else started noticing. It was kind of funny to like someone who didn’t like him back - like, hey, this is what all the sad love songs are about. Now he understood, he was part of the lonely hearts club or whatever.
But Louis withdrawing and going pinched in the face every time someone brought up the Larry rubbish wasn’t fine. Harry pretends he doesn’t hear when people yell questions about it, shrugs easily when they’re asked about it in interviews, never brings it up with Louis.
When he sees the article in the gossip rag about him and Nick, he gets the same nervous swoopy feeling in his stomach but ten times worse. Nick’s got one of those careers where he gets a little bit of attention for not a lot of hassle, so it’s just Harry bringing the stupidity into his life. If Louis isn’t getting asked about Harry, he’s getting asked about carrots, but Nick mostly just gets to talk about music. Harry would be jealous of him but, when it comes down to it, he wants all the attention no matter the price.
He thinks that he’s going to just go on as usual, not mention it to Nick, not mention it to anyone, just let the rumours spin themselves around until they burn out, but the next time he and Nick are together, kicking back on Nick’s velvet wingback sofa and watching the Great British Bake Off while they eat Chinese takeout, Nick says, “Got asked about you like thirty times more than usual this week. Maybe forty times. Maths isn’t my strongest skill, so it’s a good thing I did that business focus.”
“Sorry,” Harry says, putting his sweet and sour pork on the table gingerly. He tries to focus on the telly again but his stomach is dancing, and he stands and walks around to the other side of the coffee table before he realizes that standing in the middle of the room will only make this more awkward.
“What’s happening?” Nick asks, standing as well. “What’s going on here, what are we doing?”
“There’s the stupid article in Sugarscape about us, and you’re probably going to start getting asked about it in interviews all the time but I don’t-” Harry mostly does a really good job of acting nonchalant in front of Nick, but now that they’re shagging he can feel these little cracks starting to show. Like he’s not just worried about ruining their friendship anymore, now he’s worried about Nick. It’s not as easy as it once was to keep everything calm and easy, even though it is still easy. Harry’s the one who’s not calm.
“Harry,” Nick says, running his hands up Harry’s shoulders to rest on either side of his neck. “It’s fine, I don’t care.”
“It’s just that they’re going to make a fuss about it and blow it up into some big thing.”
“I don’t care,” Nick says again, giving Harry an easy smile. “It doesn’t matter if people ask if I’ve got a boyfriend - I’m already out, and if weren’t you, it’d be someone else.”
“Yeah, but we’re actually-” Together? Fooling around? Doing the things they say we’re doing? Harry realizes he doesn’t know how to finish the sentence and swallows heavily.
“But they don’t know that,” Nick says. “It doesn’t matter, it’s just people talking.”
“Really?” Harry asks, skeptically, because Nick seems genuinely unfazed. Not just like he’s pretending that things will be fine, which is more what Harry expected, but like he truly isn’t bothered.
“Sure,” Nick says, easily, drawing Harry in for a bit of a cuddle, standing beside the coffee table while someone on the telly wails about a ruined quiche.
“Okay.” His face is smushed into Nick’s shoulder and Nick isn’t that much taller, but it seems like he is right now, his arms around Harry while Harry curls in. He seems taller and warmer and he still smells really good. He genuinely isn’t mad.
“You still watching that?” Harry asks, the telly droning on in the background.
“I was,” Nick says, but he lets Harry drag him into the bedroom anyway.
--
Harry’s got love bites all down the side of his pec, creeping up toward his clavicle. He doesn’t know how Louis even notices, because the highest one is still mostly covered by the collar of his t-shirt, but he does.
“Big night,” Louis says.
Harry shrugs, tempted to pull back but standing still under his gaze.
Louis curls his lip and presses on the mark, fingers digging into the bruise. It throbs and Harry curls away, covering his chest with the palm of his hand to protect it.
“I thought you were with Nick last night,” Louis says, still looking at Harry’s chest appraisingly.
“I was.”
Louis says, “Mh,” and then turns away. He heads over to where Liam is trying to wrestle one of the amps across the studio (while the studio tech yells at him to just leave it for someone else to take care of) and jumps on his back, taking them both down in a mess of kicking limbs.
Harry leaves his hand where it is until he can’t feel anything but his own touch on his skin.
--
Lad’s night with Zayn turns into a bit of a fiasco because Zayn brings Perrie and then invites Louis, who brings Eleanor, and Harry’s plan was not to be the fifth wheel on a double date, what is wrong with Zayn anyway? So he invites Nick, who invites Pixie and Aimie, and it’s not really a lad’s night at all, but Zayn has made some choices that Harry is just going to have to accept.
“You used to be better at this,” Harry moans to Zayn, who’s sharing a chair with Perrie and also sharing a gin and tonic with Perrie and no one will let Harry order Jägerbombs.
“Not really,” Zayn says.
It’s a fair point.
“You used to be better at this,” Harry says to Louis. At least Louis has his own beer, but he’s also wearing a turtleneck.
Louis gives him a nasty look but doesn’t say anything, probably because Eleanor is stroking her hand up his arm and he’s being soothed in spite of himself. Harry glares right back, but Louis doesn’t seem to notice. He turns to try to get a conciliatory look from Nick, but Nick is huddled in the back of the booth, deep in conversation with Pixie and Aimie, as if he doesn’t already talk to them a million times a day. No one is paying attention to Harry and this is the exact opposite of what he was hoping for when he suggested this whole thing.
He stalks off to the bar and drinks his vodka tonic there, pulling the bowl of lemon garnishes towards himself and chewing on the rinds.
He’s probably a little teary and red-faced from too much lemon and more vodka than tonic, but he can still see a couple girls making eyes at him, the blonde from down the bar and the woman three seats over. He could probably tempt the bartender as well, if he put in even a cursory effort.
He looks back at their table. Louis is kissing Eleanor’s neck, but Nick makes eye contact, raising one eyebrow questioningly, so Harry stuffs another slice of lemon into his mouth, gives Nick a lackluster yellow smile, and doesn’t talk to anyone.
The vodka tonics come in really small glasses, so Harry has another, then another, then he has to go to the bathroom, which is all the way at the other end of the pub and a bit hard to find if he’s being honest.
Someone else walks in when he’s washing his hands, and Harry looks up with half a smile on his face before he realizes that it’s Louis.
“What are you in a sulk about?” Louis asks, immediately sharp.
“I‘m not,” Harry says, turning off the tap.
“Everyone thinks you’re being ridiculous.”
“Maybe everyone didn’t have to come out on lads night,” Harry says, trying to keep his voice mild.
“Sorry we don't all hate relationships as much as you do,” Louis snaps.
“That’s not fair,” Harry says, because he actually likes being in a relationship rather a lot. It’s just that lately it’s been a long string of flings that could have worked but didn’t. That’s not the same as - whatever Louis is insinuating. “I date people.”
He should have just left it, because now Louis is narrowing his eyes. “Right,” he says, “how could I forget. You’re all settled down with Nick now.”
“What do you know about it?” Harry asks, his voice coming out flat and hard. Louis doesn’t know the first thing about him and Nick.
“What do I know about you when you’ve got a crush?” Louis taunts. “Gee, that’s a tough one.”
Harry can feel himself go bright red. He never thought there was much point to being subtle about what he wanted, but - this. Having someone throw it back in his face. This is why he shouldn’t give everything away.
He can feel anger twisting around in his stomach, which isn’t a great place for it because he skipped dinner and is full of vodka and lemon. Everything is sharp and bitter. He’s backed against the edge of the sink, but he takes a step forward and says, “Jealous?”
Louis laughs once, loudly. He crosses his arms and says, “Don’t need to be, do I?”
“I’m not sixteen anymore,” Harry says, shocked by how angry he feels. He’s not good at this, never fights, but he wishes suddenly, desperately, that he could say something right now that would hurt Louis.
“Right,” Louis says, taking a step forward. “You’re all grown up now, playing house with a thirty year old. Except you’re still here with me.”
This would be a really good time to storm off. Or even to just slink out awkwardly. To be anywhere other than here right now would be great, but Harry’s frozen. Louis is close enough to touch at this point, and Harry still hasn’t learned how to put space between them.
He watches Louis’s mouth twist and tries not to breathe too loudly. Louis is looking at him, all his attention focused laser sharp on Harry, and Harry doesn’t know what he’s going to do but it seems like-
The door opens and Harry hears, “Oh.” He turns his head and catches the look on Nick’s face, exposed and sad and resigned for the half a moment it takes him to school his features into a tight smile.
Nick says, “Sorry, lads,” and steps back, letting the door close quietly behind him.
Harry turns back to Louis, who’s already taken three steps in the opposite direction, and is blinking furiously.
“Well, shit,” Harry says. He grabs a paper towel, dries his hands. He thinks that maybe he’ll be disappointed, because the moment has so clearly been ruined, but his chest has gone hollow. He leaves Louis in the toilet without saying another word and searches for Nick in the pub, but he’s gone.
Harry sighs loudly as he sits down beside Zayn, who pets him comfortingly on the back of the neck. There are a couple of half empty glasses on the table that Harry considers drinking from, but he thinks maybe he should sober up instead. He needs to not be here when Louis comes back. He needs to find Nick.
“I’m off,” he says, waiting for Zayn to slide his hand away before he stands. He hails a taxi and says Nick’s address and thinks maybe he should text to tell Nick he’s coming - what if Nick isn’t actually at home? - but he doesn’t. Just sits silently in the car and finally takes a deep breath when he gets to Nick’s flat and Nick buzzes him up.
Nick’s still dressed the same, standing at the door, combing his fingers through his hair to poof up his quiff.
“Tonight was a bit rubbish,” Harry says as he sags against the door frame. “Can I sleep over?”
Nick doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t look convinced, but he moves away from the door to let Harry inside.
“Got in a bit of a row with Louis,” Harry says, following Nick into the kitchen and helping himself to a glass from the cupboard. He fills it up with water, downs it, and then thinks maybe it’s not that he needs to sober up. Maybe it’s just that he needs more alcohol.
Nick looks tired.
“This isn’t a good idea,” he says, like maybe he can read Harry’s mind, wondering about the bottle of white in Nick’s fridge. Harry knows it’s there because he was with Nick when he bought it, and he knows Nick hasn’t drank it because they’ve been together all three nights since.
“What?” Harry asks.
“We don’t have to have a whole scene,” Nick says. “It’s okay.”
“Are you - breaking it off?” Harry asks, choked. “That’s not okay. I’ll make a scene.”
“You don’t even like me,” Nick says, “it’s just that it’s been easy.” He doesn’t even sound mad, just a bit embarrassed.
“Yes, I do,” Harry says.
“I know you, Styles,” Nick says. “You’ve not been pining.”
“Because you’re here,” Harry says. “Why would I be pining for someone who’s right here?”
“I know how this goes,” Nick says. “It’s easy and I’m safe and it doesn’t mean anything. You just want someone who won’t go running to the press. Which is a bit of a blunder on your part, because I do have a radio show, you know. Well listened to. I wouldn’t even have to find a magazine to print my story.”
“What’s your story?”
“It’s not a very good one,” Nick says. “Fell for this cheeky pop star. Joke’s on me.”
“Nick,” Harry says, shuffling over and wrapping his arm around Nick’s waist.
“You must have this conversation with people three times a day,” Nick says, twisting his mouth to one side, turning to face Harry and putting space between them. He makes his voice lower, imitating Harry as he says, “‘I know I’ve been giving you the shag of your life, but it doesn’t mean anything.’”
“Stop,” Harry says. “I’m not like that. You know I’m not like that.”
“I don’t know,” Nick says. “I don’t know what you say and who you’ve been - sleeping with.”
“I haven’t been sleeping with anyone,” Harry says. “I’m over at your place all the time.” He means, so you should know this already, but Nick says, “I’m blocking your game.”
“You’re getting all my game,” Harry corrects.
“What about Louis?” Nick says, and Harry feels a bit sick because this is the first time he’s actually talked about it in a real way. Not in a stupid interview but with someone who actually knows him.
“Eleanor gets all his game,” Harry says. “And you get all of mine. And everything else is just non-existent history.”
Nick actually looks a bit distressed before he smoothes it into an ironic smile, giving Harry a nod that’s easy to read because, yeah, they’re standing in the middle of Nick’s kitchen, having a row about … emotions or whatever, and it’s never been like this with them before.
“Maybe it’s not always easier as friends,” Nick says, running his fingers through his quiff and hiding half of his face with his wrist.
“Maybe we’re not actually friends,” says Harry. He doesn’t know why Nick is always rattling on about that except that, when it comes down to it, most of the self-deprecating things Nick says aren’t actually jokes. He’s all talk, especially with things he doesn’t really think he’s ever going to get.
“That’d be pretty stupid too,” Nick says. “You’re about to start a tour. Don’t know much about this kind of thing, but I don’t think people usually begin relationships just before leaving on a world tour.”
“People don’t usually get to host the Radio One Breakfast Show,” Harry says, reaching for Nick again. This time Nick doesn’t pull away. “People don’t usually do a lot of things that we do. Doesn’t mean we don’t know how to make it work.”
“Doesn’t mean we do though,” Nick says, but Harry can feel him softening, curling in so that he can press his palm to the small of Harry’s back.
“Yeah, we do,” Harry says, stubborn and confident, and then he kisses Nick in the middle of Nick’s barely functional kitchen.
He pulls back, finally, but not far enough to disturb Nick’s hand creeping up the back of his shirt.
“You’re saying yes, right?” he asks. “No more bollocks about just mates.”
“I thought that sounded good,” Nick says, laughing. “I had it all thought out.”
“Being friends doesn’t sound good,” says Harry seriously. “Not all of your ideas are good ones. I really think you need to buy a chopping board instead of always using one of the dinner plates. And get some proper fucking spoons.”
“Yeah?” Nick says, pressing his grin to Harry’s cheek. He kisses Harry’s jaw, his neck, under his ear. Kisses him on the mouth again and says, “Strong suggestions, Styles.”
--
They’re flying to Germany, and Harry’s sitting beside Niall, but Louis comes over when Niall goes to the loo. He sits down beside Harry and curls his fingers around the edge of Harry’s blanket. Harry was like three seconds away from sleeping, or maybe he was sleeping a little bit because he has to force his head upright and his mouth closed.
He called Nick before landing, said goodbye again even though they’re only going to be gone for three days and Nick was the one who drove him to the airport. Nick answered on the first ring, and eventually admitting that he was still in the car in front of the airport.
“I don’t have any more pretzels,” Harry tells Louis. He’s already finished them.
“No-” Louis says. Then, “Wait, really?” because it was quite a huge bag.
“I was hungry, and I didn’t have lunch,” Harry whines. He noticed that Liam brought sour gummies, so he might try to steal some of those later.
Louis sighs and visibly steels himself before saying, “I’m sorry.” It’s one of the only times Harry’s ever heard Louis apologize. He didn’t even say sorry that time he hit Liam in the face with an apple and split his lip open. “About the other night. I don’t know why I did that. I’m a bit rubbish sometimes.”
“It’s fine,” Harry says. “I already know that you’re horrible. I love you anyway.” It’s easy to say because he does love Louis and but that’s not the same as being in love with him.
Louis looks happy, smiles brightly, a little surprised, like maybe apologizing wasn’t actually as bad as he thought it would be.
“I wasn’t jealous,” Louis says, shrugging one shoulder. “Well, just a bit.”
Harry spent a while thinking that making Louis jealous would be pretty sodding amazing, but now that it’s actually happened, he’s mostly just relieved that they’re not fighting.
“I’m a charmer,” Harry says easily, grinning. “It’s hard for me to turn it off.”
“Are you dating him?” Louis asks. “Like proper boyfriends?”
“Proper and official,” Harry says, swooshing his hair forward and then scooping it out of his eyes again, letting his blanket slide down from where he had it wrapped tightly around his shoulders.
“You’re smiling again,” Louis says.
“Sorry,” says Harry, trying to pull down the corners of his mouth.
“No, it’s good,” Louis says. “You look happy.”
“What’s Harry happy about now?” Niall asks, popping around the seat and sitting himself down on Harry’s lap.
Harry considers saying something silly, another non-answer, but instead he says, “I‘m dating Nick now. I just told Louis.”
“Wait,” Niall says, spinning around to look Harry in the face. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Harry says, steadying Niall, who’s now trying to climb over the back of the seat.
“Harry and Grimmy are together,” he yells to Liam and Zayn, who are sitting a few rows back.
“Stop,” Harry says, laughing, pulling Niall back onto his lap. He can hear whooping behind him.
“It’s good,” Niall says excitedly. “That’s what you’ve been wanting, right?”
“Yeah,” Harry says, stretching out his legs to accommodate Niall’s weight. “It’s exactly what I want.”