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A haze of smoke greeted Harry as he opened the door to Nick’s flat. He fanned it out of his face, coughing a bit, before calling into the dim hallway.
“Eh, Grimmy, you all right?”
Giggles erupted from the living room, and Harry rolled his eyes. Of course. Aimee was smoking again. He should have known she’d be high as a kite. After all it is after three in the afternoon.
“Back here, love,” Nick called out before breaking off into a fit of laughter himself.
Oh. It had been a long while since Harry had seen Nick high. The party he was supposed to be DJing tonight should be interesting to say the least.
Harry dropped his jacket on a peg and tossed his phone and keys on the table next to Nick’s own, then wandered slowly down the hallway, pushing one hand through the wispy clouds in wonder.
“D’you two not know how to crack a window? Jesus Christ, Aimee. Why haven’t the smoke alarms sounded?” Harry towered over the couch, hands on hips, hoping he was pulling off the stern authority figure he was striving for.
Aimee just cackled though. “We disabled them,” she shrieked, pointing at the ceiling with a long gold nail. Harry looked up. Sure enough, where there used to be a detector, there were now a few wires hanging down. He shook his head and sighed.
“I guess it does smell rather enticing,” Harry said and slumped down on the couch between the two idiots. “What on earth ...” Harry nodded at the mess on the coffee table in front of them. Next to Nick’s bare feet was a mess of tobacco, three hot pink cylinders and a pocket knife alongside a nearly full ashtray.
Nick threw an arm across Harry’s shoulders and pulled himself up until he was invading entirely too much of Harry’s personal space. “You see mate, Aimee prefers a strawberry blunt for her afternoon high.” He almost made it through the entire sentence without laughing. Almost.
Harry shrugged him off and looked to Aimee, watching mesmerized as she sliced, cleaned, refilled and rewrapped a cigar, sticking it back in it’s pink plastic tube and tucking it into her purse.
“Well that’ll be it then. I’m off to gather the girls to get our nails done and have a few pre-club drinks. Since I’m nice, I’ll leave this one with you two.” She leaned in, putting a blunt in Harry’s lap. “Now Harold, I expect you to get nice and high and make some bad decisions. Live while you’re young and all that?” Aimee dissolved into more cackling laughter as she went down the hallway and out the front door.
And that was how Harry came to be sat on a couch with a strawberry blunt on his thigh and a stoned Nick Grimshaw at his side.
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“My hands ... Grimmy? Hey Grimmy?” Harry slapped Nick across the chest. “How’ve I not noticed before how huge my hands are? The span from my thumb to my little finger is like ... this long.” Harry held up one hand, fingers spread as far as they’d go, in front of Nick’s face. Harry always got a bit philosophical when he smoked, and they’d shared the better half of the blunt Aimee left them.
“I know,” Nick replied, giggling against Harry’s arm. “They’re like those huge paws on those little puppies that you know are just going to grow all big and burly someday but right now they’re just cute and cuddly.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed more and more as Nick spoke and he tackled him to the couch. “I’ll show you cute and cuddly, you big arsehole.”
“What’s that? You want to show me your arsehole? Well turn over then, lad.” Nick continued laughing as if the entire world was funny, so Harry dug his fingers into Nick’s sides, tickling ruthlessly.
“Maybe later,” he whispered against Nick’s ear after a moment and sat back up on the couch. “So hungry right now, though.”
“You’re always hungry. Starvin’ ‘Arry, I call you.”
“You don’t actually call me Starving Harry, Nick,” Harry replied with the attitude of a teenager.
Nick leaned over and grabbed Harry’s thigh. “Starvin’ for my cock, right?” A choking sound erupted from his throat as he dissolved into laughter yet again.
“You’re terrible! Impossible really.” Harry leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “My mum used to make this lemon bundt that was so amazing.” He groaned.
“Blunt? We’ve got half of one here somewhere, Harold,” Nick said, fumbling around the coffee table.
“Not blunt, I said bundt. Like bundt cake.” Harry rolled his eyes as Nick’s own eyes got wide as saucers.
“You can smoke a cake? That’s amazing. Why’ve I never heard of this blunt cake before?”
“No, bundt cake, Grimmy. You eat it. I’d probably give my right arm for one right now.”
“Oh don’t be hasty, Harry. If you gave away your right arm, how would you wank every day?” The giggle fits returned, and Harry pounded the couch with his fist.
“God dammit, Nick. I’m going to find something to eat.” He jumped up and stalked into the kitchen, opening and closing the fridge and pantry loudly, before stopping abruptly. “Hey! Who’s been shopping? You’ve got like, actual food for cooking and stuff. There’s flour in the pantry! And lemons for proper tea,” he called to Nick.
“Yes, mate. Aimee said something about stocking up the house last weekend. She must’ve bought quite a load because she took a taxi back from the market.”
Harry heard a muffled thud from the living room followed by footsteps. “Nick? You all right?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just setting up the karaoke.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Harry began gathering the ingredients for cake, trying to remember the last time Nick had forced him into an impromptu karaoke session. He thinks it probably ended with Beyonce and sex. Everything with Nick ends in Beyonce and sex.
“You coming, Harold? This John Mayer won’t sing itself.”
“You get started without me. I’m making a proper lemon bundt.”
“I told you the blunt is in here on the table. We got the aaafternoooon. You got this room for twoooo.”
Harry shuddered, wondering just how many more years he could put up with a tone deaf boyfriend. Boyfriend. He paused from measuring ingredients for a few moments, thinking about the word. Boys that are friends. Boyfriends. Friends that are both boys that act like boyfriends.
Nick broke him out of his trance, standing in the doorway cock-eyed, as far as the microphone could stretch and crooning horribly. “Your body is a wonderlaaaaaaand, Harryyyyyyyy. Oh, flour!” Nick dumped the microphone unceremoniously on the floor and walked over, sticking both hands in the bowl before Harry could protest.
“It’s so powdery,” Nick said, then pressed handprints against Harry’s chest and cheeks. “Look, my hands have been on your boobs!” He laughed as Harry pinched his nipple and hit him in the side. “Ow, no punches, Harold. I’m an old man!”
“Get out of the kitchen then. Go sing some horrible rendition of Kelly Clarkson or something.” Harry tried to look angry and pointed in the general direction of the living room. “I’ve got to work on this bundt.”
“Okay. Let me know when you find the blunt then.” Nick sashayed back out of the room, grabbing his microphone on the way and setting up a new song.
As Harry cracked the eggs in the bowl and grated the lemon zest, he tried really hard to concentrate. He wanted this bundt cake to be perfection. It seemed like it took ages (and a million horrible pop songs) before he was finally pouring it into the pan he had found dusty and unused in the remote recesses of a cupboard, but at last he was tucking it into the oven and feeling a bit more sober.
He wandered in to check on Nick just as Single Ladies was winding down.
“Finally. I’ve sang all my favorites except one. Saved it just for you!” Nick ran over to Harry and pulled him by his tee shirt into the room. Harry couldn’t help but be amused by the sheen of sweat covering Nick’s forehead and the way his usually-groomed quiff fell over his eye.
“What on earth have you been doing in here, Grimmy?” Harry laughed. “You’re a right mess.”
“Dancing and singing, of course. You know, what you do for a living? We can’t all be perfectly coiffed popstars, Hazza. Now sing.” Nick thrust the second mic into Harry’s hand as the song came on, and he instantly started to object.
“Oh no. No no no. Not Beyonce, Nick. You already tortured me with Single Ladies. Can’t we move on to some nice soothing Train or something?”
But Nick was already bouncing around, backing his arse up against Harry’s thigh and grinding it around playfully. “Sing, Harry! This one’s my favorite!”
Harry grumbled, “Just once I’d like to be Jay-Z,” before he played along and sang the first verse of Crazy in Love, Nick dancing in ridiculous booty shaking circles around him the entire time.
About halfway through the song, Grimmy took over, attempting to rap and act cool like Jay-Z, but not quite pulling it off. Harry knew he was supposed to be dancing on Grimmy like Beyonce would, but instead he sat on the couch and relit the half a blunt they discarded earlier.
Nick turned around and danced over to Harry, tripping on the microphone cord a few times but ending up bending over right in front of Harry’s face, which Harry was certain was on purpose. He shimmied and shook his hips a few times, then turned to face the couch and positioned his legs on either side of Harry’s own.
Harry took another long pull of smoke, holding it in his lungs as long as he could, as Nick got bored of the song apparently, dropping the mic for the millionth time and sitting on Harry’s lap.
“Do me,” Nick said. Harry turned the cigar around, holding it out for Nick to take, but he didn’t move. “No, from your mouth, Haz.” Nick had gone serious suddenly, looking at Harry intensely.
Slowly, without taking his eyes off Nick’s, Harry took another drag, pulled Nick down by his neck and firmly placed his own lips around his, blowing a steady stream of smoke into his mouth and feeling Nicks’ chest rise against his own as he inhaled what he offered. After a moment, they both turned to the side and exhaled, the smoke mingling in a long cloud.
“My turn,” Nick breathed against the side of Harry’s cheek lazily. He took the blunt from Harry’s fingers and pulled back a few inches, puffing hard before leaning back to Harry, mouth firm on the other boy’s and a hand stroking Harry’s side underneath his shirt.
“Fuck,” Harry whispered after they’d both exhaled again. “S’good.”
They took turns like that for the next several minutes, sharing the rest of the weed and feeling it spread throughout their limbs. When Nick wasn’t in charge of holding it, his hands roamed Harry’s body freely, mouth sucking gently at Harry’s earlobe, neck, the dip in his collarbone. Each time Nick grazed Harry’s hip in just the right spot, Harry would involuntarily thrust upward, moaning a bit.
“Fuck, Nick. Need you,” he whispered and pushed around Nick’s side to toss the roach in the ashtray. As soon as he leaned back against the couch, Nick’s lips were on his own. They kissed long and hard, neither of them willing to pull away for several minutes. Finally though, Nick pulled back, tugged Harry’s shirt up over his head, and pushed him gently to the side until he fell onto his back on the couch.
“Want to feel you,” Nick said, his hands on Harry’s chest as he leaned over the boy.
“It’s like I can feel, like, everything. I feel everything more than I normally feel it you know.” Harry’s voice came out slow and thick, almost sleepy. Nick knew better though. He knew what Harry wanted. Needed. He stroked long paths up and down Harry’s arms and chest, some wide and sweeping, some faster and rougher, almost scraping. Eventually, he reached for Harry’s belt, undoing the notch before unzipping his trousers and pulling them down over his hips. “Do you want them all the way off, love?”
“Yeah. S’more comfortable that way,” Harry said, smiling with half-lidded eyes up at Nick. Nick helped him kick the rest of his clothes off to a heap on the floor before covering Harry’s body with his own, grinding his own jeans-clad cock gently against Harry’s naked one. “Fuck. Yes please,” Harry said, clinging to Nick’s shoulder blades with his long fingers. Nick grabbed onto Harry’s arse cheeks and thrust firmly a few times before backing up onto his knees and slicking his hand with spit.
“Wanna get you off fast, then enjoy you later,” Nick said, wrapping the hand around Harry’s cock and stroking the foreskin up and back.
“Can’t. You’ve got a gig in a few hours, remember?” Harry grinned sheepishly.
“Hmm, right. Better make it a good fast one then, eh,” Nick replied, before taking Harry all the way into his mouth, sucking down hard several times before Harry began to respond with little hip thrusts and moans.
“Shit. Grimmy, please. Please.” Harry writhed on the couch, a pillow falling to the floor and the cushion underneath him beginning to slide.
“Please what, Haz.” Nick sucked back down firmly, holding the base of Harry’s cock in his hand.
“Wanna come. Please. Shit. Feels so good, Nick.” Harry reached down and stuck his fingers through Nick’s ridiculous mane of hair, attempting to both hold the hair back so he could watch and to keep Nick’s head held down, cock far into his mouth.
A few more thrusts and Harry was gone, coming hard into Nick’s mouth with his head thrust back against the couch, face gone red and veins outlined in detail on the side of his neck. “Fuck,” he moaned one last time before collapsing back to the couch. “Amazing. You’re amazing. Fuck.”
Nick wiped his lip and sat back, waiting for Harry to catch his breath and idly stroking his calf and ankle. “I know I am. My turn.”
Harry took the hint and sat up, pulling Nick in to kiss him. “What do you want then? Shall I finger you until you can’t take it anymore? Or maybe suck you off like you did me? What if I just held you down underneath me and fucked you?” Harry said all of this between gropes and kisses, touching and maneuvering until he was on top and in control, Nick lying pliant beneath him. He kissed a trail of wet sloppy marks across Nick’s chest, getting distracted twice by the soft hair there, the feel of it coarse against his smooth lips. Nick undressed quickly, eventually in only his pants, a pair of blue briefs that Harry laughed at. “These are quite sexy, Grimmy. Really. Please do wear these from now on.”
Harry teased mercilessly, mouth making a wet spot on the blue pants as he sucked Nick’s cock through them and fingers pushing them aside toward the back so he could let them glide between Nick’s cheeks. “Tell me what you want, Nick,” he said, glancing up through his eyelashes with his lip caught between his teeth, the innocent young look he knows Nick can’t get enough of.
“Want - I want you to - fuck ... what is that fucking awful smell?” Nick lifted his head off the couch, confused for a moment, but then Harry leaped off the couch, yelling.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. My buuuuuuundt! Noooooooo!” Harry ran to the kitchen, quite naked, and pulled the pan out of the oven with an oven mitt before throwing it on the counter. “Fucking bloody hell. Shit!” he yelled, obviously quite upset that his bundt cake efforts had failed.
At precisely the same moment, Nick rushed in from the living room, yelling at Harry to come back, and Aimee came through the front door, singing a song she’d made up about needing more weed to get through girl time.
“Haz, don’t leave me in there. You’ve obviously burnt the bloody bundt. Now come back and finish what you started,” Nick whined, blue underwear still shining wet with Harry’s saliva.
“I’m gonna need that blunt I said you could smo--what the fuck, Grimmy?” Aimee backpedaled, eyes wide at the scene in front of her. “What the fuck is happening here?”
Nick stood there gaping but Harry simply turned around, put his hands on his hips, and grinned. “Oh, you know,” he said. “Just a bit of baked baking.”